Page 102 of King of Pain
His voice lowers, softer, more intimate. “You called meboyfriendat dinner.”
My breath catches, and I nod. “Mmhmm.”
Chance’s eyes search mine, something vulnerable flickering behind them. “Is that what you want? To own my heart?” His voice is barely above a whisper when he adds, “Because you already do.”
Flutters explode in my chest and belly. I nod again, my fingers gripping his forearms. “Yes.”
A determined smile tugs at Chance’s lips. His gaze dips to my mouth. “I’m going to kiss you now, Anthony Pacini.”
I exhale shakily. “Okay.”
Chance tilts his head forward, closing the space between us. I mirror him, moving toward him in tandem. Our breaths mingle as our noses nearly brush.
Then, at the last second, my hands snap to his waist, gripping him tight.
Chance exhales slowly but doesn’t move away. “Shh,” he soothes, rubbing the back of my head. “Take your time, Beautiful. We’ve got all night. You’re going to make the final move, okay?”
I nod, swallowing audibly. “Okay, I just need, like, thirty seconds.”
I’m barely catching my breath when the shrill buzz of a phone jolts through the air.
Chance’s eyes flick to the coffee table, his expression shifting.
Murph.
His name lights up the screen.
“Shit, that’s Murph calling. It’s late there. I have to take this. I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head quickly. “No, no, of course. Take it. I’ll be right here. Ready, I promise.”
Chance offers me a soft, grateful smile before grabbing the phone. “Hey, Murph. What’s up?”
I exhale, trying to shake off the nerves buzzing beneath my skin. With my hands clammy, I head to the kitchen to rinse them, mumbling to myself.No one wants to kiss someone with sweaty hands.
All thoughts of first kisses disappear when I hear a raw, gut-wrenching sound pierce through the silence.
It’s a scream.
No, awail.
The sound of a man completely breaking apart.
I jolt, my stomach lurching, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Then I hear it again—Chance’s voice, ripped to shreds, crying—no, screaming—a single word:
“NOOOOO!”
I stumble out of the kitchen in a blind panic. My vision tunnels as I take in the scene before me. Chance is on his knees, forehead pressed to the floor, arms wrapped around his head as his body rocks back and forth.
“My God, NOOOOO!” he wails again, the sound so visceral, sosoul-crushingthat it knocks the breath from my lungs.
His phone lies face-up on the floor, Murph’s voice yelling something through the speaker, but I can’t make out the words.
I fall to my knees beside him, my hands reaching for him instinctively. “What happened? Chance, baby, what happened?”
He doesn’t answer.
