Idol (VIP, #1)(96)

The request is ridiculous enough to grab Killian’s attention. He lifts his head, a smirk on his face as if he’s going to say something, but then our gazes clash. I know the second he realizes it’s me. Because everything freezes. His expression wipes totally blank, then shatters, his lips parting on a breath, his eyes going wide.

I feel that look down to my toes. It wrenches my heart. I know there and then that he’s hurting as much as I am. It’s all there in those coffee dark eyes. Everything that’s passed between us—every look, word, touch—is all there. Tears blur my vision, and I offer him a watery smile.

He twitches as if he’s fighting not to hop off the stage. But then a slow smile spreads. He barely nods. I wonder if he’s having as hard a time functioning as I am.

When he turns toward his guys, his movements are jerky. One by one, three sets of eyes focus on me. Whip’s expression is one of relief. Rye’s smile is wide and bright. Jax stares at me for a long moment and then gives me a small chin tip.

My heart thuds as Killian turns back to the mic. His gaze locks onto me. “I met my best friend on the lawn of a farmhouse. I’d lost my way, my music. She helped me find it again.” I choke back a sob, clutching my arms around my chest, as Killian keeps talking. “Back then, she asked me to sing one of my songs for her. I wouldn’t do it. Truth is, I wanted her to like me more than she liked my music.”

The crowd awws, and he gives them his cheeky smile. “I know. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

“I love you, Killian,” shouts a woman at the back. “Have my babies!”

“No,” cries a man near the stage, “have mine!”

Killian chuckles low in the mic. “Sorry, guys. I’m taken.” While the crowd moans, he grins and switches out his Telecaster for a big acoustic Gibson J-200, plucking a few chords. “Thing is, I still want her to like me. So I’m not gonna play a Kill John song right now. I’m gonna play an old favorite of mine. And maybe I’ll get the message right this time.”

There’s a wolf whistle in the crowd.

Jax leans close to his mic. “You’d better, or we’re benching you for the rest of the game.”

People laugh again, but I’m stuck on the happy grins Jax and Killian exchange. Gone is the underlying tension that’s seemed to ride them, replaced by an easy joy and appreciation for each other that brings a lump to my throat. The band is in perfect sync as they start to play “Trying To Break Your Heart” by Wilco.

A half-laugh, half-sob breaks free. His choice is quintessential Killian; he’d never go for a straightforward, saccharine love song. But this song, with its twisted lyrics and gently teasing remorse, makes perfect sense to me. The music is lilting and bittersweet and full of possibility.

Tears blur my vision, and I’m laughing again. Laughing and crying.

He catches my gaze, and his eyes soften. Through the lyrics, he tells me how much it hurt to let me go. How much I hurt him. How much he wants me back.

My feet start moving. I weave through the swaying crowd, Joe helping to clear a path. Killian watches me come, his whole heart shining in his eyes. He’s calling to me, singing that he’s the man who loves me.

By the time I reach the stage, it’s apparent to the audience that something’s going on. People make room, their smiles wide. But not as wide as Killian’s.

Setting his guitar down, he strides over and holds out his arms. The second our hands clasp, something inside me relaxes. He hauls me up with ease, and then I’m in his arms. Holding tight, his long, lean body surrounds me, a shelter from all things.

He’s sweat-slicked and trembling. My nose is crushed against his pec. I don’t ever want to let go.

“Libby,” he breathes into my hair. “You’re here.”

If anything, he holds me tighter. It’s okay. I don’t need air. Just him.

I turn my head and find his jaw with my lips. “You asked me to come. In the song. You asked me to come back to you.”

He bursts out in a broken laugh that makes his chest hitch. “You got that? No one else did.”

I close my eyes, let him support me. “No one else matters.”

He shivers harder. “Only you, Libs.”

Suddenly I hear the crowd again, hooting and shouting. Killian must hear them too because he lifts his head, giving them a wave and a smile. I see the blur of stage lights, dozens of phones held overhead, and Jax’s wink. Then Killian hurries me off the stage, refusing to let me go.

He doesn’t stop until we’re alone in a small dressing room.

I don’t know who moves first, but the door closes, and I’m wrapped in him. I’ve missed the way he feels, his taste, the scent of him. His hands bracket my cheeks, his mouth moving over mine.

“I missed you,” he says between frantic kisses. “I missed you so f*cking much. I shouldn’t have let you go.” He kisses my eyes, my cheeks, the corner of my ear. “I thought I was setting you free. But it killed me. I need you, Libs. So much.”

“I know.” I cup the back of his neck and squeeze as I meet his gaze. “It was the same for me. I was just…empty.”

Dark, pained eyes search mine. “And then that stupid song. You wouldn’t answer me. I thought—”

“I’m sorry,” I cut in. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just needed to think things through. And I wanted to talk in person.”