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I take a deep breath, and then another. “Kael?”
He doesn’t answer me.
There’s a guy playing the guitar on the small stage to my right. He’s not singing, just playing the guitar, some acoustic mix that’s nice, but not great. There’s also a poster behind the guy that saysOpen Mic Night.
“Kael?” I say again, a little louder this time.
And he either doesn’t hear me say his name, or he’s deliberately ignoring me. Sure, I could come up with a thousand pre-rehearsed pep-talks that I’ve rattled off to a thousand different patients over the years, but this time none of them seem quite right.
Glass crunches beneath my shoes as I step closer to him. “For fuck’s sake, Kael. Answer me.”
This catches his attention. He looks up quickly as if he honestly didn’t know I was standing there. But the instant our eyes meet he flashes me a dark look. “What areyoudoing here?”
“You promised me, Kael.”
“Get the hell out of here, Sienna.”
His voice is missing the deep, sexy rasp that I’ve grown to love. I’ve missed him so much. I’ve missed everything about him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he growls. He tilts his head to one side. “This is no place for someone like you.”
He sounds angry and bitter, that’s for sure.
My heart clenches tightly. My god, I’ve hurt him so much, and I promised him I never would.
It suddenly dawns on me, though, that he isn’t slurring his words. He isn’t swaying in the seat, eyes unfocused. In fact, his voice is even and controlled, as is the way he’s sitting forward in the booth, his elbows resting on the edge of the table, the glass balanced perfectly between his fingertips. Not exactly the epitome of a drunken idiot.
“Kael, please. Can we talk?”
He grunts. “Not going to happen.”
“Is this really what you want?”
His dark eyes swing up to find mine sharply. His brows draw down over his eyes, and then he… he laughs. That’s what he does, he fucking laughs at me, and it’s so saturated with sarcasm that I almost shrink beneath it so I can shelter from the weight of it bearing down on me.
“Is this really what I want?”he mimics like the true artist that he is. “You’re seriously going to stand there and ask me if this is really what I want. Fuck off, Sienna.”
“Stop it.”
“How’s your husband?”
“What?”
“Is he behind bars yet? You think I don’t know the truth? You think I don’t know what really happened? I told you Sal was the best in the industry. Turns out this wasn’t Jonathan’s first rodeo either, did you know that, Sienna? The guy’s got a rap sheet a mile long.”
I sigh. He’s not listening to me.
“I don’t want to talk about myex-husbandright now. Not tonight, not ever again. I’ve tried to apologize to you so many times now that I’ve lost count.” I curse under my breath. “If you’d just answered my phone calls, responded to my text messages, and let me explain—”
“You’re not my therapist anymore, so fucking quit it.”
He’s so angry, and for a split second, I worry I’m in over my head. But in the time I’ve spent with him over the past three months, despite his bad moods and his temper tantrums, I’ve never once felt unsafe around him.
It’s always been the opposite in fact.
I slide into the booth opposite him. The leather squeaks as I shuffle across. I reach across and grab the glass clean out of his hand, tossing the clear liquid straight down my throat.
I swallow fast, waiting for the burn to hit my tongue, waiting for the fire to fill my stomach, and the acid to make my eyes water.
