Page 94 of Kismet

His deep voice brushes over me, sending a chill through my entire body.

“Okay… about what?” My mind is spinning, wondering what is so important that he needs to talk to me in the middle of a storm. And at my house. Out of the fucking blue.

“I, uh…” His large hands rub up and down his face before sinking into his hair again. “I want to tell you the truth. Tell you why I left.”

It feels like the wind’s been knocked out of me. If I wasn’t resting on the couch, I would fall over. Or collapse. This is something I’ve wanted the answer to for five years. Since the day he left without any sort of explanation or goodbye. Something I’ve needed but have been too scared to ask. But now that I’m about to hear it… I… I’m not fucking ready.

I’m not ready to hear why he was okay deserting me. Why I meant so little to him that leaving was easy. I’m not ready to hear how I cared about him more than he did. How he moved on with his life as if I was never there, while I pined after him. Fucking cried for him. And why my soul feels so fucking lost anytime he’s not around, but the moment he’s near me, I feel a stupid fucking sense of peace that can’t be explained.

Like right now, for example. His presence in my home pisses me the fuck off, but it calms me at the same time.Makes no goddamn sense.

Pushing off the couch, I trudge toward the kitchen. “If we’re doing this, I need a fucking drink.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Stone Philips

To be completely honest, I’m not even sure how I ended up here. The last hour has been one giant blur of rash decisions and haunting memories. Without fail, anytime a storm hits, it always brings me back to my classroom, five years ago. Cash and me in the dark, giving in to the temptation.

Nothing—and I meannothing—has ever felt as right as Cash does. From the very first time his lips brushed mine, his tongue stroked mine, and his hands touched my body, I knew I would never feel as complete as I do with him. This is something I’ve thought about hundreds—shit, probably even thousands—of times over the years. It never made sense to me how I felt asstronglyfor Cash as I did in such a short time.

It was almost like as soon as we crossed that boundary, and became more than student and professor, I suddenly couldn’t function without him. Which is absurd to think about if you’d never experienced such strong emotions toward someone before. When I left, a part of my soul was missing. I was incomplete, and it was gut-wrenching.

My heartachedfor him—physically fucking ached—and it’s something I’ve never experienced before. I would lie in bed on my side night after night, clutching my chest, feeling like I was drowning in the depths of my misery, gasping for the air only he could give me.

I came here tonight with one thing in mind: finally tell Cash the truth. If there’s even the slightest possibility he’ll understand and forgive me, I have to try. We can’t go on like this—in this uncomfortable limbo filled with stolen glances and tense silence. In a way, I’m happy he caught me today. It gave me the push I needed to do this. To finally come clean.

His rich, dark eyes lift to meet mine from the kitchen, confusion and uncertainty swimming in them.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks gingerly.

“Water would be great,” I murmur, taking a seat on the couch.

His house is warm and inviting. He has pictures of his family and friends dusted throughout the living room and dining room, a wall plug-in next to the TV that makes the room smell like the beach, and a large, plush, cream-colored blanket thrown across the back of his black leather couch.

A few moments later, he joins me on the couch, handing me a bottle of water before bringing a glass of amber liquid to his lips. I watch, enraptured, as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

A feeling of dread settles in my gut. Not knowing how he’s going to react to what I’m about to tell him is unsettling. But it’s sink or swim; he deserves to know. I don’t even know where or how to start. I’ve put this off for too long. Aside from Molly, Julian, and my therapist, nobody knows this story. The thought of even speaking the words aloud is debilitating. Any icy-cold chill races down my spine as I think of how to put this into words.

Running my hand through my still soaked hair, I let out a heavy breath before diving in.

“Okay, so I want to begin this by saying when I left, I was in a really fucked up head space. Not saying that is any excuse for what I did or how I did it. I just need you to know that.”

Peering over at him apprehensively, he’s watching me, but his face is void of any emotion. His knee is bouncing a mile a minute, though. I wish I could get inside his head and know what’s running through it. Know what stories he’s put together over the years, trying to make sense of everything.

When he doesn’t say anything, I continue. “There’s no easy or gentle way to start this, so I’m just going to dive in. When I drove to the frat house that last night and we talked about my divorce and selling my house, and plans for after graduation, I meant it. Wholeheartedly. I didn’t skip town because I had a change of heart and decided to stay with Aida.”

I watch him as he takes that in. His thick, dark brows pinch together as his sheepish gaze darts to mine. “What?”

“I assume that’s what you’ve thought all these years… that I decided to leave you and stay with her. But that’s not the case.”

Another deep breath out.I can do this.

“The night I saw you outside the frat house, she and I got into an argument when I got home. An explosive one. She wanted to make it work, wanted to call off the divorce, and I didn’t. The whole fight caught me off guard because it wasn’t like I was the only one who wasn’t happy. Anyway, she was drinking—drunk, actually—and she wasn’t letting it go. Finally, I was able to drill it into her that I wasn’t going to change my mind and she needed to respect it. She stormed off—to her room, I presumed—and I went into my office.”

I twist off the cap of the water bottle, bringing it to my lips and chugging half of it in one go. Partially because my throat feels like it’s coated in sand, but also for something to do. Something to fill the tense silence, because this next part is the part I don’t want to talk about.

The part I haven’t talked about in years.

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