Idol (VIP, #1)(97)

He nods before dipping down to rest his forehead against mine. “What are you thinking, baby doll? What do you want?”

“You.” When he jerks, I grip his hard biceps. “I just want to be with you.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I can function anymore unless you’re here.”

“I missed you,” I tell him. I don’t think I can express it enough.

For a long moment he just looks at me. “I made a career off writing songs. They’ve given me awards for my lyrics. And never can I get the message right with you.”

“I don’t need you to—”

“I love you.”

My breath catches in my throat as my heart stops. I exhale in a burst, and he kisses my lips softly. So softly. The tenderness in it breaks me. I nearly sob when he does it again.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say all this time.” He smiles, the barest curve of his lips. “I used to think those were just words. Something I could put in a song. They didn’t mean anything. I get it now. I get it.”

“Killian…”

The tip of his thumb caresses my cheek. “Love breaks your heart, f*cks you up—perfect, all-consuming chaos. I didn’t know what to do with that. It felt safer to walk.” He wraps me up in his arms, his eyes on mine. “But it’s also this. Peace, and warmth, and so f*cking beautiful, you’ll risk anything to keep it.”

“Killian…” I cup his cheek, run my fingers into his hair. Just hold him. “You do just fine getting your message across. I love you too, you know. So much.”

Oh, God, that smile—it’s pure happiness. “I need you to understand, Libby. You’re my reason, the answer to all questions.”

“And you, my sweet lawn bum, are my home. I’m just wandering unless I’m with you. And I’m so tired, Killian. I need to be home now.”

He takes a deep breath, pressing his lips against my forehead as if he has to ground himself. “I’m here. You’re here.” He ghosts a kiss over my cheek. “We’ll make it work. I’ll take time off and travel with you—”

“I’ve realized something,” I cut in. “I don’t want to be a star. Not at this level. It isn’t me.”

He frowns down at me. “Were you that miserable?”

“No, honey. It was an experience of a lifetime. I wouldn’t change the opportunities you gave me for the world. But these past few months?” I shrug. “Maybe I am my parents’ daughter. All I know is that it isn’t the stardom that lights me up. It’s playing, singing. It’s being with you. Those things matter to me. The rest is just…air.”

Killian’s soft laugh is wry, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “Funny thing, I realized that too.”

I still. “You want to quit?”

“No. But I do want to slow down. I want time with you. Time to enjoy life.” He shakes his head. “Kill John will always be part of me, but I’ve changed. We all have. I don’t know what will happen, but I’m not afraid of it anymore.”

I take a deep breath, press my cheek against his jaw. “You pulled me out of my shell. All that I am now is because of you.”

His fingers thread in my hair, giving the strands a gentle tug. “And you woke me up again. Let’s make a life together, Liberty. It’ll be good. So f*cking good.”

I meet his eyes, those coffee dark eyes that always hold promise of sin and sweetness. Excitement tingles over my skin, pulls at my breath. “I can’t wait.”





Epilogue





Killian



The winter grass is the color of toasted sand, stretching toward a slate gray sky. It’s windy these days, the air wet with salt and sea. But on Libby’s farmhouse porch, with the cast-iron stove going, it’s warm enough for me to hang out in jeans and a T-shirt, my bare toes tapping on the worn floorboards.

I’m sitting in a rocker, drinking coffee and inhaling a heaping plate of the best damn biscuits in the world. Looking back on it, I probably fell in love with Libby the first time I ate one of her biscuits.

I tell her this now, and she gives me a look. The kind that says she finds me amusing but doesn’t want to admit it.

“Mama always said a man was led by his stomach and his cock,” she says from the rocking chair at my side, while she idly strums her guitar. “It was just a matter of figuring out which one needs the most appeasing at the moment.”

I take another bite of heavenly baked goodness. “After we eat, you can appease my cock.”

She hums. “Good thing it’s so cute, or I’d take exception to that.”

“Cute? My cock is no longer appeased.”

Libby fights a smile. But her attention is on the Gibson in her hands. It’s my guitar, but she plays it so well. A sweet melody rings out, old-fashioned and happy but nostalgic. Her honey-soft voice joins in as she sings “Sea of Love.”

The sound of her wraps itself around my heart. Her sound is home and hope all rolled in one. It always was. It always will be.

When she finishes, I turn to her. “Was that for me?”

Her smile is soft, beautiful. “They all are.”

It’s a good thing the guys aren’t around to see me welling up. Just yesterday, Rye texted to say it was only a matter of time before Libby and I started looking like the couple in American Gothic, that all I needed was a pitchfork. We sent him a picture of us standing in front of the house, me with pitchfork in hand, both of us flipping him the bird.