Chapter 3 Kat
Kat
Seeing the two of them together is surreal. Reed … and most notably Cillian. My heart is all sorts of crushed yet still able to beat. Furiously and nervously at the same time. With my fingers numb and barely able to breathe, I watch, unable to say a word.
Although I grimace as Cill stumbles and my chest flips with an ache. My Cillian. My rock and my ride or die … he’s a shell of the man he used to be.
He’s still handsome and every bit of how I remember him …
but four years in prison aged him, obviously so.
He doesn’t seem to have slept a bit, given that darkness under his eyes.
He’s more than toned now. The muscles that ripple in his shoulders and down his arms pull at the cotton of his shirt as his leather jacket falls to the floor.
Sexy and sinful … but there’s a brokenness that’s undeniable. Even as he attempted to hide it when I opened the door, I felt it. In the very marrow of my bones, my body ached in mourning of what’s become of him.
I always knew him to be deadly and brooding even, but this is a different brokenness.
It takes everything in me not to gather him up myself and let out these sobs.
It’s been a year since I’ve seen him and that year must have been hell.
Regret pulls my gaze away as Reed mutters, “Come on. You’re drunk,” yet again.
Judging by Reed’s scowl, he’s on the verge of pulling Cill out of my house by the arm and back to his truck.
I should let him do it. This whole thing—Cill staying with me after his release, no warning—it shouldn’t be happening.
No one has the right to show up at my house and demand to stay with me.
But I know I’ll never forgive myself if I let this happen.
Cill is in no state to go anywhere else. He’s drunk, and there’s a darkness in his eyes that scares me because I don’t think he’s able to hold back a single thing. It also begs me to comfort him.
My fingers itch at my side and as they do, Lydia tugs at my arm and silently mouths the word no as if she could read my mind.
I hate everything about this moment.
The tension between the four of us is so thick it makes my heart pound. Reed’s about to get physical with him. Drag him out of here, back to his truck.
“You shouldn’t even be driving,” I tell Reed without looking at him, my arms crossed as I sink back into the chair, Lydia standing as if she’s my warden by my side.
Reed mutters, “I’m not driving.”
“You drove here,” I bite back and peek up at him, but he’s still focused on Cill.
“I’ll walk home. I needed to drop him off. But we’ll both leave now.” Both leave. My heart stalls in protest and everything goes cold.
“No,” Cill states with finality.
Cill’s hardly spoken to me but I could easily hear the slight slur in his voice, and I can barely look him in the eye. I have no idea what Reed told him about me. I don’t know what Cill knows. Which only intensifies the betrayal that overwhelms me.
Two drunk men, four years of hell for all of us, and a stubborn man who doesn’t know what’s good for him anymore … shit.
This is going to turn into a fight. It’s an invitation for the cops to get nosy. Cill doesn’t need that. I don’t need that.
“Let him go and head home,” I tell Reed. “You can come back for your truck in the morning.”
“You sure about this, because—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish as Cill interrupts. “I’ll go upstairs,” he says, then clears his throat and the cords in his neck tighten as he swallows, “and you walk home. She’s right.”
Cill shakes off Reed’s arm and balances himself on the banister. My God, the pull I feel to him as he closes his eyes and steadies his breath.
Reed tosses Cill’s duffle bag toward the foot of the stairs, nodding. Lydia offers him a ride, which he rejects and then he and I share a look. One that brings that ache back tenfold.
“Come on,” I say and open the door for Reed. I shoo him away, but I stand on the porch and make sure he doesn’t drive. I don’t think Reed is as drunk as Cill, but he definitely shouldn’t be behind the wheel.
When he’s gone, I shut the door and lock it, then push the deadbolt shut and set the code too. I can feel Cill standing behind me. His very presence is throwing heat into the room.
So for a long moment, I keep my back to him, doing everything I can to not tremble and keep my composure.
Lydia shuffling around in the kitchen is the only thing I can hear.
I wish the creak of the stairs would tell me Cillian’s doing what he said he would, but he’s not.
When I turn, he’s right where he was before but fully turned around, his light blue gaze focused right on me.
Those big, wounded puppy dog eyes don’t match the brutality of this man in the least.
A cabinet opens and then closes to the left of us.
Lydia’s lingering in the kitchen to give us space, I bet, and I’m glad she did. I can’t have this moment with Cill in front of anyone else. Not her. Not Reed.
“I think I might be drunk, Hellcat,” he rumbles and his lips kick up into an asymmetrical smile I’ve missed. All of that apprehension vanishes and it’s something else that forces me forward, one step at a time.
Hearing that nickname in his voice, drunk and scratchy and tired, makes me go weak in the knees.
My response is gentle and somehow comes out even. “You should probably go to bed, then.” Standing a safe three feet away from him, I cross my arms over my chest to keep my hands where they are. His gaze drops, making note of it. A sad smile on his face is all I’m given.
I swallow thickly and head up the stairs to the second floor, past him, my arm brushing against his. And when we touch, my God, that small touch. My eyes close and I breathe in deep, quickening my pace when I hear the stairs creaking behind me with his weight.
A narrow hall leads to a bedroom in the back. Cill appears beside me with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder. He looks at the room. The bed. The window. It’s not much, but enough for a guest to be comfortable.
“You want me to go somewhere else?” he asks again.
“No,” I say and my answer is firm even if it is just a whisper between us. I don’t need any time to think about it. It surprises me how much I mean it. I don’t want him to go anywhere else.
“Stay here,” I tell him and back up when he takes a half step forward. “You’re drunk tonight,” I explain as his arm drops to his side. “Tomorrow.” I say the word like it’s a promise.
With a nod and a hint of that asymmetric smile, he repeats, “Tomorrow.”
“Good night, Cill.”
“Good night, Hellcat.”
I almost give in. I almost recklessly go to him. Even with every logical thought that’s guarding my heart, part of me wants to feel his lips on mine again more than the rest of me wants to confess my sins and tell him what happened.
But in the end, I pull the door closed.
The act pulls on strings I’d rather stay still. I only hold it together then and there to tell Lydia she can go home if she wants. She only hesitates a moment.
My hands tingle with anticipation as I climb the stairs, my heart thumping with every step.
Before going to my room, I check on Cill’s but the door is closed and I don’t have it in me to open it.
My own bed feels empty in a way it never has before.
My body craves to be wrapped around Cill, but my fingers tangle in my hair instead. There’s so much to tell him and each line runs wild in my mind. There’s so much I already should have told him.
Sleep evades me. The thought of him down the hall, alone under the covers, is too much. It keeps me awake.
I toss and turn, the sheets uncomfortably tight and all wrong. Every time I glance at the clock, it’s only been ten minutes and yet hours tick by. And then another. All the while I stare at my bedroom door.
Should I go to him? I don’t even know if Cill would want that. Even if he did right now, he may not after we talk.
Time changes everything.
Tears form at the corners of my eyes and I brush them away, struggling to hold on to my sanity. It’s difficult not to dwell on the negatives, the thoughts that keep me wide awake. Instead, I think about what used to be. How at one point, I thought all we had left was our happily ever after.
With the memories playing back like a movie, sleep comes and goes in short spurts.
Dreams tempt me and they show me how it once was when we first got together.
Morning comes all too soon with a stubborn alarm and tired, reddened eyes.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I smack the clock, hating that I didn’t turn it off last night. Six a.m. is far too early and puts me at only three hours of restless sleep at most.
Still, I don’t bother to stay under the sheets.
As soon as I remember—Cill’s here—I’m out of the bed, my bare feet on the cold wooden floor. It’s not far to his room, but when I get there the door is wide open. I know what that means before I step through the threshold.
My palms are clammy as I steady my breathing.
He’s not there.
With a quick check in the bathroom only to find nothing, I head downstairs. I rush down, taking the stairs two at a time. The house is quiet around me. When I don’t see him, I call out his name and it echoes in the empty house.
He’s not here either. I circle the living room to look for signs of him. There are none. He didn’t sit on the couch, or pull the throw blanket over his legs.
Swallowing thickly, I do everything I can to shake off the uncertainty.
I don’t know why I care so much. He spent one night in my house, and it’s not like there would be plenty of evidence that he was here. As the heat of panic creeps up my arms, I just need some proof. Some little thing to say Cill’s really back home and last night wasn’t a dream. He was here with me.
As I head to the living room to grab my phone that’s charging, ready to text Lydia, I see the note.
A slim piece of paper from the notepad I use to make grocery lists. He didn’t leave me with nothing after all.
It’s from Cill.
I have to take care of a few things.
Like getting a phone …
I’ll call you and I’ll see you tonight.
If you need anything, or you need me, call Reed.
Six years ago
A younger version of Cill, only seventeen years old, leaned over the pool table.
Shot after shot, he cleared the table with ease.
He was a shark even then. I remember thinking he probably learned how to play from his dad, but I didn’t care about that.
All I cared about was how hot he looked in the dim lights of the rec room.
He wore a tight black T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms. Sinking a ball into one of the pockets, easy as can be, he looked up at me.
A smirk immediately met his lips. He didn’t disguise how much he wanted me and I didn’t attempt to hide anything either.
He let his eyes linger on my face for a long time, until I blushed.
Our fathers were doing business upstairs. They did that a lot and left the two of us alone. I met Cill’s father before I met Cill. He told me more than once he thought Cill and I would get along well. Which is probably why my father never brought me to the MC club … until that night.
“You want to play?” Cill asked.
“I don’t know how.”
“Bullshit.” He grinned at me and every inch of me went hot. “You’re Angelo’s daughter. You trying to hustle me?” My teeth caught my lower lip, although it didn’t help hide my smile. “Little con artist, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” I picked at the torn jeans I wore.
“What were you going to bet me, then?” I blushed deeper, imagining all the things I could say if I had the courage. “’Cause I was going to bet you a kiss.”
“If you won, you wanted a kiss from me?” I questioned him. The idea of Cill wanting a kiss from me was like winning the lottery. Even if it never happened, that didn’t matter. He wanted a kiss from me, and I could barely breathe with how excited that made me.
I knew he could tell. I wasn’t very good at hiding anything. His growing smile forced away any insecurity I had.
Unfortunately, it didn’t last for long.
Both our fathers clattered down the stairs at that moment, their voices coming into the rec room ahead of them.
I didn’t get to hear Cill’s answer, if he gave me one.
I fell in love with him in that moment. I never stood a chance.
He was sexy and sinful … but charming and easy in a way I’d never felt before.
There was an attraction I couldn’t deny on my side and he wanted me back. Nothing was ever going to top that.
Nothing.