AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I… I don’t know.” In truth, if Killian were to call anyone for support, I would have pegged Archer as that candidate but seeing as he’s taking my call, that’s not the case.
The line beeps and Archer hangs up, leaving silence to cloak the kitchen once again.
My heart beats wildly and the phone trembles in my grasp as I set it down on the counter. Spreading my palms flat, I brace myself and force a few deeper breaths into my lungs. I’ve done it now. Archer will either look for Killian or, if he feels it necessary, will report right to Dante. Guilt pulses through my veins, making my head spin, and I eye the empty wine bottle.
This will be my last drink, I muse as I pad out of the kitchen and across the lounge to the wall unit. I’ve been lying for so long. I’ve lied to my father about my purity, breaking that promise with Killian. I’ve liedaboutmy father to protect him from Italian wrath, and if I’m completely honest, I lied to keep myself safe too. To keep Killian looking at me with the desperate desire that floods his eyes each time we linger too close.
Fat lot of good that does now.
I drop to my haunches and open the doors, spotting another unopened bottle of red calling my name. Grabbing it, I stand and run my fingers down the label, making sure it isn’t some fancy dessert wine. I don’t care about the year or the brand, but I don’t want to get drunk on syrup.
It looks good, so I carry it back to the kitchen when my phone dings, and I stumble to a halt.
Who’s texting me? Killian? No. Archer? Not this soon.
What if it’s Dante? Or my father? What if Killianhastold everyone, and they’re wiping out the Irish as we speak? Owen certainly wouldn’t stick his neck out for me, not at the expense of the entire organization. They’d sooner throw me to the dogs after the trauma Callahan’s decisions brought down on us all.
I take a hesitant step, twisting my hands around the neck of the wine bottle in a vain attempt to get the cork off. I’m going toneedthis drink.
I approach the counter slowly, peering over at my phone as it dings again. My heart leaps into my mouth, beating wildly under my tongue as I grasp the device and tap in my passcode.
My heart plummets and the bottle of wine slips from my fingers. I barely catch the sound of glass shattering, barely notice the cool splash of wine over my bare toes. It all seems too far away as shock wraps cold around my heart.
It’s not a message from Killian. It’s not from Archer or Dante. Not even from my father.
It’s a photo posted in the group chat I have with Sadie and Kimmy of Killian slouched over a bar with Blair draped over him like a piece of exquisite jewelry.
26
CARA
He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t!Would he?No… no, Blair hurt him too deeply to go crawling back to her, surely?! I stare at the photo until it blurs as tears flood my eyes. I can’t tear my gaze away, not even to read the accompanying messages from Kimmy and Sadie. I’m locked in place watching a woman I detest hang all over the man I love.
The man I love.
I do love him. Is that why this hurts so much? Why my chest has been torn open with the force of a celestial being? My heart beats so desperately hard that my pulse echoes dauntingly in my ears, and my tongue rests too fat against the roof of my mouth.
I love him. I had him. Now she does.
The phone slips from my grasp and clatters down on the counter with such a sharp sound that I step backward and immediately yelp as sharp pain flares through the heel of my foot. It’s so sudden that it cuts straight through my shock, and I hobble backward as something cold and wet touches the edges of my other foot. I blink rapidly, forcing tears to spill down my cheeks to clear my vision, and I spot the culprit. The wine bottle. It smashed on the floor when I dropped it, and now I’ve stepped on broken glass.
Fucks sake!
“Ouch,” I whine brokenly. Scanning the kitchen, I grab the checkered dish towel from its home on the oven handle and tiptoe my way around the crimson sea of glass, making sure not to put my weight down on my heel until I’m seated on the farthest stool.
Pulling my injured foot up onto my opposite knee, I eye the damage. It’s not serious. A small glass shard has embedded itself in the heel of my foot. Sinking my teeth into my lower lip, I grasp the shard with my fingertips and yank it free. My noise of pain catches behind my teeth, and I toss the glass aside and grasp the towel, placing it on the small bleeding wound. I finally release the groan and puff out my cheeks.
Great. Fucking great, Cara. Killian’s drowning himself in a club somewhere, while you sit, crying in a kitchen, swimming in spilled wine.
How is this my life?
Dabbing with the towel, my heart slows faintly at how quickly my foot stops bleeding, and I toss the stained towel onto the counter, mulling the picture over.
I know Killian. He’d never go to Blair willingly. There’snoway. I hurt him, I accept that, but shebrokehim. Which must mean she’s stumbled upon him and saw a chance to weasel her way back in. I’ve never seen Killian drink heavily, but the rumors and stories speak for themselves, and he’s hurting. Pain fuels the drinking if my own mess is any indication.
Hopping off the stool, I take a tentative step. My heel aches, but the alcohol in my system is definitely numbing the pain. I run my hands over my face and then smooth down my dress. If Killian won’t take my calls, then I’ll go to him. Kimmy sent a picture, so they must be in the same place.
I grab my phone and drag my fingers through my tangled hair to try and make it presentable. It’s air dried slightly curly, but as long as I look alive, that's all that matters. I don’t care about anything else. Hell, maybe even turning up at Killian’s side with my skin flared in his marks will actually help. I head to the door only to stop when an unfamiliar face greets me upon opening it.
