EXTRA CENE
KIERAN
Kieran heard the thump coming from one of the rooms in the new apartment.
He dropped the tape on the kitchen counter and walked out into the hallway, where he found Rila standing in front of a box that had landed on the floor with the solemnity of a cement block.
She had her arms crossed, looking at the box with that expression he knew very well. The right eyebrow slightly higher than the left and the angled jaw set somewhere between irritation and determination. It was the same expression Rila used when a case she was studying tested her patience.
— Do you need help? — he asked.
— I am fine.
— You're looking at the box as if it has offended you.
— It weighs three times what it should — Rila didn't look away from the box — That's offensive.
Kieran didn't respond, he just walked over, assessed the size of the box and lifted it. It was heavy, indeed — filled to the brim with books, the tape almost sagging in the middle — but nothing that was a real problem.
— Where does it go?
— At the office, I'll organize the bookshelf later.
Behind him, he heard her move back into the living room, and that simple noise — her footsteps moving through the apartment as if it were a place he'd known for years — made something tighten inside his chest in a way that wasn't discomfort.
It was the opposite of that.
That afternoon, with the apartment in chaos and Rila in the middle of it all, he found himself stopping to watch her more times than he should have. It was hard not to.
There was something about her movements that left him mesmerized.
The determined way in which she approached each box, read what was written with that furrowed eyebrow, and then decided, on her own, what to do with it.
Rila Hill didn't ask for help unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then there was a little internal battle before the question came out. He had known this for years.
What he didn't know, or rather what he was still learning to measure, was how much that meant.
Her being there and her things mixing with his.
The medical books overflowing from another box next to the hockey equipment he had promised to keep in the hallway closet and hadn't yet done.
Her lab coat sharing the same closet as his hockey uniform.
For years, Kieran kept the version of her that fit two weeks of winter. Afterwards, he spent six years with longing and regret.
Now her things were scattered across the floor of the apartment they bought together and there was no end date for it.
Two hours later, the apartment still looked like the result of a controlled explosion, but at least the essentials had an address.
The bed was made, the refrigerator had the basics, and the two of them had reached a tacit agreement that the couch could be on the wrong wall for now because neither of them had the energy to argue about it anymore.
They were sitting on the living room floor. Kieran with his back resting on one of the boxes, his legs stretched out and Rila in the middle of them, leaning against his chest.
— Do we have food? — she asked.
— There's some leftover pizza in the fridge.
— From when?
— Yesterday.
— It’ll have to work.
Neither of them moved. Maybe because of tiredness, maybe because of the comfort of the position. He couldn't care less about his stomach begging for food, not when he had his girl in his arms.
Kieran looked at the apartment. To the boxes, to the old Bruins t-shirt that Rila had unceremoniously put on when the shirt she was wearing got dirty. The t-shirt that belonged to him, which she took from her suitcase without asking, with the ease he loved.
He noticed everything.
He always noticed when it came to Rila, ever since they were children and she appeared at the lake with her beige coat and that determined expression.
The difference was that before he noticed and kept it, because keeping it was the only thing he could do when two weeks was all they had. But now, he noticed and stayed.
It was a small distinction to any outsider. For him, it was huge.
— Rila — she turned her face, lifting it slightly so that her dark eyes met his — I'm very happy that we're doing this.
Simple. True.
— Me too — the brunette replied after a few seconds. Two words and no caveat at the end.
Rila stretched a little, just enough for their mouths to come together in a calm and long kiss, which soon deepened.
Kieran responded slowly, one of his hands running up the side of your neck until it wrapped around the black strands. He lightly pulled her ponytail back, tilting her face until he was able to deepen the kiss the way he wanted.
— Hey — she murmured against his mouth when she broke contact, her voice huskier than before — We should be cleaning up this mess.
— Tomorrow.
—Tomorrow — she agreed with the same speed, and Kieran had to hold back a smile.
He moved them until he was able to lay her carefully against the floor, his forearm cushioning her descent, and she let him do it with an ease that still surprised him — Rila Hill letting someone else take care of her was something he never took for granted.
Kieran studied her for a second — her slightly red cheeks, her heavy breathing, and the Bruins t-shirt that belonged to him and that she had worn hours before without asking permission. There was nothing in that image that he didn't want to commit to memory.
— You're staring — Rila raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
— I am.
— Why?
Because you're wearing my t-shirt, lying on the floor of our apartment and my heart doesn't know what to do with it.
He didn't say it out loud. Instead, he lowered his head and pressed his lips against her neck, feeling her pulse racing beneath his mouth.
Rila let out a low moan and wrapped her fingers in the fabric of her shirt, kneading it as he trailed his mouth down the curve of her neck to her collarbone, his hand running down the side of her body from her shoulder to her hip.
He knew every inch of that body, but he still took as long as he wanted because he never lost the desire to get to know her again. She caught her breath when he reached the area below her belly button, his fingers stroking the edge of her sweatpants.
Kieran slid the pants and panties down her legs and ran his hands up her thighs, his thumbs drawing slow circles on the inside.
He bowed his head and ran his lips along the same path his hands had taken, his beard brushing against the soft skin and leaving a red mark that he followed with his tongue. Rila twisted her fingers in her hair, her grip tightening as she got closer to her center.
When he finally touched her where she wanted him, the sound she made was enough that he had to remember to breathe.
He took her slowly. With his tongue and his fingers, paying attention to every sound and every time she pulled his hair or her thighs tried to close around his face. Rila fought the pleasure and gave in to it at the same time.
— Shit — she cursed, her hips lifting off the ground before he placed his hand flat on her abdomen and held her in place — Kieran, please.
He gave it a few more seconds just because he could, because she was completely dismantled and that version of Rila was one of the few things in the world that left him without any reasoning.
Then he complied with her request.
When it fit, the two were quiet for a moment. Her eyes met his, and there was something there that went beyond the physical. The knowledge that that apartment, that mess of boxes around it, that entire afternoon, was the beginning of their forever.
Outside, the world went on and people in Boston went on with their lives. Inside that apartment full of boxes that still had no place, Kieran Ward finally had everything he needed.
It was enough. Rila was more than enough, she was his entire world.