Pen Pal(56)

Staring up at the endless blue sky, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, knowing instinctively that this time, he’s the one falling apart.

“It’s okay,” I whisper hoarsely, dazed. “Aidan, it’s okay.”

He makes a muffled sound of pain.

“Shh.”

I softly kiss the side of his face and thread my fingers into his hair. He’s heavy and hot on top of me, trembling all over, and all at once, I’m flooded with a deep sense of peace.

Or awe, maybe. Or something else altogether. I’m not sure there’s a word for it.

Whatever it is, it’s beautiful.

My lips close to his ear, I whisper, “I loved it. I loved every second. Everything you did and said. Do you hear me? This is what I needed.”

He exhales a ragged moan.

“My beautiful lion. You’re so wonderful. You’re exactly what I need.”

He lifts his head and kisses me passionately, moaning into my mouth. “Kayla,” he says, panting. “God. Fuck. Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

I chuckle. “Aside from some scrapes and bruises, I’m excellent.”

His gaze darts all over my face, searching for any sign that I’m lying. When he seems satisfied I’m not, he swallows and moistens his lips.

He says haltingly, “I got a little carried away.”

“Did you ever,” I reply with a grin. “Holy cannoli, what a smutty vocabulary you have. It’s even better than your normal one.”

After a beat, he starts to laugh. Softly, shaking his head, he laughs in relief, then kisses me again.

“I can’t help it. You bring out the beast in me.”

“Apparently! But now I would very much appreciate it if we could stand up. There’s a rock digging into my lower back, and it’s unholy painful.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

He withdraws, stands, tucks himself back into his jeans, and zips them up. Then he helps me stand, handling me carefully as he brushes earth and leaves from my skin.

“You’re all scraped up,” he says in a hushed voice, wincing as he dusts me off with feather-soft strokes of his fingers. “Your knee is bleeding.”

I sigh deeply in satisfaction. “That’s what happens when bunnies get fucked in the woods. I’m sure I’ll be sore as hell tomorrow. Where are my clothes? I’m getting cold.”

He leaves me briefly to gather my shoes, shirt, jeans, and his jacket from where he tossed them to the ground earlier. Then he helps me dress in silent concentration, handling me gingerly as if he’s convinced I might crack.

His tenderness and concern are touching. He’s being so sweet and gentle, the opposite of my dominant, snarling beast from only minutes ago.

It’s incredible how many different people one body can hold. We all walk around with a thousand strangers inside us, slumbering quietly until someone else wakes them up. Like the jolt of electricity that reanimated Frankenstein’s monster, all it takes for our sleeping giants to jump to life is a single spark.

When I’m dressed, Aidan takes my hand and silently leads me out of the woods. When we emerge into sunlight, we look at the sky, then at each other.

Something passes between us, unspoken and profound.

He looks away first, squeezing my hand and smiling.

That smile could break my heart.





We spend the rest of the day at his apartment. I have to take another shower to get all the remnants of leaves and dirt off my skin. Afterward, Aidan puts Neosporin on my cuts and scrapes and bandages my knee.

He looks unhappy as he does it, his brows drawn down, his lips pressed to a thin line.

Though my injuries are minor and gained in the most wonderful way, he hates to see me hurt.

I spend the night again. He wakes me up at dawn and makes love to me with a wordless urgency that leaves me breathless. Then he withdraws into that quiet place inside his head where he goes when he needs to hide.

But I don’t ask him what’s wrong. I don’t push. I let him be.

He’s not the only one keeping secrets.





By the time I get home, Fiona is already there. I find her in Michael’s office, which sends a spike of irritation through me.

“What are you doing in here?”

Holding a feather duster, she whirls around from his desk and starts when she sees me.

“Kayla!”

“Yes, it’s me. I live here, remember?”

Her smile is apologetic. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t hear you come in. You walk like a cat.”

Uncomfortable, I hesitate at the threshold. I haven’t been in this room since the accident. The door has been shut, and the air is stale. Something about it makes me feel claustrophobic.

“I didn’t want this room cleaned. I thought I told you that.”

“Did you?”

“Didn’t I?”

She laughs. “Well, if you did, I don’t recall.”

“Oh. Sorry. To be honest…neither do I.”

Remembering what she said last week about the possible cause of my memory lapses, I grow even more uncomfortable. My cheeks heating, I shift my weight from foot to foot and clear my throat. “But I’d like to leave this room alone for the time being. It’s just…” I gesture helplessly. “I haven’t gone through any of his things yet.”