Page 48

The gravity of last night sinks into me. I slept with Dom’s son. Caitlin and James’s half-brother. And it was … wow.

“No regrets. Mildly freaking out,” I answer, and he laughs softly.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Even if he hadn’t told me one night wasn’t what he wanted last night, it wouldn’t have been enough for me. I knew it then, and I damn well know it now. But Killian, just like his dad, lives halfway around the world. And just like his dad, I don’t actually know how long he’s planning on sticking around for.

But unlike Dom, I trust that Killian isn’t going to bullshit me.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything, love.”

There’s that word again. If any other man called me “love”, I’d hate it. But Killian … damn. I can’t even blame it on the accent. As hot as it is (and it is, I can’t lie), I’ve become desensitized to the powers of the Irish accent over the years. Somewhere between the first: “I’m sorry for not being around,” from Dom back when Caitlin was a few months old, and: “Parenting doesn’t come with nights off,” last night, it kind of lost its appeal.

But every word out of Killian’s mouth makes a flurry of butterflies dance in my stomach, and I like knowing it’s not the accent, but Killian, that’s doing it.

“Scar,” he says, his lips twitching.

“Huh?”

“You had a question?”

Shit. I’ve just been staring at him. I clear my throat. “Right. I know you said you wanted to stay until the new year, but have you thought any more about when you’re going home?” The word “home” feels wrong, but it’s true. This isn’t Killian’s home, no matter how much more it feels like home with him here.

“You getting sick of me?” he jokes, but there’s an uncertainty in his eyes, like he’s worried I might say yes.

“The opposite, actually.”

Killian’s expression softens. “I can stay for up to six months on my current visa. We have plenty of time to figure it out, but, right now, I don’t have any inclination to leave.”

It’s a problem how immediate the relief is; knots I didn’t even notice in my chest loosen. It’s temporary, I remind myself. Don’t get used to it.

Killian lies back flat against the pillows, and I snuggle into him. “Good.”

He runs his fingers through the ends of my hair, undoing some of the tangles he caused last night. “When are we picking the kids up?”

“My mom said they didn’t have plans today, so whenever is fine. I’ll call her in a while.”

“It’s weird not having them here,” he says. He’s quiet for a moment as I draw invisible lines across his chest, committing his freckles to memory. “I miss them,” he adds, and I still.

He says it so easily. They’ve been gone for less than twenty-four hours, and he misses them. He’s known about their existence for two weeks—god, how has it only been two weeks?—and he misses them.

“Maybe tonight we could watch another Christmas movie? I’ll make dinner. James was asking about tacos the other day. And I was thinking next week we could …”

I don’t hear a thing as he keeps going, excitement sparkling in his eyes while he talks about all of the things he wants to do with Caitlin and James. And me. Like a family. Which we are, I guess, in a convoluted way, but this feels … different. It feels nice in a way that scares the shit out of me. How the hell has my life turned upside down in two weeks?

I realize Killian is looking at me, expectantly, probably waiting for some kind of sign of life, while I have a little meltdown internally.

“Tacos. Movie. Yes. That all sounds good.”

He narrows his eyes, but there’s no heat in it. If anything, he looks amused, like he can hear the thoughts rattling around in my brain.

“Speaking of food, I want you to stay right here and relax. I’m going to bring you breakfast in bed. Okay?”

God, that sounds nice. But now that my mind has started whirring, I don’t think pancakes and coffee are going to stop it.

I sit up, pushing away from him. “Actually, I have to go.”