“I missed it,” My shoulders sag.
“There’s a million new milestones to come,” She touches my arm, “And her auntie Savvy will be there for all of them.”
Wiping away a stray tear, I nod and stroke down her little face before Bast ushers us all into the house andaway from the cold.
“I thought it would be nice to have everyone over for dinner,” Willow says, “I would have suggested going out for it, but I figured you’d want to rest and stay in for now.”
“Oh, that sounds great!” I relax into their plush couch and Willow places Hope into my good arm, allowing me to use the couch arm to take the weight of her since I can’t use the one in the cast yet. The baby babbles and coos, her big eyes watching and seeing everything.
Being home doesn’t automatically fix everything, though I wish it were that easy but it’s a step and I am determined to regain the moments I have lost.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Dean wraps me in his arms, holding back on the tightness but it feels good to be hugged.
“Good to see you out of the hospital mini-Levine,” He ruffles my hair, “Had us worried for a minute.”
I roll my eyes at him, “Good to see you too.”
Malakai and Olivia arrived about five minutes ago and Dean only just, leaving Killian the only one not here. He hasn’t been back to see me since he called meTiny Dancerand while I could have messaged him, I chose not to. I’m not sure what happened but he isn’t the same Kill I’ve known for most of my life.
It makes me incredibly sad.
Shrugging it off, I go to follow Dean into the dining room until the front door opens behind me.
And there he is, dressed entirely in black with his hair disheveled and his dark eyes haunted by ghosts he’ll never let anyone see.
“Savannah,” He rasps my name, his eyes dipping down me slowly. I’m only in sweats and an oversized band tee I stole from Willow’s closet earlier today, but his eyes eat me up in a way that strips me bare.
“Hi,” I squeak, watching him close the gap between us. The last thing I expect from him is a hug, but his arms come around me and his face presses into my hair. I swear I hear him inhale, his whole body relaxing with his exhale. His hands linger for a moment before he pushes away from me, that cold armor coming back over him.
He’s so hot and cold it gives me whiplash but the feel of him, his hand, thesmellof him, it all touches parts of me I didn’t know I had. My skin prickles with the phantom whisper of him and a voice inside of my head wants me to push, to fight, to follow the trail to see what’s at the end of it.
He’s hiding something.
But what the fuck could he be hiding and if it’s so important, why the fuck can I not remember it!?
I walk through to the dining room where everyone now is, sitting at the table with their drinks and take my place next to Willow, curling my legs under myself to watch the family that made my life what it is.
The chair beside mine scrapes out and Killian folds his massive body into it, a glass with two fingers of whiskey in it in his hand. He doesn’t look at me or even acknowledge my presence, but when he pushes his chair back in, it’s a little closer to mine than it was before.
He remains close to me the whole evening, his thigh brushing mine every time he moves to reach for his glass by his plate. He doesn’t speak to me, choosing only to talk with the rest of them but I’ve caught him looking over more than once.
That knot of unease is present, this familiar tugging incessantly pulling me toward him with no reason why. There’s safety in Killian but surely, that’s the same for all the guys here? Why does it feel so different with him? It wasn’t like this before; sure, I’ve had a crush on him since I was a teenager but that’s just it. Nothing has changed, not before the accident and not now but even he is acting differently with me. No one else seems to notice this, no one has said a thing and yet I can’t fucking brush off this need to lean closer, to press my leg further into his and soak in his warmth.
“Excuse me,” I say to the table and get up, ready to get some air. It’s all too much.
I’m wrong, I know I am but my brain… it won’t fucking shut up about it. It’s as if it’s been rewired to look into every minor detail, to make a story out of only a few words. Shutting myself into the bathroom, I turn the lock and run the faucet, splashing cold water onto my flushed face. My cheeks are pink, my bottom lip swollen and sore from all the gnawing I’ve done on it.
There are no secrets to spill and no stories to tell. They wouldn’t keep that from me and if something had changed, if something had happened with Killian Iknowhe would have told me. I trust that man, with my whole life, I trust him.
Water drips from my chin as I hang my head, the sound of the water running accompanying my heavy breathing as I try to get a hold on myself.
I’ve been through something traumatic. Survived when the odds were not in my favor, of course there are going to be a few bumps. I’m just being ridiculous, romanticizing something out of comfort.
When I feel a little more in control of myself and less like I am about to fall apart at the seams, I leave the bathroom, plastering on a fake smile way before the door is even open. But when I step out, I bump, nose first, straight into a wall.
No. Not a wall. A chest, a very hard, very warm chest that smells fucking fantastic.
