Page 1 of Ciaran

Chapter 1

Ciaran

Fire scorches my lungs, leaving me gasping, with my mouth gaping open. I must look ridiculous to any passersby, but regardless, it won’t close. I can’t stop staring at her through the greasy, fingerprint-smeared window.

Emilia Frayser.

The girl—now woman—who’d been one of my closest friends at school, and who’d rejected me not once but twice.

Except that isn’t fair. Millie hadn’t been aware of my secret obsession with her. Instead, my twin’s charisma had captured her attention. When it comes to thrills and excitement, Callum’s dominant personality has always been impossible to resist. Millie had seen me as nothing more than her buddy. The nice guy. The invisible man relegated to living in the shadow of his fascinating brother whose brooding yet charming temperament commanded the spotlight.

Callum had drawn Millie in like a moth to the proverbial flame, then tossed her aside with astonishing speed.

My stomach twists at the memory. I adore my twin—idolize him even—but there were times growing up when my fingers itched to clamp around his throat and throttle him. The day he cruelly broke off his fledgling relationship with Millie, refusing to offer any explanation, had been one of those occasions.

Millie had rebounded hard, but instead of falling into my arms, Tanner Bailey—captain of the football team, arrogant jock, and total douche—seized his opportunity and picked her off like a ripe peach. Within a week of our high-school graduation, which also happened to be the day she’d turned eighteen, Tanner put a ring on her finger. They moved to Chicago, and I hadn’t seen her since.

I can’t believe she’s here now. In New York. So many years have passed since I last laid eyes on her. Yet, as I stand here staring like a complete creep, time folds in on itself. It feels like only yesterday when I watched her walk down the aisle. She unwittingly stole a piece of my soul that day, leaving behind an open wound that still won’t heal.

Sure, I’ve had girlfriends—I haven’t exactly lived like a monk this past decade—but none of them have touched me in that hidden place reserved for The One.

The place Millie owned.

I pull myself out of the past when my long-buried, childhood resentments threaten to consume me. Sweat dampens my palms as I peer through the window once more. She’s barely changed from all those years ago: shoulder-length, coffee-colored hair, oval face, a dimple on her left cheek, hypnotic mocha eyes… although I can’t see them right now because she’s fixated on her coffee cup.

I spent a lot of my youth craving for her to turn those eyes on me with the same yearning she had with Callum, then with Tanner. A pang in my chest I’d long since forgotten returns.

She’s even more beautiful now, the innocence of youth replaced with an intoxicating maturity. No one else comes close to making me feel such a profound ache as the woman on the other side of the glass. Her light had always shone so brightly she’d dazzled me.

She could have been mine. Should have been mine. Why hadn’t I told her how I felt? Why hadn’t I fought for her, staked my claim? Given her a chance to look at me as more than just a friend.

I know the answer, of course. When I was a kid, I did everything I could to avoid conflict. I lived in my twin’s shadow for years, especially after losing my beloved grandparents and, later, my parents.

These days, I’m not afraid of conflict. I can’t be, given the job I do. Following in my grandfather’s footsteps and joining the NYPD right out of high school had changed me. Saved me. I could easily have taken the trust fund left to me by my father and sat on my ass, or gone into business like Declan and Callum, turning my million-dollar inheritance into tens of millions. But that wasn’t me. Instead, I used the money to start a non-profit charity for victims of crime as an homage to my Gran whose mugger had gotten away scot free with her murder, and the drunk driver who killed my parents.

These days, I leave it to the experts to run, but my name is still displayed on a bronze plaque in the entrance. I don’t regret it for a second, even if Callum had called me an idiot at the time.

Draven, my partner and all-round bearded, tattooed badass, appears at my shoulder.

“Feet glued to the sidewalk, dickhead?”

“It’s her,” I say, pointing my chin at the coffee shop where Millie sits, unaware of the two cops gawking at her through the window. She’s still staring into her coffee as if it has the answers to every question she’s ever asked. “The one I let get away. I haven’t seen her since high school.”

Draven’s gaze volleys between me and Millie, then settles on me, his brows drawn low.

“Are you high?”

I grin. “When it comes to her, I’ve been stoned my entire life.”

Draven cocks his head. “Then, go talk to her. Shift’s over. I’ll sign you out.”

I hesitate. Do I really want to rip open a wound that has never quite healed? I could walk away right this second, pretend I haven’t seen her, and carry on with my life.

Ha. What life? Other than work and my family, I don’t have a life. I have an existence.

“I should come back with you,” I mutter.

Draven rolls his eyes. “Why? I ain’t letting you stick it to me. Not even the fucking tip. Go get some before your cock shrivels up and dies.”

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