Page 64 of One Kiss Isn't Enough
“We should,” I answer and hear the floors protest once again, but still far behind me, maybe in the doorway. As if he’s stopped there and doesn’t dare to move any closer.
“Sorry to intrude… I just wanted to say ‘hi.’” She gives me a small smile and an odd wave before tucking her hair behind her ear and turning to leave.
“Thank you so much for the gifts.” My response is nothing but polite, even though inwardly I’m prepared for confrontation with the man standing behind me.
“If you ever want to hang out or just talk, I’m right there or happy to come over even.”
“I’m going to take you up on that,” I answer her and then watch her leave.
SEBASTIAN
“What did you two talk about?” I ask her before Aria’s even through the doorway. Anxiety spreads along my skin. I thought the two of them would hit it off. But the atmosphere in the foyer reminds me of a funeral home.
“About what’s going on.”
My pulse picks up. “And what is going on?” I ask her, swallowing thickly and refusing to believe Aria told her anything specific. Chloe’s pregnant, for fuck’s sake. She doesn’t need the stress or the fear. The last thing she needs to do is worry. I’ve got her.
“I don’t want to not address these things anymore. We need to talk about it.” Her words echo off the walls of the foyer as the door closes and the biting chill of the bitter weather joins us.
“What things do we need to talk about?” I ask her, as if I don’t know. There’s so much shit she doesn’t know. And if she learns the truth, how could I ever keep her?
The thought sends a prick down my neck that doesn’t stop until it reaches the base of my spine.
The uneasy feeling stays where it is when she turns around, staring into my eyes and swallowing thickly. “I want to know everything.”
The hell with that. “No.”
Her baby blues widen, the shock apparent. Even I’m surprised by the way the single word sounded so harsh. “You don’t need to know this shit.” I give her the simple explanation, and a light sparks in her eyes.
“It’s not about need, Bastian. It’s about want,” she grits out. “I love you and I’ll never stop loving you, but I hate how you think I’m so delicate and easily broken.” Her tone is severe and unrefined. “I deserve to know the truth.”
“The truth about what?” I ask again, knowing the one truth I will never tell her. Never.
“Everything,” she demands.
I was her savior. That’s how she looked at me. Like I was one of the good guys, and it did something to me. It made me a better man. I will never let her take that back, because I don’t know what will happen to me if she does.
My lips part, ready to give her a partial truth, enough to keep her at a distance. Something to satisfy her curiosity, but her bottom lip quivers and her arms cross, showing me her swollen stomach. She’s only just started to show.
“Tell me why you needed to come back right now,” she asks when I hesitate.
I question if Aria told her something I’ll have a hard time explaining, or if she told her anything. Fuck, what was I thinking leaving the two of them alone? “Carter was in trouble,” I start and she cuts me off.
“What kind of trouble?”
“The kind that wound up with a lot of people going to funerals this week,” I answer her sharply and wait for her reaction. I get none. Nothing. The blunt answer doesn’t faze her in the least.
“Why now?” she asks and when I feel a deep crease settling in my forehead, she elaborates. “Why didn’t you come back before? It’s obvious…” she hesitates, but doesn’t hold back when she continues, “It’s obvious he’s been putting people in the ground for a while now… yes?”
I nod, and my heart hammers. The skin across my knuckles draws tight as I flex my hands into fists and then relax them, thinking about all the shit that’s happened since we’ve been gone.
“He didn’t need me, but this time, it was important to him that he did everything he could…” I almost tell her how it was the first time he was fighting for something that mattered, but I don’t have to.
“Because of Aria?” she questions and again I nod.
It’s silent for a moment and I watch as the tension in her shoulders lessens. The hope that she’s been given just enough to drop it toys with me until she asks, “Did he need you to do what you used to do?”
I can barely nod in confirmation. Every muscle in my body is tight, waiting for her to run, to cower, to be afraid or angry or disgusted. I never liked the man I was without her, but it doesn’t change the fact that’s who I am. I can run away for years, but I’ll always be a murderer. I don’t want her to look at me that way. I don’t even know if she knows the extent of what I’ve done, both years ago and just last week. And what I’m willing to continue to do.