How does she stand it?
I mean, I get it. She’s not rich like the rest of us. Though I don’t doubt she makes a very nice living off her writing. She’s been on the New York Times list before, I’m sure of it. I’m sure someone told me that a long time ago. Maybe Bennett. But for as long as I’ve known her, this cottage has been her home base. We used to come here back in school when we all needed to get away. It didn’t look like this, not at all. It was a dump back then. Definitely didn’t have a laundry room. Hell, the plumbing didn’t even work. Kiera lived in the main house, just down the shoreline, with her mother. This cottage was built for a caretaker, back when the family had real money.
But we didn’t even care. To us—meaning us, not Kiera—it was like the cabins we’d stay in for summer camp. This place always felt like summer camp.
The water turns off in the bathroom and I realize I’ve been standing here looking out the window for several minutes.
There’s that well-known rattle of shower curtain rings as she pulls it back and I have an inexplicable urge to walk down the hallway and catch her naked. Catch her pull the towel around herself.
But there’s a squeak of a hand rubbing steam off a mirror, then a faucet.
She’s brushing her teeth.
I turn from the window, sighing, and step back into the hallway. When I reach the bathroom I stop and allow myself to stare.
She smiles at the mirror, like she’s getting some secret glimpse of me I’ll never see myself, then spits out her toothpaste, cupping water into her mouth with her hand to rinse.
That’s when I see the exit hole the size of a bullet in her left shoulder.
I step into the hot steam left over from her shower and my fingers are pressing against the scar before either of us realize what I’m doing.
“God, Kiera,” I say, mesmerized by the small jagged edges of pink skin.
“I’m fine,” she says.
Which was the exact same thing she said right after it happened.
And she was not fucking fine. “You were not fucking fine,” I say out loud.
“I was,” she says, turning to face me with a forced smile.
That’s when I realize I’m only wearing semi-damp black boxer briefs and she’s only wearing a towel. Her skin is still wet with beaded drops of water, her long, blonde hair hanging almost to her waist.
I have an overwhelming urge to touch her other places too. Because she feels like mine. And I’ve touched her many times in the past. In every way imaginable.
But I control that urge because she’s not mine now and maybe she never was.
She didn’t belong to anyone. Not the way Sofia and Camille did.
We’re staring at each other in the mirror when she breaks the now awkward silence and says, “Your turn.”
She eases past me, the spell broken, and disappears around the corner into the hallway.
“Leave the door open,” she calls back from her bedroom.
“Buddy system,” I say, sorta grinning.
“Yup. Buddy system.”
CHAPTER FOUR – KIERA
It’s both strange and totally normal to have Connor Arlington in my house. Strange because it’s been ten years and normal because it feels like no minutes have passed at all since that last time we were together.
Which was the only time we were ever together alone. All the other times we were with Sofia. Or everyone. We did that a lot once we got used to the routine. But that last time was just me and him.
I admit that I planned it that way. I did. I wanted him to myself. Just me and him.
But I think he wanted it too.
I tell myself that, anyway. That he wanted me that night.
Maybe it’s an illusion. Or a delusion, I’m not quite sure.
But then again, maybe it’s real?
I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore.
The shower starts and I stand still in my bedroom, listening and looking into my closet, as he turns on the water and pulls the shower curtain closed.
I took a bullet for him.
Wow, it’s been a long time since I thought about that.
I find a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. My usual nighttime wear, even in the winter. But then I look in the mirror and second-guess myself.
Will I be sending him the wrong message if I bare too much skin?
Maybe I’ll be sending him the right one?
Jesus Christ, Kiera. Get a grip. This guy has never looked at you that way. Everything we did was… scripted. I knew that then and I know that now. In three years he’s going to be a US Senator. I don’t care how preliminary the stages are in his campaign, he will win that election.
It’s pretty much ordained.
So don’t get lost in the fantasy. This is real life, not a stupid book.