Chapter 9 - Cillian #2
“Amber—” he began, but she had already raced out of the library. He listened, motionless, as they hurried up the stairs. A moment later, he heard a door slam shut overhead.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d fucked up. He’d let his impulsivity get the better of him—again. If he hadn’t reacted so strongly, if he had taken a moment to think about everything, he might have been able to talk to her rationally. Maybe she wouldn’t have wilted the way she had.
For the next couple of hours, his frustration ebbed until all he could think about was that defeated look she’d had at the end of their conversation, the way the fight he had always admired had disappeared as though it had been snuffed out—as though he had snuffed it out.
That image lingered in his head for the rest of the evening.
Eventually, he couldn’t fight the urge any longer.
He marched up the stairs to Amber’s room.
He hesitated a moment before knocking on the door. There was a long pause, and he wondered if she was going to tell him to leave. He wouldn’t have blamed her.
“It’s open,” Amber called.
When he cracked open the door, he saw Amber pushing herself to a seated position from where she lay on the bed, her laptop next to her.
She regarded him with cautious eyes as he stepped into the room, her lips a thin line, her shoulders tight, as if she were expecting more fighting.
She pushed back some of her strawberry-blond hair, mussed from where her head had rested against her pillow, and waited in silence.
“What’s up?” she asked when he still didn’t say anything.
He opened his mouth to say what he had come to say, but the words wouldn’t come at first. “How are you doing?” he finally managed to ask.
She shrugged, not looking at him. “Fine,” she murmured.
It didn’t take a genius to recognize that she was anything but fine. She looked listless. There was a robotic quality to her voice that only intensified the guilt that had been growing all day.
He sighed. “Look, I came to apologize.”
She blinked, her brow furrowing. “What?” she asked, as if he had spoken in gibberish.
“I came to apologize,” he repeated. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I’m just trying to keep you safe, but I should have gone about it a better way. Instead, I just turned into a massive asshole.”
Amber stared at him, some of that hostility and caution radiating off her, ebbing. Her eyes softened. She was still guarded, but not as much as before.
“You’re right,” she said. “You were an asshole.”
He smirked. There was that fire he had always liked, and he liked that she was calling him out for being an idiot. At his smirk, the tension in her shoulders released even more, and she gave an easier grin, though a barrier still lingered between them, walls she had built.
He let out a low breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “If you want to spend time with your friends, I’m not going to stop you,” he said. “But at least be careful, all right?”
“Yeah, of course,” she said.
He nodded. “Good. I’m sorry again.”
Amber glanced at him, then away, then back to him. She gnawed her lip, as if trying to figure out exactly what she wanted to say. Cillian waited silently.
“What made you change your mind?” she finally asked.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’m just surprised you changed your mind, that’s all,” she said. She hesitated for the briefest of moments as if considering her next words carefully. “I’m not used to guys admitting their mistakes.”
“I’ll admit when I’ve been a colossal idiot,” he said.
“I won’t when I think I’m right. This time, I was wrong.
” He paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts.
“I want you to know, though, that it was because I want to keep you safe. I’m going to be overprotective of you until all of this blows over. ”
“In that case, if you could catch Eric as soon as possible, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
He chuckled. “I’m doing my best. I’ll rest easier when that jackass is behind bars.”
Or dead in the ground, he thought, though he kept that to himself. He didn’t want to admit that was what he’d prefer. He didn’t want to put Amber more on edge around him while she was already so cautious and guarded. She didn’t need to see that darker part of him.
“You and me both,” she muttered.
“Why did you back down?”
Her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I asked,” he said. “You just sort of gave up. After the fight that I’ve seen in you at times, I hadn’t expected you to just sort of cave like that.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes went glassy, a distant look glazing over them.
He waited, surprised when he realized that he desperately needed to know the answer.
He wanted to understand her on a deeper level.
He wanted to decipher her. He had never felt that way about anyone before, but something about her made him want to understand every facet of her.
Whatever her answer was would give him some insight into her, would make her a little less vague around the edges.
But then, after a moment, she shrugged. “I just wasn’t in the mood for a fight, I guess.”
Frowning, he considered her. Something told him that she wasn’t being entirely honest. He had tried to make her happy, to make her feel welcome, to make her feel like this was a safe space. However, she still kept that barrier between them.
“You just didn’t seem like the kind of person to give up like that,” he said.
He thought back to the woman he had trained at the gym, the banter and the sharp tongue that he’d liked even back then, even with their scant handful of exchanges.
That woman he knew wouldn’t have backed down the way she had. At least, he wouldn’t have expected it.
Trust me when I tell you she’s about as docile as they come after some correction.
Eric’s words echoed through his mind. Had Eric really done that much to her in such a short time?
Amber shrugged. “Does it matter?” she asked flatly. “I mean, it’s over now. There’s no reason to fight about it any longer. I think we can just put it behind us and move on.”
“Amber,” he said, “I want you to feel comfortable around me. You don’t need to tiptoe or pretend that everything’s all right. Trust me, I know a thing or two about hiding your real feelings. I know how easy it is to do. But I don’t want you to have to do that in your own house.”
“It’s not my house, though,” she said, and that fighting spirit he admired reemerged. “It’s yours.”
Then the fight died again. She glanced away. “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Cillian shook his head. “No, you were perfectly fine to say it,” he said. “But I hope that you think differently someday. I want you to like it here, and I want you to feel at home.”
She gave a strained, uneasy smile and glanced away. “We’ll see,” she said.