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It was all very dull, and so when I finished early, I walked the ridge line along the back property and took my notebook. Walking out there always helped me think. While I loved singing cover songs, I occasionally featured my own work. So, as I walked, I jotted down lyrics and began to weave them into a song. I had sat out there until the sun dipped behind the hills, and then I finally sauntered back, relishing the way the ground had become frozen and so different from when I’d arrived in summer.
The apartment was empty again, just like it had been for several days. The sun had dipped behind the hills, bringing the day to an end. I had my headphones on, my notebook next to me, a small piece of toast as my dinner, and was now blocking out the world. The beats flowed in cadence as I jotted down ideas for lyrics and allowed pieces of my heart to exit my chest, and bleed into text. My fingers cramped; my back was sore from sitting on the floor, but I kept writing. I had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually, there was a tattooed hand that gripped the bedroom door and pushed it open.
I lifted my chin, catching a green, defeated gaze. Whatever had happened throughout the day, it had wrung Killian dry.
He practically collapsed next to me on the floor, all while plopping a greasy, paper bag in my lap. I pulled my headphones free and quirked a silent brow at him.
“Didn’t think you ate, considering you don’t keep any food here. Looks like I was right.”
He gestured toward the toast.
I hadn’t even touched it. But smelling whatever was in the bag had my stomach growling.
“Thank you.” I opened the bag and pulled out a wrapped burger, then another. I handed one to him and then dumped the fries out of the containers and folded the bag down.
“Shake Shack has the best fries and fry sauce,” he commented, while folding the wrapper back on his burger.
We ate in silence, dipping fries into the pinkish sauce, and at some point, I clicked on a funny television show on my laptop, and let it stream while we finished up. We didn’t speak of what happened earlier in the day, or the files…or any of the other complicated bullshit that kept happening.
We just sat in each other’s presence, and when we were finished, Killian took the laptop and placed it on the bed, then took off his cut, his hoodie, then his jeans.
I held my breath as I waited for what he’d do next.
When he crawled under my covers, and sat up against the wall, something in my chest cracked open.
It was the most docile I’d ever seen him. He looked exhausted, like he barely had the energy to hold his head up.
“You asked if for one night you could just be Daisy. I’m asking you the same. Give me one night where I can just be Killian, not the club leader, not the wolf, or any other monikers. Just let me be me.”
Feeling a soft tug in my chest, I crumpled my wrapper, wiped my hands and then got up. I watched as his bare chest rose and fell, but his eyes remained on the screen. As though if I did reject him, he didn’t want to witness it. I let out a silent sigh and pulled my side of the blankets back. I crawled in next to him, wearing just my sleep shorts and a tank top.
He clicked the lamp off and pulled me under his arm.
“Tell me something,” he murmured quietly while the show played in front of us.
Nestling closer, I decided to share something I was terrified of. “I am deathly afraid of marshmallows and marshmallow fluff."
He snorted quietly. “Marshmallows?”
“And that fluff stuff.”
His fingers toyed with the strap of my tank top. “Not spiders or sharks…”
I shook my head. “Nope. I can handle all that, but that fucking marshmallow fluff—Nopppppeee.”
“Where did this fear come from, might I ask?” I could hear the laughter in his voice.
My hand trailed up over his abs. “The very first Ghostbuster movie. When I was little, I remember watching it while I was home alone…”
“Well, I think my nanny was there or something, but I was alone, and that freaking Marshmallow guy showed up, destroying the whole city.” I shivered just thinking about that freaky scene.
“It scared you?”
I nodded. “I can’t even enjoy smores.”
That sent him laughing so hard, he had to tip his head back.
“My poor, poor Daisy. Brought down by a fluffy?—”
