I look at my phone screen. Missed call from Wes Traynor.
I call him.
“Wes.”
“I’m thinking we should consider bugging the old lady’s place,” he says. “I don’t usually suggest things like this because I don’t like fuckin’ with innocent folks, but in this case… he was there again for an hour and a half last night. He’s there now.”
“Now?”
Before eight o’clock in the morning?
“Do it,” I say.
“Gotcha. They always sit at that kitchen table, so I could put one pointing right there and only view it when he’s in there.”
My private eye has ethics. In my experience, that’s a liability in his role – at least when it comes to working for me.
43
Violet
Wednesday is a long, long day for me. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that tomorrow is Ray’s deadline and I’m sick to my stomach about the possibilities.
I’m tempted to swing by the building and check my mail, but I know it’s a terrible idea. I just have to wait another day or two and then all this will be over.
But will it? And to what end?
Killian is angry with me. It’s bad that the family dinner on Sunday was canceled because of my grandfather’s health, but the good thing is that Killian didn’t have an opportunity to spend the day with me and my family, because I have no idea where it would’ve gone. More kissing? More than kissing?
I’m petrified of the chemistry between us. It’s white-hot and isn’t that the hottest type of flame? I’m not sure, but I’m so afraid of the burn.
I’m afraid of jumping too soon. Getting my heart broken. Being unfair to someone else by getting into something I’m not ready for.
The past three weeks have been incredibly eye-opening for me. Distance from Ray has bolstered my strength. A lot. But I have a long way to go.
Talking to my mom twice daily on the phone to get updates on Grampa has helped, too. This has brought me back into the family fold where I worried it would be difficult to regain that closeness with them after being so distant for so long.
I text or group-chat with Mom, my aunt, and my two cousins. And it’s gone off the Grampa topic and is just a nice, ongoing conversation with them. This has helped me feel more like me.
Going to lunch with friends from work, having that girls’ night out, spending time with and having Susanna in my life again. All of it has been amazing.
Not worrying about money so much. Not feeling that horrible sinking feeling, heading home every night to Ray and his garbage.
And it’s all down to Killian sending Ray off to Atlantic City because that was the start. That was the beginning. That week alone helped me begin to find my way back toward who I was before. Someone with friends. With a relationship with her family. Someone that smiled, laughed, looked forward instead of trying to simply blend in.
Someone who decided enough was enough and that it was time to take my life back.
Bottom line: the fact that Ray fucked up royally and that Killian stepped in led to this past two weeks of me getting in touch with myself again.
But while all that has been happening, I’ve also been freaking out because of the insane amount of chemistry between Killian and me.
I can’t stop thinking about him. I dream about him. I can barely look at him without feeling my face heat up, without getting butterflies, without wanting to just… I don’t know… throw myself at him and hope he catches me.
I’ve heard it said that after every long-term relationship ends, you should give yourself at least a full season to heal from it. Maybe even as long as the relationship lasted. I don’t want to spend the next three years alone, necessarily, but I do think it’s probably healthy to have time between relationships. And then there’s that whole thing about having a couple rebounds in between serious relationships. Jumping from three years with Ray, the last year of which was hell for me, to a new relationship that would be with someone so very different? It just doesn’t seem wise.
Not to mention the fact that Ray has repeatedly ignored my trying to split up means I feel like I’m not exactly single – instead in limbo.
And then again, how would I feel if I moved on from this without giving things with Killian the chance of becoming something? Would I regret it?
Is it just chemistry? Does he just want sex from me, will it fizzle out quickly after that, or could it become more? Could it become everything?
I shake these thoughts off as they threaten to take a firmer hold and get me deep into a fantasy about a life with Killian Coulter. What that might look like. What that might feel like.
I stare at the clock again. It’s finally four o’clock. One more hour until I can go.
Go and dread tomorrow. Because either way, I can’t imagine it’ll be easy.
***
It’s five twenty when I get into Killian’s apartment and disarm the alarm.
He’s standing against the kitchen island, facing me with his arms across his chest.
“Hi,” I greet timidly.
He’s pissed at me, still.
“We’re going out.”
I double blink. “Um…now?”
“What you’re wearing works for our plans. You look good.”
“I…” I look down at myself. I’m wearing a long black pencil skirt, brown boots, and a brown sweater. My hair is ironed straight today.
“Cuttin’ it close as it is, so we gotta go now.”
“Where?”
“Dinner. And the theater.”
“Um…”
“Ready?” He looks angry.
“I don’t know; maybe I should redo my makeup, and-”
“You’re beautiful. Let’s go.”
He shrugs his leather jacket on and sets the alarm as he puts his hand to the small of my back and leads me out.
And off we go, me hearing him tell me I’m beautiful vibrating in my brain.
As we head into the elevator he says, “The show starts at seven. We’ll hit Genesis and eat there. I’ve already put in orders for us. I’ll just text Alana right…” he fiddles on his phone, “now. And she’ll take care of putting the order in.”
I stare, unblinking at the light panel signaling our descent into the parking garage.
When he opens and closes the passenger door for me, his pissed-off attitude doesn’t lessen.
***
“Hello, Violet, how are you?” Alana greets brightly as we step in and approach the hostess station.
“I’m good, thanks. How are you?”
“I’m great. I was sorry to hear your grandfather was ill. Is he doing better?”
She walks us to the table we sat at last time. The rest of the place is buzzing, full.
“He is. He’s at home and it turns out he’s become diabetic, so he’s quite unhappy at the moment because a lot of doctor intervention and lifestyle changes are underway. He’s pretty grumpy about it, but we’re grateful he seems to be okay, mostly.”
“That’s a relief,” she says, and we are seated. “I hope he continues to improve.”
“I replaced that box of Lucky Charms,” I tell her, “For the next time you and your boys are over at Killian’s place. The boys are adorable, Alana.”