Idol(81)

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” She rests a hand on my chest. “You have more confidence than any one man has a right to, but you want your friends’ good opinions. You wanted it for me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done all that you did to smooth my way.”

Pressure tightens against my ribs, and I grunt. “Okay, fine. I want them to like you. I want us to get along. But—”

“Right now it’s just us in our own private little bubble. Everything changes when we tell them, for better or worse. If we could just wait…” She bites her lip. “Please, Killian? Please, just a little longer?”

My chest tightens even more. Sure, she has a point, but when will that ever change? And if she doesn’t want this now, when will she? I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “I hate this. All day I wanted to touch you. It’s not even sex, Lib. I have to fight the impulse to hold your damn hand. I’m cut off at the balls.”

Her mouth quirks, but it only fuels my anger.

“I can’t do this much longer.” The words hang there, sounding harder than I intended.

“Do what?” she asks, her face paling.

I stare at her, realizing I could give an ultimatum. I could force the issue. I’m not used to feeling helpless or hurt. Fuck. I take a breath past the ache in my ribs. “You’ve had a lot heaped on you today. I’m taking a shower.” I back away from her, heading toward the bathroom. “Figure out your shit, Libby. I’ll be here when you do.”



Libby



I’ve hurt him. I know this. I knew it when I asked Killian to keep our relationship quiet, and when I asked him to continue doing it. I hate hurting him. But I see what he either can’t or refuses to acknowledge. The world isn’t black and white. And the band isn’t all right. They’re walking wounded right now. The love between them is clear. They’re brothers. But Jax leveled a blow they’re still reeling from. And the idea of adding more drama, more uncertainty makes me feel ill.

At first, it was pride that had motivated me to keep my relationship with Killian a secret. But now it’s something more. I care about these guys, as individuals and as a group. I don’t want to get between them when they’re obviously still fragile.

I tell myself all of this. But it doesn’t help when we climb into a limo and head out for the night. The guys want to relax, let off some steam by going to clubs. I should have stayed in, but when Whip called to ask, the look on Killian’s face—as if he expected I’d keep away from him—hurt too.

So here I am, crammed in between Whip and Rye, who are trading jokes over my head: most of them about Killian’s supposed intestinal distress. Putting the pieces together, it sounds as if Killian made an excuse to return to me at the expense of his pride. I feel even lower.

Not that Killian appears bothered by their teasing. He sits across the way, his long body lounging against the seat, his thighs spread wide as if he means to take up as much space as possible. As we drive along, the lights of the city slip in and out of the darkened car, illuminating his face, then throwing it into shadow.

He doesn’t say much, only stares out of the window and occasionally snorts at a shit joke. But then, as if he feels my stare, he glances my way. Our gazes clash, and it’s as if someone’s pulled a rug from under my feet. My insides swoop, heat prickles over my skin. And on the heels of that comes a rush of emotion, squeezing at my heart, catching me by the throat.

It’s always this way. He looks at me, I fall. I have an awful feeling it will be this way my entire life. Killian James wakes me up, makes me whole.

I want to tell him this, to put my hand in his and ask that he never let go. But he glances off, leaning over to say something to Jax. I can’t hear what—my heart is thundering in my ears.

The car halts, the door opens. I’m ushered out to follow the flow of the guys into a club. We head up to a VIP section at the top of a massive circular steel staircase. People watch as we go.

Gazes crawl over my skin. For years the guys have lived this way. I don’t know how they manage. Perhaps they love it. They’re all smiling, clasping hands with people they know, pausing to hear someone whisper in their ears.

Killian is ahead of me, walking with Jax. They’re practically mobbed by women, until just their heads are visible above the swarm. I set my jaw and follow. This is part of Killian’s life. There isn’t a thing I can say here because, in the world’s eyes, I’m just his friend. This hasn’t bothered me before now. It felt more like a secret we shared between us. Women could hover, but they’d never go home with him.