Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I sat back on my butt, knees bent, arms hooked around them. “Not much of a home to go to.” Because my home was somewhere in Ireland right now. When Emily came by to see me last week, she’d told me he’d been there for a few weeks.
Maybe it was a good thing. I could stop listening for his footsteps coming up the stairs of my apartment building and stop glancing at my phone hoping I’d see his name pop up.
Emily offered to take me to see Lucifer, Clyde, and Dale, but seeing the horses was a reminder of Killian. But it was more than that. Emily and Logan were Killian’s best friends, and as much as I liked them, I couldn’t be friends with them.
“I had an e-mail today about David Knapp,” Ali said. “You… dated him for a while, right?”
I heard the hesitancy in her voice and no doubt she’d heard the rumors David spread about me. “Yeah. We lived together and I worked at his studio.”
“And you’re not friends now?”
I snorted. “I found him in bed with one of his students.”
Ali’s brows lowered as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I knew the rumors had it wrong the moment I met you.” Yeah, David turned the tables, making me look bad and he the victim. “Then I guess you won’t be sad to hear his studio has closed and he’s gone bankrupt.”
“Wow, really?” At one time I think David loved me. Or at least he believed he did. He’d been affectionate and kind, and we’d had a good relationship. At least that was what I’d thought. But even with him cheating on me, I still didn’t wish ill on him. He was passionate about dance, and I knew the studio was important to him.
“Yeah, my friend e-mailed me and said he’s moving back to Vancouver.” David grew up in Vancouver. Ali smiled. “Gotta love karma. See you tomorrow. Lock up?”
“Yeah. You mind getting the lights?”
Ali flicked the switch and I was left in darkness. I heard the door quietly shut behind her and then the front door beeped as it opened and closed.
I watched the cars pass by the window as their headlights offered a kaleidoscope of light across the studio.
My gaze stopped on the shadow of a man leaning against the building across the street. It was impossible to see his face as he wore a baseball cap low over his eyes. But as I stared at him, tingles of awareness tap-danced across my body, and my heart pounded.
Killian?
He was here?
Watching me.
I didn’t move. Neither did he. And I didn’t know if he knew I saw him or not. But it was when he stopped staring in my direction, and he bowed his head that my heart broke.
Killian.
I closed my eyes, holding back the tears as the ache swelled. The pain. The hurt for him.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone.
For six nights he watched me from across the street, and I danced knowing he watched me. It was freeing and painful at the same time. I put everything I felt into the movements, hoping that maybe he’d understand the story I danced. That maybe he’d see my love for him.
Each night when the song ended, I turned off the lights, sat on the floor and held my breath.
Hoping he’d smile.
Hoping he’d cross the street.
Hoping he’d not walk away.
But he always did.
I didn’t know how to reach him without pushing him farther away, but I wasn’t giving up on us. He loved me. That didn’t just go away. It bore into your soul and lived there.
And maybe I’d never have kids with Killian, but I’d have him and the family that came with him. A family who had welcomed me into their arms without hesitation.
I left the studio early tonight, unable to face another night with him watching me then leaving. Because that was what it was. Him leaving me again and again. As I walked up to my apartment building, the hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I felt his eyes on me.
He was here.
I didn’t look though. I opened the door and jogged up the three flights of stairs then went into my apartment, straight into my kitchen and picked up the orchid from the windowsill.
It had to stop, and this was the only way I could think of to do it. To make him react. To do something. Either walk away for good or come back to me.
This was our beginning.
When I’d lost everything and was scared and alone, Killian had given me a piece of him to take with me.
And he knew how important the orchid was to me.
“What are you doing with that?” Trevor asked as he propped up against his doorframe, arms crossed.
“Pushing him,” I said.