Skeletons of Us (Unquiet Mind Book 2) (26 page)

They still didn’t return, not until we finished our long and blissful drive back to Malibu.

Then, like a switch had been flipped, they came.

I had been dreading pulling into our garage. I wished that drive could take forever. That we could just live in that blessed silence, away from the complications that came with the noise. That it could be just me and Killian in that car without the demons of the past between us.

But wishes were for fairy tales and dreamers.

I had been a dreamer once. Not anymore.

Hence me pulling my hand out of Killian’s grasp the moment he turned the Jeep off. The loss of his warmth was a blow to every inch of me. But it was necessary, like pulling off a Band-Aid. Better one big block of sharp pain than the long draining one that might just kill me.

He turned to me, eyes so full the emotion in them took up the car. “Lexie—”

My phone rang from the depths of my bag, saving me from having to face reality, from having to deal with his emotions and my own.

“I’ve got to get this,” I said, my voice flat.

I didn’t wait for his answer, didn’t look at him at all. Instead, I focused my attention on unearthing my phone while climbing out of the Jeep.

“Mark,” I greeted, my voice full of relief at him yanking me away from that emotion-drenched Jeep.

“Jesus Christ, Lexie,” he said back.

“I’m sorry,” I began.

“Sorry?” he repeated. “Sorry for playing the best concert you’ve played in your life? Or sorry for disappearing after that concert, leaving the three idiots to do interviews while the press were all over the fact you weren’t there.” He paused. “Not to mention the fact you disappeared while you’ve got a murderous stalker after you.”

I flinched slightly, walking into the house, ignoring Killian’s gaze. “Um… all of the above?”

My stomach dropped at the mention of the stalker. Not that I forgot, exactly. You couldn’t forget a person who had tried to kill your friend and took photos of you while you were sleeping. I was freaked out. Freaked the fuck out, in fact. But Killian was here. And no matter what his presence meant for my heart, physically I was safe.

There was a long sigh at the end of the phone. I could tell he was exasperated. “Are you okay?” he asked finally.

I sank into my sofa, my gaze focusing on the ocean beyond the French doors. Not that I could see it, but I knew it was there. I needed something else to look at, other than the man who was standing beside my sofa, his muscled arms crossed. His eyes were on me.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I lied. “I just needed to get away for a second. I was fine. I was with Clyde. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“You sure as shit will. Interviews and press tomorrow. First thing. I’ll be at your place at seven. Then we’re recording all afternoon.”

I massaged my temple where a tension headache was blooming. “Okay, sure.”

“And you’ll most likely be dealing with three very pissed-off band members. They weren’t pleased at your exit, especially since they had to do press without you, despite the fact Jenna tried to cancel it all. This was another level, after you playing Skeletons,” Mark added.

Shit. Each of the boys hated press. Well, Sam loved it, but mostly he said stupid shit that made Jenna’s head explode. And he didn’t like it when it interrupted his post show schedule, which was drinking too much and sleeping his way through L.A.

I took care of most of the press, the designated mouthpiece of Unquiet Mind. The boys were always there, mostly to add in comments every now and then, but mostly to look pretty while I did most of the work. It wasn’t usually a big deal. Apart from the cover of a couple of big-deal publications like
Rolling Stone
a few years ago, we had a reputation of not doing too much press, which of course meant we got interview requests all the fricking time.

“Sam said, and I quote, ‘There better be fucking muffins in this for me. Baskets of them,’” Mark said dryly.

“Okay, muffins, got it,” I replied, getting up to start on said muffins this instant. I skirted around the sofa, on the opposite side to where Killian was standing, to head to the kitchen.

The boom of his motorcycle boots thundered on the wooden floors as he followed me.

I ignored this.

“And you’ve got a music video to film before the end of the week. I’ve got multiple producers interested and possible studios on hold.”

I set a mixing bowl on the counter and paused. “No producers. No studios,” I said firmly.

Of their own volition, my eyes crept up to meet Killian’s from where he stood across the breakfast bar. I knew he’d been watching me this entire time. Now I was trapped in his gaze, frozen by it, my phone at my ear.

Images of earlier tonight surged into my mind. His mouth on mine. The way he slammed me into the wall with barely controlled ferocity. Him inside me, thrusting mercilessly like his survival depended on being wrapped around me.

I swallowed and heat erupted between my legs.

“Lexie—” Mark began.

“No, Mark. We don’t do commercial shit with our videos. You know this. You’ve always known it. We’ll do them our way and the way our fans like. We do them the way we do our music. No bells or whistles. Just us, a camera, and whatever we feel suits the song,” I said, my eyes still locked on Killian’s. His face changed at my words.

We’d always done our videos ourselves. At first we’d done it because we had immediately hated the label’s suggestions and the thought of it being commercialized and stripped of our identity. So we’d gotten out Sam’s phone, decided on a road trip, and filmed it while singing and goofing around on a three-day trip down the coast.

We’d gotten a music video award for that one. And the next one, filmed on tour. It was what we were known for. It was authentic. Real.

Another sigh on the other side of the phone. “I’m going to send you the bill for my blood pressure medication,” Mark said.

I smiled. “Love you too, Mark. Got to go. Muffins to make and all that.”

“Seven, Lexie,” Mark instructed.

“Ten four, rubber ducky.”

I hung up on him and quickly looked down at my phone to see the multiple missed calls, text messages, and voicemails.

Sam: Dude, where are you? Are you okay?

Noah: Lexie, call me. Let us know you’re okay.

Wyatt: What Sam & Noe said. Also, you fuckin’ rocked that show.

Sam: If you’re okay, you should be feeling very bad about the fact my worry for you has me unable to completely appreciate the company of Tatiana and Lucinda. Twins, Lexie.
Twins.

And so on. I quickly typed, not looking up but feeling Killian move to my side.

Me: I’m okay. Sorry, I just wigged out a bit. Forgive me? Sam, muffins are in progress. Give Tatiana and Lucinda a kiss from me. xxx

I barely had the message sent before the phone was out of my hands and set on the counter and my body was turned to face Killian’s. His hand went to my chin to tilt my head up.

“We got to talk, freckles,” he murmured

I sucked in a breath at having him so close, at him using that name. At the memories of earlier tonight. His mouth on me. Being inside me.

I stiffened. “Yeah, we do,” I agreed. “Tell me you don’t have anything,” I said, my voice flat.

Shutters went down on the eyes that had been bursting with emotion seconds before. “What?”

I forced myself to keep his gaze. I itched to yank out of his grasp, but his grip was tight and I didn’t like my chances. Instead, I did my best to keep my stare cold and my voice the same. “We didn’t use a condom earlier. I need to know whether I need to get to the doctors tomorrow.”

The hands around me flexed. “Lexie—”

“I know it’s probably too much to ask, considering your lifestyle,” I interrupted him. I couldn’t be in his arms anymore, so I stepped back, way back. By some miracle, he let me. I backed away. “But tell me you use protection with the… other girls,” I barely choked the words out, the thought of him with anyone else causing me physical pain.

Killian flinched. He stepped forward, as if to come to me, but I scuttled back. I prayed he didn’t force it. If he chose to, he could come at me, use his strength against me. I had no chance to fight against him. But he sensed it. My desperation. So he stopped.

He ran his hand through his close-cropped hair, his jaw granite. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured looking up. His eyes were glassy. Tortured. “Lexie—”

I held my hand up. “Answer the question. Do I need to get tested?”

Killian’s face went blank. “Fuck. Baby, no.”

I nodded. “Good. And I’m….” I trailed off, looking sideways. “Me too. And I’m on birth control. You’ve got nothing to worry about in that department.”

At this, he surged forward, despite my obvious distress. His hands went to my neck. “You think I’m worried about that? About putting a baby in you? You think that would ever be somethin’ I considered bad?” he asked, his eyes blazing.

I flinched at the emotion in his eyes, in his voice, at the meaning behind the words.

Unbidden, the image of a dark-haired baby with ice blue eyes assaulted my mind. I chased it away before I latched onto a fairy tale.

I struggled out of his grasp. “Let me go, Killian.”

Ice blue eyes held me captive. “Never.”

Before I could think too hard, get held hostage by hope, I tried to struggle out of his grasp. His hands tightened, hampering any effort I made.

“Freckles, we’re gonna talk about what happened tonight with you and me.” His eyes flared. “We’re going to do more than talk about it. We’re going to recreate it. Repeatedly.”

My stomach cartwheeled at the erotic promise of his words and my traitorous body reacted.

“But first, we’re going to address you leavin’ and putting yourself in danger. Then we’re going to talk about that song.” He rested his forehead on mine. “Fuck, baby. That song.”

I couldn’t do it. No. I couldn’t do this, be in his arms after he’d seen me lay my soul bare. After everything, I couldn’t stand this tenderness and promises of things that I’d abandoned for the sake of my soul.

I stepped back. This time he let me.

My eyes met his. “Tonight was a mistake.”
Lies. Lies.

“I’ve made a fuck of a lot of mistakes when it comes to you, Lexie. Ones that will haunt me till the day I die.” He paused. “Tonight was not one of those mistakes.”

I sucked in a painful breath. “You need to leave.”

He regarded me. “Can’t do that.”

I resisted the urge to stomp my foot or squeal. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was a strong, independent woman. I went for sarcasm instead. “Why? Do you enjoy this?” I pointed to myself. “Have you turned into some emotional sadist over the years? You
like
causing me pain?”

He flinched. I should have liked that. Felt better knowing my words had stung. Affected him. But I didn’t. I felt worse. The thought of him being in pain, of me causing it, hurt me. What the heck? The boy, no wait,
man
in front of me had broken my heart, and I was worried about his feelings? I should have been hoping he fell over and cut his dick on a pair of rusty gardening shears.

I glanced around hopefully. “Dammit, no shears,” I whispered to myself.

Killian frowned. “What?”

My head snapped up. “What?”

He regarded me, maybe gaging my sanity. Whatever. Me and my voices were none of his concern.

“This hurts you?” He gestured between us.

I resisted the urge to snort or shoot some sarcastic remark. I also stayed standing at his question, the fact that he obviously didn’t feel that same pain from being in the same room as his soul mate nearly ripped me apart. Who was I kidding? He probably wasn’t feeling anything under that cold façade. Who knew if he ever felt anything.

That’s a lie. You know he felt something. That’s what makes all of this that much worse.

“Yes,” I said simply, my voice and heart not allowing me to say more, to tell him that his mere presence was tearing me to pieces inside. Shredding me. But the thought of any distance between us made that pain increase tenfold. Catch 22. Something had to give. This had to end.

He didn’t flinch this time, but I saw something behind his eyes, something that wasn’t dark pits of nothingness.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. Those two words were so full of pain I had to restrain my flinch.

I gave myself a second then met his eyes. “You’re sorry?” I repeated, my voice even.

He stepped forward. “So fuckin’ sorry, freckles. Every inch of me. Every cell in my body hurts with the knowledge of how much damage I did. Hurts with the bitter agony of regret.”

I stared at him, then nodded. “Okay.”

I didn’t waste time on his surprised look, just turned on my heel and walked calmly around the breakfast bar. I could hear his motorcycle boots echoing on the floor, so I knew he was following me.

“Lexie—”

I held my hand up to silence him, reaching to grab the bowl I had laid out for Sam’s muffins. I turned around slowly, meeting his ice blue eyes, which flickered to the bowl.

“What…?” he started to say, but he silenced the moment I threw the bowl at the floor, where it shattered around us.