Page 90 of Beneath Your Beautiful
“It was a long time ago.”
It didn’t matter how much time had passed. It had happened, and his father had gotten away with it. Killian hadn’t wanted me to hear any of that, just like he’d never wanted me to hear the conversation with his father at the bar. If Connor hadn’t said something today, would Killian have ever told me?
“Don’t be mad at Connor,” I said. “He loves you so much.”
Killian exhaled sharply. “He should have kept his mouth shut.”
“He’s right. It needed to be said.”
“How can it help to dredge up ancient history?”
“I don’t know. Just…he should be made responsible for his actions.”
“It was a long time ago,” Killian said, sounding weary.
I pulled away from him a little and put my hands on his chest. He took my face in his hands and ran his thumbs under my eyes, wiping away the tears. “Don’t cry for me,” he said, softly kissing my lips.
“I can’t help it.” My fingers traced the scar on his neck. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and pulled my hand away. For fifteen years, he’d lived with this reminder. For fifteen years, he’d been telling a lie about how he got it.
“I’m okay,” he said.
I didn’t know how that could possibly be true. But I loved him even more now than I did earlier. I loved him for his scars and wounds and his battered heart, for his strength, and his loyalty to Connor, and now I understood the meaning of the phoenix tattooed on his back. Killian had risen from the ashes and he’d made something of his life, despite the shitty hand he’d been dealt.
“I wish I could make things better for you.”
His hands moved to the side of my neck. “You already do.” And then he was kissing me, his fingers sliding through my hair, his hand holding the back of my head. He tugged down my drawstring shorts and underwear. I stepped out of them and kicked them aside, unbuttoning his jeans. We pulled apart long enough to shed the rest of our clothes in haste. Killian walked me backwards, his lips on mine, our tongues swirling together, until the back of my legs hit the side of his bed.
I scooted back on the bed and lay down on his pillow, and he covered me with the weight of his body. I gave him my body, my heart, and my soul. I gave him all of me. For a little while, the world disappeared, and it was just the two of us living in a beautiful moment. With no past, no tears, no sadness, or pain. We were our bodies—skin, muscle, bones. We were our hearts—strong, resilient, steadily beating. We were our souls—pure, yearning, connected. We were everything.
Afterwards, we held each other close and the world came rushing back.
“You good now?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I wasn’t one hundred percent good, because of everything I’d heard downstairs. But I was okay because he came back, and he didn’t run away from me, even though he wanted to. I meant something to him. My feelings mattered to him. After all his secrets had been revealed, he stayed. For me. But, still, I couldn’t just let it go. “Are you hiding anything else from me?”
“You looking to rattle more skeletons in the closet?”
“Are there any?”
“No.” He lifted his head and looked over my shoulder at the clock on his bedside table. “We need to go.”
He was dressed and ready in two seconds flat. While I finished getting ready for work, he lounged on the bed, doing something on his phone. Most likely he was checking in with Louis to make sure everything was okay without him. I changed into jeans, a Trinity Bar T-shirt, and my motorcycle boots. Ran a brush through my hair, applied a few coats of mascara, brushed blush onto my cheekbones, and slicked on some pinky-brown gloss. I was ready in five minutes. Not bad.
Killian was still lounging on the bed, his fingers laced behind his head, watching me. “What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Ready?”
“Born ready.” I gave him a flirty wink, but his face was serious. I wondered if he was thinking about what happened earlier with Seamus, or if he was taking a bad trip down memory lane.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked, knowing full well guys hated that question. My brothers clued me in years ago. Garrett told me sometimes guys aren’t thinking about anything, but girls always assume they’re thinking something heavy, deep, and real. Sawyer never bothered to explain anything. He usually told me to get off his case, or he’d just walk away without answering.
“You,” Killian said. “I was thinking about you.”
“Good things or bad things?” I asked as we walked down the stairs. The TV blared in the living room, and it sounded like an action film with things getting blown up.
“Good.”
“Bye, Connor,” I yelled into the living room.
