Chapter Forty-two
“W hat do you mean he died!?” I gasp, snapping my head around to stare at Sloane next to me on the couch. She just showed me the music video I recorded with Adrien Matthews, one of the most influential musicians on the scene at the moment and not only that, the song and video hit number one!? Now she’s telling me he’s dead!
She cringes, “He died.”
“Okay, I get that, but how !?”
“Don’t know,” She closes the laptop, “They think it was an accidental overdose, but no actual details have been released.”
“When did this happen?” I slump back on the couch .
“The same day of your accident,” She sighs, “It’s a lot, I know.”
“But it shouldn’t be,” I huff out, “I don’t understand how memories just vanish.”
“You had a traumatic injury,” She soothes, “You almost died, Savannah.”
“I know,” I purse my lips, feeling the threat of tears behind my eyes, “And I’m grateful that I didn’t but I want my memories back. I want them.”
“I know, babe,” She squeezes my hand, “And maybe they’ll come back. Maybe you just need to focus on fully healing, get back to normality and routine and maybe, they’ll come back. You never know, the doctor said it was possible.”
I nod in agreement but I’m not sure I believe it’ll happen.
“You looked damn hot in the video though,” She laughs.
I chuckle, “I’ll relearn the dance, just for you.”
“Fuck yes,” She grins, “Now, ice cream and Gossip Girl?”
I sleep on Sloane’s couch that night, and again the following day, too afraid to return to the house where my memories are trapped within the walls, but eventually I have to leave.
It’s just when I’m leaving that I get a call .
My agent’s name flashes on the screen and part of me wants to ignore it, but I know she will only call until I answer. The woman doesn’t believe in emails or text messages.
“Savannah,” Her shrill voice rattles my brain.
“Hello Daphne,” I try to add enthusiasm to my voice but it’s lacking.
“Why have you not called?” She asks, “You’ve been out the hospital for almost two weeks.”
“I’m recovering,” I remind her.
“Yes, yes,” I can just imagine her waving her hand like she’s swatting at a fly, “Anyway, you need to be at the cemetery at eleven sharp on Thursday.”
I turn the corner onto my street and pause, spotting Killian’s Audi parked out front with him leaning against it, arms crossed across his wide chest. My heart does a little stutter and for a second, just a quick burst, images flutter through my head. Skin on skin, sweat and moans and teeth and lips. Hands grabbing and bodies moving, spines arched as hips move desperately.
It’s enough to have my stomach knotting and my thighs aching. The fuck was that!?
“Savannah!?” Daphne’s shrill tone snaps me straight out of it.
“Sorry, what did you say?” I shake my head.
“Adrien’s funeral,” She snaps impatiently, “It will be good for your image to attend.”
“Wait, he’s not had it yet?” I resume walking and as I get closer, Killian steps away from the car.
“No,” I hear papers shuffling in the background, “He hadn’t been released but now his cause of death has been ruled.”
“Oh.”
I come to a stop in front of my house just as Killian steps in front of me, his eyes covered by his Ray-Bans but even behind the dark shades, I feel his eyes boring down on me.
“Overdose,” She tuts, “Such a shame.”
“Yeah.” I agree absentmindedly, too caught up in the man standing silently in front of me as he slides the glasses off his face.
“I’ll have your driver collect you at ten-thirty,” She advises before she hangs up, but I don’t bring the cell away from my ear, somewhat frozen. I’m still playing that short reel inside my head. I see nothing at all and yet it’s like they’re burned into my brain.
Slowly, Killian reaches up and gently wraps his roughened fingers around my wrist and tugs my hand down, “The call has ended.”
I nod silently.
“Are you just going to stand here all day?” Amusement brightens his eyes for a flicker, I even see a crease form at the edge of his mouth with a smile but then it disappears.
“No, uh, no I’m not.”
He steps back and places out an arm, gesturing for me to go on ahead.
“Why are you here?” I ask him.
Silence.
“Did Bast send you?” I get my keys out of my purse and unlock the door, feeling his body close behind.
Silence.
“I don’t need a babysitter.” The door closes behind him and then he’s following me again. I come into the kitchen and dump my bag on the table before heading straight for the coffee machine and the pile of pill bottles on the counter. I uncap each one and shake my dose into my palm before I head to the fridge to get a water. When I turn around to lean on the counter and take them, Killian is glaring.
I pause, “What?”
“Are you in pain?”
“No, but I will be if I don’t take these,” I throw them all into my mouth and chase them down with a swig of water.
“Who was on the phone?” He presses, his hands curling at his sides.
“My agent,” I place the water down, “I apparently have a funeral to attend. ”
A look of disgust crosses Killian’s face, “She is making you go to his funeral?”
“You know Adrien?”
A cruel kind of laugh rumbles from him, “Something like that.”
I have so many questions, but I already feel the effects of the pain meds working. I always need a nap after I take them and they work fucking quick and with the restless nights I’ve been having, they seem to hit me like a rock nowadays.
Heavy legs carry me through to the couch and I drop onto it.
“I have questions,” My words come out slurred, “But I’m about to pass out so unless you want to watch me nap, I suggest you head out and let Bast know I’m safe and sound.”
But he doesn’t leave. He folds himself down onto the couch beside me and then to my absolute fucking surprise, lifts an arm and offers me his… thigh. My eyes sting with how tired I suddenly am, and I know I’ll be out like a light in a matter of minutes, but I can’t stop staring at him.
“Lay down,” He says gruffly.
“On – on you?” I stutter.
He jerks his head in a semblance of a nod.
I shouldn’t, right? My heart is doing this weird little dance inside my chest that I want to blame on the pills, but I know it’s because all my little childhood girl crush dreams are coming true right now.
And I’m so tired and he looks so comfortable, and I’ve been lonely, and it’ll be really nice to sleep with him. Wait no, not with him…
My scalp prickles and I feel my cheeks burn with the train of thought.
“Savannah,” There’s a warning in his deep tone as if he knows where my mind was wandering off to.
“Just for a minute,” I tell him.
He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. Of course it’s not a big deal.
I am heavy with exhaustion as I lower myself down and rest my cheek against his thigh, the warmth of him overcoming me immediately. My whole body relaxes with it, settling into the feel of him with his scent wrapping around me. Sleep tugs down my eyes but right before I fall asleep, I feel the gentlest of hands against my head.
He smooths his hand down the back of my skull, moving my hair with it and I swear I feel him relax too. It must be a dream because there is no way this is real life.
I mean, in what realm would it be a possibility that I’m sleeping on my brother’s best friend or that he’s stroking my hair and seeming to like it.