Chapter 21 Deirdre
Deirdre
“There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him who, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a Plunge.” Edgar Allan Poe
Kieran’s touch lingers long after the sharp edge of release has faded.
His hands move slowly and deliberately across my skin.
Somehow, he ends up pulling me into his lap as he sits in his chair.
He has me cradled in his arms, my face is flushed, and my body relaxed as if I am melting into his.
He covers me with his jacket when he notices the goosebumps prickling along my arms.
“Better?” he murmurs, lips brushing the crown of my head.
Too relaxed to open my eyes, I hum, “Better doesn’t even cover it.”
His chest rumbles with a quiet laugh, and his fingers keep tracing lazy circles at the small of my back. There was no rush in him now. No demand. Just the quiet weight of his presence, grounding me in a way that almost made me forget how much had been broken these past few weeks.
Almost.
“Stay still,” he whispers, when I try to shift, his voice more a command than a request. “Let me hold you a little longer.”
So I do. I nudge my face up against his chest, breathing him in—the faint cologne on his skin, the lingering heat between us, the steady rhythm of his heart under my ear.
He threads his fingers through my hair, smoothing it back from my damp forehead.
His touch is gentle where it had been fierce minutes ago.
This moment we shared should have been enough. But beneath the glow, beneath the calm, there still lies a restless pulse I cannot ignore. Trevor’s shadow still lingers, no matter how hard I want to bury myself in Kieran and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist.
I shift slightly, propping my chin on his chest so his face comes into view. His eyes are softer now, the steel edge dulled by the tenderness he rarely lets anyone else see. This gentleness is what gives me the courage to bring up such a dark subject for us.
“Kieran?”
His hand stills against my back as he hums, “Hmmm?”
I bite my lip, unsure how to pull us from this cocoon of warmth into the storm that waits surrounding this subject. But the words press me further anyway. “What are we going to do about Trevor?”
For a moment, he doesn’t speak. His jaw noticeably tightens, eyes darkening, but he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he shifts me upright, tugging me into his lap as if he needs me closer to face the conversation.
His thumb brushes absently over my hip before he finally reaches for his jacket, fishing something from the inside pocket.
“I wasn’t going to show you yet,” he admits, holding the folded paper between us. “But you asked.”
I take it from him, hands trembling slightly, and unfold it. A credit card statement. My breath catches when my eyes land on the name. Trevor.
My stomach twists.
The date. The charge. A local hotel. The night I was attacked.
I force myself to look up, confused. “He…he actually used his own card?”
Kieran’s mouth ticks upward, unamused. “Not exactly subtle, is he? But don’t mistake carelessness for stupidity. He thought he was untouchable, hiding in plain sight.
“Even though we knew who was behind it, Vincent wanted proof that there were no other possible attackers before I went after him.” He gives a low chuckle, though it was rough around the edges. “Vincent, my own little conscience.”
Despite myself, a small, shaky laugh slips out. “He’s like your very own Geppetto.”
Kieran relaxes, and for a moment, I let myself breathe. There it is—physical evidence. The confirmation I needed.
Relief begins to thread through me, but it lasts only seconds. Kieran’s phone buzzes against the desk, vibrating like a warning. He glances at it, then hands it to me without a word.
A message from Vincent with an attached file.
Vincent: Lease papers. Trevor’s name is on them. He’s renting out Deirdre’s old house.
My chest suddenly feels like someone shoved their fist inside, grabbed hold of my heart, and started twisting. I sat up, trying to make it easier to breathe.
My old house.
My father’s house.
For a second, my chest heaves, my breaths come out in shallow, quick huffs.
Images hit me all at once—the creak of the back porch steps in the summer, the kitchen that always smelled faintly of coffee and engine oil because Dad never came in from the garage without both, the worn banister where I used to drag my hand on my way upstairs.
That house wasn’t just walls and a roof.
It was him. It was every scrap of safety I’d ever known before Trevor poisoned everything.
And now Trevor is living there as if to take the one last thing from me that I hold dear.
My throat felt like razor blades. The edges of those memories warping into something sharp and jagged, rage fusing with grief until it is hard to tell them apart.
He has already taken so much—my safety, my peace, years of my life.
And now he is clawing at the one place that still tethers me to my father.
My sacred childhood home is now desecrated and covered in filth.
I begin to feel myself hyperventilate as the air leaves my lungs.
For a second, I can only stare at the screen, the words blurring.
And then everything hits me all at once—shock giving way to something hotter, darker.
Anger sears through me, so hot it makes my hands shake as I shove the phone back at Kieran.
“He’s in my father’s house?” My voice cracks, ragged and raw all at once. “He took that too?”
Kieran’s hand closes around mine, steady and firm, even as his eyes burn with the same fury that courses through me. “Not for long.”
My tears feel like acid as they prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away, refusing to let grief drown out the fire clawing inside me. Trevor has stolen enough from me.
“He’s going to pay,” I whisper, my voice low but gaining strength. “Every single thing he’s taken…he’s going to pay for it.”
Kieran squeezes my hand, his gaze locks with mine, fierce and reassuring. “He will. I promise you that.”
The quiet between us stretches, tense and thick, until the thought I’ve been holding back claws its way up. My chest tightens, and I push myself off his lap and sit back onto his desk, looking down at Kieran. His perceptive eyes catch mine immediately.
“Kieran…” My voice cracks before I can help it. I swallow hard. “We need to go after him. We need to find Trevor.”
His jaw ticks, giving way to the faintest sign of tension. “Deirdre…”
“No.” My voice rises, anger flaring through the frustration. “He did this to me. He’s out there, walking around like nothing happened, while I—” My voice cuts off, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “He deserves whatever we have planned for him. He deserves worse.”
Kieran leans forward in his desk chair, bracing his arm across his bent knee, watching me with that calm intensity that only makes my frustration burn hotter.
“We will find him,” he says, voice low and certain. “But not today. We wait until the right time. The semester just started. Eyes are already on us. If we move too soon, we risk everything, and I am not risking you.”
I bite my lip, trying to cage the fire building in my chest.
He’s right. I know he’s right. I press my lips together, torn between the fury I feel and the stubborn truth in his words. He always finds a way to temper my fire with reason, even when I want to scream.
“We’ll wait,” he says again, almost like a stern reminder, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. “And when the time is right, I’ll make sure he pays.”
I swallow, forcing myself to breathe past the ache in my chest. “Promise me, Kieran.”
His eyes darken, his gaze unwavering. “On my life.”
The moment stretches, thick with tension neither of us can dissolve. Then he exhales, glances at his watch, and curses under his breath. “I have a meeting with Sheridan in an hour.”
That one sentence brings everything crashing down.
I blink, almost startled by the intrusion of the real world.
“And you,” he adds, rising from the chair and tugging his shirt back into place, “need to meet Claire at Starbucks before your next class. Don’t keep her waiting—she’ll tear me apart if you do.”
Despite myself, a small laugh escapes me, cutting through the heaviness. He smirks, but his hand lingers on my hip, reluctant to let me go.
And I realize, whether it’s Sheridan or Trevor or the whole damn university against us, neither of us will face this alone.
Starbucks is louder than usual, but the scent of nutty coffee almost relieves the anxiety in my shoulders.
The small cafe is packed with students who have returned from break and are easing into the chaos of the first day.
The hiss of espresso machines competes with the buzz of conversation, laughter, and the occasional shuffle of chairs.
Outside, the courtyard is alive with color—scarves and coats against the dull gray of January—students lugging suitcases, hugging old friends, or ducking inside to escape the cold.
I spot Claire immediately, already staked out at a corner table with a latte in one hand and her phone in the other. She waves at me like I’m late to my own party.
“Took you long enough,” she teases, pushing an extra chair out with her foot as I approach. “What’d he do? Chain you to the podium for extra credit grading?”
I roll my eyes, tugging off my coat as I slide into the chair. “Not even close.”
Claire leans forward, chin propped in her hand, eyes gleaming. “Okay, so what was it then? Did he take you over the desk again? Why did you keep me waiting?”
“Claire,” I warn, but I can’t keep the smile off my face.
“What?!” she protests, laughing. “It’s the first day, and I didn’t even get to share a class with you. It’s pure torture. You’re the lucky one, you get front-row tickets to the Kieran McKnight Show.”
I swat her arm across the table, but she just laughs harder.
“I’m his TA,” I say, lowering my voice. “We’re being professional.”
“Professional,” she echoes, dragging the word out with a grin. “Yeah, that’ll last about five minutes.”
“Claire!”
She bursts out laughing, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll behave.”
She takes a sip of her latte, then squints at me. “But…you’ve got that look. Like your brain’s somewhere else entirely.”
I falter, staring down at the swirl of foam in my cup. She knows me too well.
“Deirdre?”
I exhale, deciding to tell her. “Kieran showed me proof. About Trevor.”
Her playful expression drops instantly. “What kind of proof?”
“A credit card statement. The night I was attacked, he used his card at a hotel nearby. And now…” My throat tightens. “He’s renting out my old house. The one my family took after Dad died and I left.”
Claire’s jaw actually drops. “Wait—what? You’re serious?”
I nod, feeling the heat of anger rise in me again. “He’s not even careful. Like, he doesn’t care if we know. He’s walking around free, like nothing happened, and it’s driving me insane. I want him to pay.”
Claire leans back, dragging her hands over her face. “God, Deirdre…that’s insane. And creepy as hell. Him being in your house? That’s twisted.”
“I know,” I whisper, my nails biting into the cardboard sleeve of my cup. “It feels like he’s taunting me. And I can’t just sit here. If I do nothing, he wins.”
Claire sets her coffee cup down on the table, and her eyes fix on me with a sharp look. “Okay, but let’s get one thing straight. You’re not storming off to face him alone. That’s how people end up as true-crime documentaries.”
“Trust me, Kieran won’t let that happen.” A bitter laugh escapes me, but my chest still feels heavy. “I just…I hate waiting. I want him gone.”
Claire softens then, sliding her foot against mine under the table. “It’s only temporary. Kieran wants to keep you safe. That’s his first priority.”
Her words ease some of the tightness in my chest, but the fire in me doesn’t dim.
Trevor’s out there.
And every second he breathes free feels like a betrayal.