Idol (VIP, #1)(14)

God, the man is like a bloodhound. Or an annoying rat, chewing away at all my weaknesses. With that lovely image floating before my eyes, I set my sandwich down. “Not much of a social life here. Most of my friends are online.” And when was the last time I talked to any of them? It’s a slap to the system to realize I haven’t emailed anyone in months. And no one has emailed me either.

I’m not shy. But I am an introvert. Going out has never been my thing. But when did I grow so isolated? Why hadn’t I noticed? Or cared?

“Anyway, I like my privacy, doing my own thing…” My neck tightens, and I take long gulps of my lemonade.

I have no idea what Killian is thinking. He just nods and eats his BLT in neat but big bites. A sigh of contentment leaves him before he peers down at the cooler, a little frown between his eyes.

“Here.” I pass him another sandwich. “I packed you three.”

His grin is quick and wide. “I knew it. All bark.”

I won’t smile. I won’t. “Eat your sandwiches.”

“I see that smile, Libs.”

“I can take back the food.”

He grabs the third sandwich and sets it on his lap, hunching protectively over it as he wolfs down the second one. “You grow up here?” he asks me after swallowing a huge chunk.

“No. I grew up in Wilmington. The house was my grandmama’s place. She left it to my parents when she died, and they left it to me.” There. I said it. And it only hurts a little. A dull pain, like a boulder crushing down on my ribs. “I was living in Savannah, but after… Well, I just wanted to go home. This was the closest place to it for me.”

Killian frowns, but his voice is gentle. “When did they die, Libby?”

I don’t want to answer. But silence is worse. “A little over a year ago.” I take a breath. “My mom and dad went out to dinner. Dad got drunk but drove anyway.”

I can’t tell him that my dad was always drunk in those final days, missing a lifestyle he’d vowed to give up when my parents had me. Was I the cause of my father’s bad choices? No. But some days, it sure felt like it. I swallow hard. “He crashed into a family van. Killed the mother in that van, himself, and my mom too.”

“Fucking hell.”

I try to shrug and fail. “It is what it is.”

“It’s f*cked up, honey.”

Nodding, I search through the cooler for another lemonade.

“Liberty?” His voice is so soft and tentative that I immediately still and lift my head.

Killian squeezes the back of his neck, his jaw bunched. But he doesn’t look away, even though it’s clear he wants to. “I… Fuck…” He takes another breath. “I’m sorry. For the way we met. For tearing up your lawn and puking on you.” His cheeks redden, which is kind of cute. “But most of all, for forcing you to take care of a drunk driver.”

He flicks a few grains of sand off his knee. “It was f*cked up. And I’m not that guy.” His dark eyes are wide and slightly haunted. “Or I wasn’t until recently. I just…had a rough time lately,” he finishes with a mumble before frowning at the sea.

“And you turned to the bottle.” It isn’t my place to criticize. And I try to make my voice gentle. “It never works, you know.”

He snorts. “Oh, I know.” He glances back at me, and his lips curve on a bitter smile. “I failed spectacularly at that experiment in oblivion.”

“If you’d failed,” I say softly, “you’d be dead.”

Killian blanches. “I guess you’re right,” he says in a thin voice.

We’re quiet for a moment, the crash of waves and the cries of gulls filling the air. Then I hand him his sandwich. “I’m glad you didn’t.” I’m glad you’re here. With me. But I don’t have the courage to say that.

He shakes his head as if laughing at himself, but when he meets my eyes, there’s a lightness in his expression. “I’m glad too, Liberty Bell.” Killian leans in and peers at me. “We cool now?”

He sounds so hopeful—and a bit unsure—that the last vestiges of anger toward him leave me. I fear that too. Anger is a wall I’ve built to protect myself. I know this. What I don’t know is how to protect myself from hurt without it. But I want to try.

I find a smile. “We’re cool.”





Chapter Five





Libby



We’re friends. I don’t know how it happened. I was all set to hate Killian, but he’s wormed his way under my skin with embarrassingly little effort. Maybe because, as the days pass, he never really leaves. Somehow he’s around for breakfast the next morning? then ends up hanging out with me all day until it’s night again. Or maybe because I’ve sunk into a pattern of enjoying his company and then waiting until he returns to me. I swear, I seem to be waiting for him even in my sleep, my thoughts consumed with all things Killian—what is he doing? What’s he thinking now? When’s he coming over again?

The annoying thing is that I was perfectly content before he came. My life had a pattern and was comfortable. Reliable. Now, it’s anything but. Everything is driven by this push of anticipation for him.

I tell myself it isn’t really my fault. I don’t think there’s a person on Earth capable of resisting the man. Killian is a peacock in a world of sparrows. He catches the eye and holds it. Oddly, it isn’t even about looks. Killian’s features are bold and strong; he’s good looking, sure, but not extraordinary. And yet he is, because whatever makes Killian Killian lights him up and draws people in like a candle in the dark.