Page 54 of Her Dark Angel

“Nash…”

It’s like something snaps him out of the trance he’s in because he releases his hold on the back of my neck and steps back, putting distance between us. My hands slip from his chest, and I wring them together to suppress the tremor in them.

Nash shakes his head and presses into his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I… uh… I need to go, Kinsley. I can’t do this.”

My brows crease into a frown as I try to catch my own breath. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay here?—”

Nash takes another step back and shakes his head, his mismatched eyes filled with an emotion I can’t quite read. “I need to be alone.”

And with that, he turns on his heels and rushes through the kitchen, down the hallway, and out the front door like he’s running from a fire chasing him down. Except he started that fire, and now he’s left me to burn in it with no explanation as to why.

What the fuck just happened?

19

KINSLEY

The insistent dial tone on the other end of my phone is driving me insane to the point where I’m ready to throw the device across the living room, along with the glass of wine in my other hand.

Why the hell is Nash not answering his phone?

I drag my swollen bottom lip between my teeth, remembering the feel of his soft lips and the bite of the metal ring pierced into his skin as they moved effortlessly against mine only two hours ago. They were dominant, yet sensual and tender. A contrast I wouldn’t have expected to correlate with Nash Beck. The way he held my cheek in his large hand and pressed his hard body against mine still makes my head dizzy with lust even after he pulled away and left in a hurry.

I shouldn’t feel this way after he kissed me, especially because our relationship is fake. What we’re doing isn’t meant to mean anything, and yet, that kiss felt so fucking real that I’m struggling to understand how and why it happened.

Throwing my head back against the couch, I close my eyes and groan in frustration. What the hell is wrong with me? Nash left my house so fast as if a fire had been lit under his ass and he couldn’t get out of there sooner. So why am I sitting here in the darkness of my house, save for a light on in the kitchen, calling this man repeatedly in the hopes he’ll answer?

And then what? If he answers the phone, what do I plan to say to him?

“Hi, you kissed me earlier and then left in a hurry with zero explanation, and I want to know what happened. Why did you leave like that?”

Yeah, right. I doubt that would go down well with him.

“God, I’m pathetic,” I murmur to myself and sip on the wine in my hand.

I need to get a grip. Now. If I continue to call Nash searching for an answer as to what happened earlier, it could make matters worse and neither of us should have to deal with that. The best course of action is to forget it ever happened and move on.

Although… I can’t help but feel as though something is wrong.

I don’t know how to explain it, but my gut is screaming at me that something is going on with Nash and he shouldn’t be alone. He got out of jail this afternoon after getting into a fight last night, so it’s clear he’s going through something but hasn’t confided in anyone about whatever it is that’s troubling him.

He needs someone but doesn’t want to ask for help or comfort.

Gazing down at my phone, I sigh. As much as I want to leave Nash to his own devices, I know what it’s like to hurt and have to hide that pain from the people around you. I know how much it sucks to feel like you’re consistently on the verge of drowning with your head barely above water, gasping for a breath, but no one around sees you struggling because you feel as though you have to hide. To put a mask on and pretend that everything is all right when it’s not. And I know what it feels like to believe you’re totally alone and isolated.

Whatever Nash is dealing with, I know it’ll be better for him to have someone around to offer support and be there to comfort him through whatever is happening than to be alone. Being alone tricks your brain into making stupid decisions as a form of self-comfort. I know the dangers of that bad habit, so I don’t want Nash to have to suffer through the consequences of those decisions alone.

“Fuck it.” Tipping my head back, I chug the remainder of the wine and place the glass on the coffee table. With a huff, I stand and race to the front door, having already made my decision.

If I don’t leave now to check on Nash and be the one person to offer him support and comfort, then I’m never going to go.

He may only be my fake boyfriend, but he’s a human being who needs help and I’m willing to offer him that branch of support if he’ll take it.

When the car rolls to a stop out the front of Nash’s mansion, the rain that began to fall lightly as I left the house is now coming down in buckets. Peering through the rain-covered window, I notice there isn’t a single light on inside the house apart from one room upstairs. I can only assume it’s his bedroom, which means he’s home.

Before I can stop to think through my actions, I swing the car door open and make a run for the front porch. By the time I race down the driveway and up to the front door, my clothes are soaked through. A cold chill races down my spine as I lift my hand to knock on the door, whether it be from the cool wind in the air or something else.

Silence. That’s all I hear.

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