Page 8 of The Anniversary Betrayal
And then she was gone, leaving him alone in the dim-lit office, surrounded by scattered papers and the lingering ghost of her lips. Kingston collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands. For a long time, he stayed there, drowning in the silence, in the weight of what he’d just done. He had crossed a line and there was no going back.
Chapter Seven
The corridors of St. Aldric’s had fallen quiet by the time Kingston finally left his office. The hospital never truly slept, but the energy shifted after hours. The daytime rush gave way to dimmed lights, muted footsteps, and a stillness that seeped into his bones. He rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar throb of exhaustion. Another late night. Another promise to Ashley broken. He told himself she’d understand. She always had but guilt pricked him anyway. He stepped out into the cool night air, fishing for his car keys, only to find a familiar figure leaning against the hood of his car.
Rebecca.
Her hair was down, loose curls framing her face, catching the faint glow of the streetlight. She was dressed casually, her white blouse untucked, her coat hanging open. She looked like she hadn’t planned to stay this late either.
“You scared me,” Kingston muttered, though his pulse jumped for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
Rebecca gave a small smile. “You work too much.”
He chuckled softly. “Says the woman who’s still here too.”
They stood there for a moment, the silence stretching. He should’ve walked to his car door, said goodnight, gone home. Instead, he lingered.
“You eaten?” she asked suddenly.
He blinked. “No. You?”
She shook her head. “I was about to grab something. Thought maybe…” She trailed off, but the unspoken invitation hung heavy in the air.
Kingston hesitated. Every rational part of him screamed to walk away. To call Ashley, to go home, to draw a line in the sand before it blurred beyond recognition but instead, he heard himself say, “Yeah. Dinner sounds good.”
They drove in silence at first, the city lights flickering past. He kept his eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel, but he could feel her presence beside him, the weight of years pressing down on the narrow space between them.
It was Rebecca who broke the silence.
“You still drive the same way,” she teased gently.
He glanced at her. “The same way?”
“Ten and two. Perfect posture. Like you’re about to take a driving test.”
He laughed despite himself. “Some habits die hard.”
Her eyes lingered on him, and for a split second, when their gazes met, Kingston felt the years between them collapse. Just two college kids again, sneaking out after class, arguing over playlists but then she shifted in her seat. Subtle. Her hand brushed his arm. Too deliberate to be accidental.
“Rebecca,” he said, his voice low. A warning or maybe a plea.
She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers trailed down his sleeve, resting lightly on his wrist. The air inside the car thickened. Something cracked open inside him. Years of buried longing, of careful restraint, of convincing himself that he had moved on that he loved Ashley enough to keep those old ghosts quiet but Rebecca’s touch was fire, and hewas already burning. He pulled the car over abruptly, the tires crunching against the curb. His heart pounded in his throat as he turned toward her.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
She leaned in, her voice barely above a breath. “You don’t really want me to stop.”
And God help him, she was right. His mouth found hers before he even realized he’d moved. Soft at first, tentative, like testing forbidden waters but the moment she kissed him back, hungry and desperate, all control slipped away. It wasn’t just attraction. It was history. Years of what-ifs and almosts, crashing down all at once. Her hand cupped his jaw, pulling him closer. His fingers tangled in her hair. The kiss deepened, turned messy, turned dangerous. The car became too small, too confining. He needed more.
By the time they stumbled into her apartment, they were both breathless, flushed, trembling with urgency. The moment the door shut behind them, his lips were on hers again, her coat falling to the floor.
“Kingston…” she whispered against his mouth, half a plea, half a moan.
He pressed her against the wall, his forehead resting against hers, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
“This is wrong,” he muttered.
“I know.” Her eyes searched his. “But does it feel wrong?”
