Page 42 of Verses Of Us

The sound of his heavy sigh extended across the space between them and made her stomach sink with concern.

“I get like this before shows. It’s not what it used to be.”

“You don’t enjoy performing anymore?”

He shrugged. “Off the record?” Pleading eyes met hers and she nodded. “Not really, no.”

At first, she wasn’t sure she believed him. This was Ciarán Jones, born entertainer. Being a rockstar was in his blood. And had she not witnessed the weight of the world settle onto his shoulders with his answer, she would have thought he was messing with her.

Like an old reflex, she sat down beside him, resting her hand on his thigh. It was so natural, so second-nature; she never thought of pulling away.

“That’s to be expected. You haven’t stopped since you were a kid. Who wouldn’t be exhausted?” He kept his attention on her hand, twisting his beer bottle against his other thigh. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“A break?” He gave her a flat laugh. “That’d be grand.”

The veil of darkness returned, and he jumped up, chugging the rest of his beer. He reached for a second bottle, and she tallied how much he’d had to drink so far. He’d had two glasses of whiskey at dinner and now these beers.

“Should you drink this much before a show?”

“What, this?” He lifted his bottle with a harsh, somewhat derisive laugh. “I’ve been going light tonight.”

He peered at the bottle in his hand as if reconsidering, then put it back down. He stretched his arms above his head, cracking his neck from side to side, shifting as if uncomfortable in his skin.

“You can stop, you know? Whenever you want. You’re the one running this.” She gestured around them. “You are completely in charge.”

He stilled. The smile that had brightened his face vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“That’s a very naïve perspective. It’s not that simple.”

Ciarán reached for his beer, but she walked over, taking it from him.

“You’re the naïve one, thinking that drinking like this helps.”

She put the bottle down, then touched his shoulder. He tensed. Instinctively, she flexed her hand, massaging his flesh.

“God, that feels good.”

Beneath her touch, his muscles relaxed, and when he leaned his head toward her hand, she smiled. Loaded with something unrecognisable, the air between them sizzled. Whatever it was, she wanted more.

“I can’t tell you how great it is having you here, Lex.” Her hand stilled. “What is it?”

“It’s strange, hearing you call meLexagain.”

Hurt flooded his face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. I’ve missed it.”

“Not for that.” He raked a hand through his hair. “For drifting away.”

“Oh, that,” she said, her voice weak.

She kept her eyes away from him and browsed the snacks on the table. Like an eclipse, she knew staring straight at Ciarán would cause irreversible damage. She resented how quickly her resolve had crumbled over dinner and how she had given into his charm. How could she have let herself forget the pain he’d caused when he’d left? Her throat burned with the words she wasn’t saying.

Contrary to what she’d expected, reuniting with him hadn’t turned her into a ball of rage. Instead, seeing him had brought back a simple happiness she had missed. But she knew it was fleeting. It wouldn’t last, but it was new, and she longed to give into it even if for a short while.

She watched him walk into a second room, peeling his shirt off. Her breath caught with the quick peek of bare skin and the brief glimpse of black ink on his back.

“It was more than drifting away,” she said once he reappeared in a stage-ready outfit—white jeans and a black t-shirt.

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