by Nashoda Rose
“You did?”
“And my father blames me.”
My eyes widened and I swiftly inhaled. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Killian.”
“Why aren’t you angry at your mother for nearly killing you?” he asked.
The subject about his mother and father was closed, but I suspected what he’d told me, very few people, if any, knew because that rumor had never circulated.
“She’s my mom,” I said while looking at the tip of my right toe poking out of my ripped running shoe.
“A mom doesn’t drive fucked up with her kid in the car,” he stated.
“She was sad all the time and had a problem, but she loved me. Maybe others can’t understand but—”
“Yeah, I don’t fuckin’ understand,” he blurted.
No, he wouldn’t if he had issues with his father. And his mother, I had no idea how she died, but I was betting it had been an accident.
“Everyone has good bits, Killian. My mom had them. They were just hard to see. The drugs and her sadness smothered them. So, my tears are for those.”
It was a while before he finally said, “Bullshit. Not everyone has good bits, orchid, and you’re better to learn that now.”
I think he was referring to his father, but then he could’ve been referring to himself because I didn’t think he liked who he’d become.
How could he when filled with so much anger and… pain?
“Yeah, they do,” I replied. “You’re not so nice sometimes, but you have them, too. I think they’re just buried beneath whatever eats away at you.”
Our eyes locked and something happened as the green in them softened. My belly fluttered and warmth blanketed me. It was the same feeling I had when we were at the fight before the police showed up.
I was confused by it, yet it made me feel lit up inside.
“Why do you call me orchid?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s just a stupid nickname.”
It was beautiful and I liked it. But it would be the last time I’d hear him call me that.
Tears welled. There was so much hurt inside him, and I wanted to take it all away and see him smile.
It was ridiculous why I felt this way. I barely knew him, yet I would miss him.
“What happens to you now?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. A social worker is here to take me to live… well, I don’t know where.” I was terrified, but I didn’t want to admit that. “I better go. I have the reception.” His eyes narrowed and jaw tightened. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Killian. Thank you for what you did for me and Mars.”
I went to rush past him when he snagged my hand, and I found myself flung back and up against his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath my palm while mine pumped madly, which I was pretty sure he must have noticed.
“What are you—”
His mouth crashed into mine, and it was the very last thing I expected from Killian.
I didn’t know what to do so I stood stiffly in his arms as his mouth softened on mine, arms drawing me in tighter to him, hand sliding up my back to the nape of my neck.
“Relax,” he murmured against my mouth.
His lips roamed over mine, experienced, warm, soothing, and at the same time, possessive. I sagged into him and let him guide me as my mouth opened to his urging, and then his tongue was in my mouth. Tasting. Dueling with mine.
A moan escaped my throat.
He controlled everything about the kiss. A kiss that made my body tremble and awakened something strange and wonderful between my legs.
God, it was incredible. It was my first kiss, and I had nothing to compare it with. But it was life changing because every kiss from now on would be compared to Killian’s.
I felt his hardness against my abdomen throbbing against his jeans and I trembled with nervousness.
He abruptly pulled back, but didn’t release me. “Not everyone is good, Savvy. Remember that.”
I nodded.
He frowned. “I’m serious, Savvy. You’re too fuckin’ trusting. You think everyone has good in them, but they don’t.”
“I know.”
“I’m glad you’re leaving town.”
I stiffened raising my chin. “Why?”
“Because if you come near me again, next time I won’t let you go.”
He released me and I stumbled back. Our eyes locked for several seconds before I turned and ran down the driveway to the road, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder to see if he was still there.
If he still watched me.
But I didn’t. I never looked back.
There was no denying anymore that I liked him. A lot.
And I was leaving.
He was right. It was probably a good thing.
I walked to Mars’s house where the reception was because the trailer was too small. I fake smiled at people I barely knew who offered their condolences, while keeping the tears back.
When I should’ve been thinking about my mom, I thought about Killian and all the anger inside him. It invaded. And it haunted.
Maybe even hunted him.
What I hoped was that it never caught up to him. That it didn’t destroy whoever he was beneath all that anger.
After the reception, the social worker drove me to the old two-bedroom trailer to pack my stuff, not that I had much.
As I approached the door, I saw a pink ceramic pot sitting on the top of the slanted rotting stair.
I crouched and picked it up.
The pot had a thin crack in it but was nice. What was in it… well, the orchid had one long crooked stem and two droopy leaves.
Nothing else. No flower.
There was a folded piece of paper stuck in the pebbles on top. I plucked it out, put the plant down and opened it.
That was it. Just his signature, written neatly and perfectly legible.
Tucking the note into my pocket, I carried the pot to the car and set it on the floor.
Then I ran back inside the trailer and packed what little clothes I had.
On the step of the trailer where the orchid had been, I placed a note to Killian. I knew he’d probably never see it and it was why I’d been able to say what I did in my reply. I put a rock on top of the paper, the white edges fluttering in the cool wind.
As we drove away, I looked over my shoulder at the rock on the steps with the white paper. A tear slipped down my cheek at the same time as the rain began to fall.
Present Day
God, this was such a bad idea. But I was desperate. Six months out of a job, reputation ruined and my savings dwindling, my options were limited.
I clutched the phony permit Trevor, the guy across the hall, made me to get past concert security. Ironic the last time I did something illegal was eleven years ago when I went to the underground fight he had warned me not to go to. Now I was sneaking backstage to his concert to ask him a favor.
He’s only a man, I repeated for the hundredth time. He wasn’t Zeus. He was “polite.” At least that was what I’d read on social media. But most of the articles on the rock band Tear Asunder were on the lead singer, Sculpt, and Crisis, one of the guitarists.
I approached the huge bulky guy wearing black cargo pants and a T-shirt who stood in front of the door. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his tree trunk thighs were braced, but what I didn’t like was the fierce scowl on his face.
“You have a pass?” he asked, arms dropping to his side.
I offered a shaky smile and held out my pass. “Uh, yeah.” Shit, I needed to sound more confident. “First day on the job. I’m a little overwhelmed.”
He examined the pass then handed it back, and I looped it over my neck. “Well, you’re late. Show’s almost over.”
Shit. Right. “I’m cleanup crew, but I was hoping to meet the band.”
He hesitated, and I wasn’t sure he was going to let me in when he said, “They’re good guys.” He stepped aside and opened the door into a long hallway. “Go ah
ead.”
“Thanks.” I hurried inside before he changed his mind and immediately was bombarded with the sound of the music vibrating through the building. A thrill of excitement mixed with nerves filtered through me.
Music did that to me. It was as if everything else disappeared, the overdue rent, the pile of bills, the fear that I’d lost my one chance at my dream.
But that was why I was here. I wasn’t giving up on dancing. It was all I had left. The one thing that stuck with me through the loss of my dad, my mom, then the four foster homes I’d been shuffled around in until I ended up with sweet Ms. Evert with her greenhouse and flowers.
The crowd roared as the song ended, and it sounded as if the roof would come down as they cheered and stomped. Tear Asunder were amazing, but it wasn’t only because they had great music, but because of the charity concerts they did like this one for a children’s center. I found out the center was started by Tristan Mason of Mason Enterprise. He had been one of the most eligible bachelors in Toronto along with Brett Westhill, a commercial real-estate mogul, among other things. And the other things was why I was here.
Tristan Mason was now off the bachelor list as he was with Chess, a girl who the media still hadn’t managed to dig up any info on, but there were certainly rumors. One of them being Chess had been in jail for the last ten years, and that was why no one knew of her. Another being she was a mail-order bride. Of course, they were all rumors and likely lies, much like the ones about me in the dance community.
I walked down the hallway, looking at the signs on the doors as I passed. Tons of people bustled by, but no one paid attention to me. I had no clue what went on backstage of a concert, but it was chaotic, although an organized chaos as it seemed like everyone knew what they were doing.
The sound of the crowd died down, and the band was more than likely going to be coming back stage any minute.
Shit, I was hoping to find his changing room before then. But maybe he didn’t have a specific room? Maybe the band shared one?
How on Earth did Trevor convince me to do this? At the time, it sounded simple. At least it did after a few drinks and seeing the unopened bills on my kitchen table. But it wasn’t the sneaking into the concert part that scared me, it was facing Killian Kane.
I turned the corner and slammed into a hard, broad chest.
“Sorry,” I murmured keeping my head down and shuffling past the guy.
But I only made it one step before his hand snagged my arm and brought me to a halt. Uh-oh. “Who are you?” he asked.
Shit. Shit. Shit. “Umm, I’m cleanup crew.” Did they call them a crew?
I held up my fake ID while glancing at him. I immediately knew I was in trouble because I’d seen this guy in the background of pictures of the band on social media. He was security for Tear Asunder, and if he was any good at his job, which I suspected he was, he’d know I didn’t belong here. He didn’t even look at my ID.
“Cleanup crew? For who?” he asked.
“This place.” Oh, God, that was pathetic. “For Richard.”
He snorted. “The only Richard I know is the band’s manager. And I know every single name who is back here tonight.” His fingers tightened on my arm. “Come on. You’re out of here.”
He hauled me down the hallway toward the back door. Okay, I’d have to go with honesty. “Please, I just need to talk to Killian Kane for a minute.”
The guy stopped so fast I banged into him and stepped on his heel. But he didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. “How do you know that name?”
His fingers dug into my arm. “Do you mind letting go of me? I won’t run. Besides, you can always shoot me in the leg if I do.” He snorted, but his scowl eased as he released me.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I don’t have a lot of time here”—he glanced at my fake ID and his brows rose—“Sara Smith.”
Trevor’s idea. A generic name that wouldn’t draw attention. “It’s not really Sara Smith.”
“Figured that,” he replied. “And I need an answer.”
“We were kind of friends in high school.” A huge exaggeration considering Killian and I only had a few conversations, most of which weren’t friendly. Well, except for the kiss. That was friendly. No, that was panty melting, heated, and hot as hell.
“Name?” He lowered his voice, “Your real name?”
“Savannah Grady.” There was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes as if he’d heard my name before, but that was highly unlikely considering I hadn’t seen Killian since I was fifteen.
There was a loud ruckus down the hallway, and I glanced over my shoulder. That was when I saw him.
It was like being slammed in the chest with a mallet.
My breath stopped.
My heart thumped.
My belly dropped.
Killian was no longer a kid. He was a man. I mean, I knew that. I’d seen pictures of him, but nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing him in person twenty feet away.
A tingling of familiarity sifted through me then a warm rush of heat.
I stepped back to lean against the wall and used it for support as I stared at him chatting with the blond guitarist, Crisis.
There were men, and then there were men, and the latter were the kind who oozed sexiness. They didn’t have to be attractive physically, although Killian totally was; it was how they carried themselves, how they stood, how they wore their clothes.
It was the unassailable factor. The confidence. The indifference to what others thought of them. And Killian was all of that, just like he’d been in high school, but even more so.
Yep, Killian Kane defined Greek god.
Not perfect. Not gorgeous. Not stunning.
Earthy. Raw. Strong.
Jesus, the pictures didn’t do him justice. Well, they did, but in person, my body totally reacted to him as goose bumps scattered and nerves tingled.
Tattoos covered his muscled forearms and were stark against his white T-shirt. He wore snug jeans and carried his drumsticks in his right hand with a water bottle.
As if he knew I was staring at him, his gaze shifted from Crisis to me, and I was met with Killian Kane’s captivating green eyes.
“You need to leave.” The deep voice barreled into me, and my head snapped around to the security guy.
“But he’s right—”
“Now,” he interrupted. He latched onto my forearm arm and pulled me off the wall. I saw my chance slip away as he led me down the corridor away from the band and Killian.
“Luke.”
My breath hitched as Killian’s voice sifted through me. I’d recognize it anywhere. That Irish accent that was smooth as butter, yet had a distinct firmness.
Luke stopped, and whether I wanted to or not, I did, too. “Kite. I’m getting rid of her.”
Wow, getting rid of? As if I was a piece of garbage he was taking out into the back alley. I stiffened, raising my chin and tried to jerk my arm from him, but he held tight.
Footsteps approached, and I stopped breathing as I watched Killian’s long, lean legs stride toward us. God, it was the same as in high school when he walked down the hallways, that immeasurable confidence in each step.
“Let her go,” he ordered.
Luke’s hand dropped, and I stepped away from the scary security guy.
My eyes flicked to Sculpt, who followed Killian, and then to the other two guys in the band, Ream and Crisis, their eyes on me curiously.
Killian stopped in front of me, and any poise I may have had shot out the top of my head. I was a bowl of jelly as my knees went weak and heart slammed into my ribs.
“Killian,” I managed to whisper.
Eleven years. Eleven years since I’d stood this close to him, heard his voice and breathed in his scent.
“Savvy Grady.” His eyes shifted to my fake ID, and the barbell piercing in his right brow rose. “Or should I say Sara Smith?”
I felt the heat in my cheeks, and since I was
fair skinned, heat meant two pink blotches high on my cheeks. Shit. “Uh, well, I didn’t get tickets in time and you weren’t offering backstage passes.”
“So, you made your own.”
It wasn’t a question. “Kind of.” I bit my lip as I glanced nervously at the other guys then back at Killian. “I didn’t make it myself because I have no clue how, but a friend of mine does, and he makes stuff like this all the time for people, but he did it for free since I didn’t have money to come to the concert anyway and….” Oh, my God. Too much information. I was rambling. “Well, I’m going to donate to the charity when I have the money.”
Killian’s mouth twitched and I heard a chuckle from Crisis who was behind him to the right. Ream frowned and Sculpt looked curious, but his body was a brick wall with his wide stance and crossed arms.
“Which friend?” Killian asked.
“You don’t know him.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“A guy in my building.” And that was all I was giving him because I didn’t want Trevor to get into trouble.
His eyes narrowed and lips pursed, appearing annoyed. I had no idea what it was like to be famous, but I guessed it was irritating when random people did stuff like this, and it probably happened often enough with all their fans.
But I wasn’t a fan. I was a girl he barely knew from high school, and here I was sneaking into the band’s charity concert in order to ask a favor. God, that sounded stupid and crazy. But desperation made you do things you wouldn’t normally do, and I was desperate.
“You have a guy in your building making fake IDs for concerts?”
Trevor did a hell of a lot more than fake IDs for concerts, but I decided it better to remain mute on the subject.
“So who are you exactly?” This was from Crisis who was now leaning up against the wall, ankles crossed and intently watching me and Killian.
“A chick from high school,” Sculpt said.
“How come we don’t know her?” Ream asked.
“Because she left town,” Killian replied.
“So you had a phony ID made in order to get backstage to see this asshole?” Crisis said. “Might have been easier to e-mail or even send a Facebook message.”