44. 44
Harlow
“Good morning,” Killian says when I wake up beside him — in bed.
“You’re a master manipulator,” I scold. “I don’t know how you do it to me.”
He returns that uneven smile that makes my heart race faster. “Last night was all you.”
“I needed that control, but it wasn’t all me. Could you have taken that knife?”
“We’ll never know.”
“I’m serious, Killian. I need you to—”
“Behave.”
“Yes. Do you actually understand that?”
“You made it painfully clear.” His hands cover his groin. “You won’t need the knife anymore.”
I lift my brow, skeptical, but deep down, only time will tell.
“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he adds and kisses my shoulder, warm and gentle.
I sigh and shrug because I am still defensive. I have not wrapped my head around everything this maniac did since I met him. Most of it, I had zero clue.
“Nothing is forgiven. Nothing. But it is kind of sweet how much you love me.”
“Kind of?”
“Okay. It’s really sweet. Although, I horribly underestimated how little you respected boundaries.”
“I was taking care of you,” he disregards. “I meant everything I said yesterday. I’ll be sober for you. You can test me anytime you want.”
I tap my chin, contemplating.
“I won’t test you anymore. I don’t want that kind of relationship with you.”
“Oh? But I love my lowly CNA.”
I chuckle, but shake my head. “I need to trust you, Killian. If you break my trust, it’ll break my heart. Hopefully, that’s enough to keep you sober.”
“It is,” he says without skipping a beat.
“I’m serious. I don’t want you to hurt me again. Seeing you use is...” My words trail off and I sniffle back tears.
He chews his bottom lip.
Good. Hopefully he can feel what it means to me.
“I want to finish nursing school and continue my career, too. Can you handle that?”
His eyes narrow, but I don’t relent.
“I need to reach that goal. That’s where you have to trust me. I’m doing it for myself, and not because I don’t believe in you. It’s not a backup plan.”
He nods slowly.
I stroke his jaw with my thumb, then lean in and kiss his scars, my lips lingering with each kiss.
“I missed you. Gosh, you have no idea how much I thought of you. I worried about you. You’re such a bastard for putting me through that.”
I catch him smirk, just barely.
“It’s true. I never stopped loving you.”
His head falls back onto the pillow. I sense that meant something to him.
“Did you sleep around after you left?” I ask.
“No,” he says sharply, his brow twisting in disgust. “Did you?”
I smile. “Yeah, this psycho drugged and slept with me.”
“Oh, sounds like a cool guy.”
I push his shoulder and roll my eyes.
“I guess I did sleep with one woman,” he murmurs, his smile impish.
”I cannot believe you did that.”
“It wasn’t easy to hold back,” he adds. “Fucking you as slow as I could was painful. You felt so good, baby. You would make these sexy little whimpers and moans.”
My cheeks rush with heat and I fidget.
“How did you finish?” I ask.
“I pulled out and jerked off onto your stomach.”
Why is this not upsetting me?
“Then I brought a washcloth and, you know, I cleaned your pussy... after I went down on you for a while. I loved kissing your pussy goodnight. Then I wiped up my cum and dressed you.”
I shudder, and my hips rock forward slightly, as if they remember every part of his scandalous visit, even though I don’t.
“I think my body is yours, whether I like it or not,” I grumble.
“But you do like it,” he says matter-of-factly, “and I’ll take good care of it.”
“Oh, Killian. I can’t help but love you.”
He smiles, cocky.
I’m done for all over again. I know it. It will take a lot of time to absorb the countless ways he invaded my life. I think I might be as fucked up as Killian, because a part of me doesn’t want him to ever stop caring that much.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” he says, and helps me out of bed.
Bacon pops in a skillet, and he makes eggs and cuts fruit. I taught the spoiled brat how to cook anything. It’s amazing how far we’ve come since I first walked into the mansion and saw what a ridiculously privileged life he lived.
We eat on the patio overlooking the ocean. A gentle breeze slips over my bare legs. We eat quietly, often stealing glances at each other. I’m unsure what he’s thinking. I’m too busy trying to process the last twelve hours.
I text Keysha that I am okay. They already have a small news article about an overnight fire. Nobody else was hurt. The picture shows my trailer and car as twisted steel and ash.
“I need to call the police department after breakfast and figure out what happens next,” I say.
“We will call my dad’s lawyers. They’ll handle it,” he says.
I need all the help I can get, so I don’t argue — even if Killian caused this mess.
“I really loved that car and trailer,” I mumble, my voice revealing the gravity of the loss I’m feeling.
“I’ll get you a car. You can have this condo.”
“I don’t want the condo. The trailer was mine. I earned it. Until you gave me the Audi, it was the only thing of real value I had in my name.”
“I’ll put the condo or whatever place you want in your name.”
He doesn’t get it. How can he? He has a trust. I have savings with a balance near zero.
“Thanks, but I don’t want...” I swallow hard, and speak carefully. “...I don’t want to live here.”
He sets down his fork and leans forward, his eyes narrowing into an intense gaze.
But my reasoning is fair: Asher.
He’s a wound Killian and his family can’t heal.
“Your brother lived here with you. You told your parents the mansion reminds you of him, and that wasn’t a good thing.”
His aggressive posture vanishes. He slumps into his chair.
He sits there, brooding and silent.
“I like that you’ve been so honest with me, Killian. Keep doing that because I have some questions you may not like, but I need you to answer them.”
His demeanor isn’t warm, but he gestures for me to continue.
“Frida said you cut your face. Did you do that?”
He purses his lips into a tight line, then speaks with sincerity.
“I honestly don’t know.”
I restrain the urge to cringe and reveal how disturbing that is.
“Oh. Okay,” I say calmly.
That was a good response, Harlow. Stay cool.
I hold his hand and pry deeper. “Next question. Can you tell me what happened with your brother?”
His eyes flash, surprised and guarded. He tenses.
“Please. I think Asher haunts you. Maybe telling somebody what you two argued about before he died will be healing.”
“How did you know about that?”
“Frida. She told me.”
I don’t want to push Killian away or dirty the afterglow of our darkly magical night together, but what’s the point of all this if Killian carries the same demons that make him scribble in notebooks and text the dead.
Those demons will kill him, eventually. He can’t remember cutting his own face.
That’s huge, and I know in my heart it has something to do with his brother.
“Did you accidentally shoot Asher?”
“What the fuck?” He gawks at me.
“Well?” I say weakly. “This is that trust I was talking about.”
His gaze lingers on mine.
I lower my voice. “It will make us closer, Killian.”
He broods once more, folding his arms and looking away several times. I can see the anxiety sinking into his bones like a physical force.
I wait.
I hope.
“Fine,” he replies, exasperated. “For you.”
“For us,” I clarify.
His arms uncross and he sighs, mumbling, “For us.”