Chapter 20 Killian
Killian
Killian was well on his way to being very, very drunk.
Past that, probably, if he was being honest. Prince and Devon had already confiscated his phone and keys some time ago, declaring him a flight risk, but they had yet to confiscate the whiskey. Perhaps they’d realized he needed some … mellowing.
Killian had called them shortly after Chase had left.
He’d known he couldn’t be alone. Had known that, left to his own devices, he would have done something ill-advised.
Smashed something irreplaceable. Followed Chase home.
Flown to whatever Midwestern town his beta’s parents were hiding in and set their expensive house on fire.
Just as an example.
But instead Killian was drunk and chaperoned and full of frustration and regret.
It hadn’t been the right time to push Chase.
Killian had known that, even as he’d done it.
But he hadn’t been able to bear it—that calm, stone-faced decision to deny their relationship to Chase’s parents.
It had been too many steps back after not enough steps forward.
The straw that had broken Killian’s lovesick back.
“You’re too quiet over there,” Devon complained from his spot in Killian’s best armchair. “What tragic things are you thinking about?”
Killian rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. He was sprawled on his back on his living room floor, and if Chase could see him—under different circumstances, of course—Killian knew the exact shade of quiet amusement that would paint his beta’s face at the sight.
“I still can’t believe he hesitated, with how gone he seemed over you,” Prince mused unhelpfully from his own horizontal position on Killian’s couch.
“He has these walls,” Killian told him, setting his glass on his chest, more than ready to expound on the subject.
“Oh my god,” Devon groaned. “Enough about the goddamn walls. We heard you the first hundred times.”
Killian frowned at the ceiling. The walls were important, so he didn’t know why Devon was being an asshole about them.
“He doesn’t know how to be loved, I don’t think.
Doesn’t know how to ask for it,” he finally said, and he must not have repeated that one quite as often, because his words were met with a respectful silence.
It wasn’t exactly right, but it was close.
Chase allowed certain gestures of affection, some of them more easily than others.
The physical sort was of course always allowed, as well as Killian’s favorite, commanding sort of care—shared baths and hearty meals and quality time that he kept sneakily expanding.
But not … declarations, aside from specific praise that was very of the moment.
Killian could tell Chase he was a good boy, that he was a perfect fuckhole, but not that he wanted to cherish him for the rest of his life. Apparently.
What Killian should have done was tire him out first. He should have gotten Chase spent and comfortable and content, faced away from Killian in his arms—eye contact could be hard for Chase during these types of conversation—and then approached the subject.
But he hadn’t. And Chase was gone. Back to his other alphas.
“Except those friends of his,” Killian amended, aware that he sounded unbearably morose. “He lets them love him.”
“Well, it’s different with friends,” Prince said, waving a hand to encompass the room. “Fewer expectations, you know. Easier.”
Killian supposed Prince knew something about that; he hadn’t had a particularly happy childhood himself.
Devon groaned again. “It’s becoming contagious, I can hear it in Prince’s voice—you’re both getting maudlin now. It’s time for us to go.”
And maybe to someone else, that announcement would have seemed unkind. But Killian’s friends had let him ramble and mope for hours, and forcing him to get some rest might have been the kindest thing they could do now.
And maybe Devon was also right about the timing, because Killian’s eyes had shut at some point, and it was surprisingly difficult to get them back open.
He couldn’t sleep though. Chase was gone. He had to stay awake to remember that.
Killian kept blinking up at the ceiling as he felt someone pry the whiskey bottle out of his hand. And then there was a determined sort of rummaging sound from somewhere, but Killian didn’t bother to look.
He’d scared his beta away. What if he never got him back?
An eternity later, Killian heard the telltale sounds of Devon tugging Prince off the couch. Prince wasn’t drunk—not like Killian—but he was quite lazy when he got comfortable somewhere.
“I’ve hidden your liquor,” Devon told Killian.
Or at least, Killian presumed Devon was talking to him, since it was Killian’s house they were in.
“Don’t want you drinking yourself into a coma.
We’re off to the club to rid ourselves of the scent of your despair.
Prince is going to lure some unsuspecting soul into his sadistic clutches with his kind eyes and easy smile, and I’m going to—well, you know. ”
“Make a pretty omega cry?” Killian answered for him.
“Precisely.”
And then it was Killian who was getting tugged off the floor. Firm hands led him to his bedroom, then pushed him gently into bed. Warm lips pressed to Killian’s forehead—a kiss, how nice—and then Devon told him, “Don’t go doing anything stupid. We’ll check on you in the morning.”
Killian was asleep before he heard the front door close.
Killian woke up with a pounding behind his temples and a mouth drier than the desert he lived in.
That was what he got for turning to whiskey when he was this close to forty—his body was rebelling in the aftermath, as it fucking should.
Killian let himself wallow in the physical torment for a few minutes—a decent distraction from any other kind of torment that might be lying in wait under this heaviness in his chest—before gingerly turning his head and searching for his phone on his nightstand.
There was a glass of water there. Devon’s doing, no doubt. Killian made himself chug it down before checking his texts.
There was already a new one on the group message with Devon and Prince.
Devon: We’re giving you until noon to suffer. If we don’t hear from you by then, we’re coming over with something greasy to revive you.
Killian sent a quick text back.
Killian: Alive. But you should’ve hidden the whiskey earlier.
He couldn’t help but check his messages with Chase. As if somehow he might have missed one.
But there was only the one from the night before. The last one.
Chase: Home safe.
Killian hadn’t responded. Because he’d said he wouldn’t, and even drunk and rambling to his friends, he’d known better than to go back on his word so quickly. Because he’d said he’d wait, and that meant not making the first move.
And yet there was some inner, instinctual part of him that was already rebelling.
Fuck that, it whispered. Get him. Bite him. Claim him.
That part of Killian insisted Chase was his. He’d shared a rut with the boy. He’d knotted him again and again. They were mates, bite mark or no.
Killian understood suddenly why Eli had counseled him to go slow, despite having no evidence of Killian doing otherwise. This was why so many people were still wary of alphas. Because they could be demanding, possessive assholes. Some might even argue it was in their very natures.
But that wasn’t what Chase needed from Killian right now. It wasn’t what he deserved. He deserved to be given space to think about what he wanted. He deserved to be given what he’d asked for—namely, time.
The key was for Killian to keep his cool and not fuck it up by getting all aggravated. Nothing had ended. It was only a pause.
So Killian didn’t text Chase demanding an update. Didn’t ask, How did you sleep? Or, Are you in love with me yet?
Instead, he hauled his tired, sad body out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, where he brushed the awful taste out of his mouth and got the shower started, turning the taps to blistering hot and stepping under the spray.
Killian used his own shampoo because Chase had never left anything else for him to use instead. Because Killian had always liked Chase smelling like him and only him. But now that meant there was no scent of Chase in his house. No lingering pheromones. No special soap.
Only Killian’s leather and cherry, bitter and heavy.
When had the situation transformed from sex with someone Killian couldn’t resist to this all-consuming thing?
It had been a steady, unassuming encroachment, he was pretty sure. Much like Chase himself. The way he just … fit. In Killian’s house. In Killian’s life.
The way he made Killian laugh without trying. The way he made him softer and sweeter than Killian was used to being. The way he made him want to be a real partner in a way Killian hadn’t wanted to be in a really long time. Possibly ever, given his history.
Killian should have said those things. He should have said more than the incredibly insufficient phrase, “I have very intense feelings for you.”
Very intense feelings? What did that even mean?
Ah, fuck, Killian was going to mope all day, wasn’t he?
He shut the shower off, rubbing himself dry with a towel before returning to his bedroom.
He had a text waiting on his phone. Not from Chase, but from Devon again.
Devon: Remember. Nothing stupid.
Killian wished he felt like he didn’t need the reminder.