“Show me the bath.”
By evening I had started to feel half human. The police had been round shortly after Marie left to take statements. They’d asked about Dean Lacey and the divorce, the break in at the cottage and although they took on board our concerns, there was no evidence to suggest a connection.
I snuggled down into Killian’s sofa, watching a box set on Netflix and eating pizza. Killian sat next to me, my human cushion, typing something into his laptop and frowning occasionally. He’d worked for most of the day, letting me sleep, giving me and Marie space to talk and for her to fuss. She’d brought what I needed, even remembering to pack a swim suit for the sea, although I wasn’t sure I’d actually need it. She’d also been shopping, adding luxury bath products, body washes and lotions and some new make up for a treat. I’d burst into tears again when she gave me the bag, which had made her laugh. I wasn’t an emotional person. Growing up with four brothers had made me more like a boy when it came to being demonstrative, but the events and the tiredness of the past forty-eight hours had reduced me to an emotional car crash. I needed my people.
And more of Killian’s bath.
It was huge, big enough for two and set in a bathroom that was modern and masculine. Or it had been. It was now filled with girly bath products and the scent of a Lush bath bomb, plus an orchid on the windowsill that Marie had brought. There was a TV on the wall and a huge walk in shower that had various settings.
“How are you feeling?” Killian said, looking at me as he closed his laptop. “I’m not sure how the sigh you just made should be taken.”
“I’m feeling much better. Only like a bus ran over me instead of a truck. Another bath might help.” I gave him a wide smile.
He shook his head, muttering something. “Does that mean you want me to go run it for you? And add one of those bomb thingies? My bedroom smells like a girl’s had a princess party in there now.”
It was like a kick to the gut. Inexplicably, my eyes teared up and I felt my throat tighten. “I’ll go run it. You’ve done enough.” I stood up as fast as I knew I could without falling over and shot out of the door and up the stairs.
I knew Killian well enough to know he wouldn’t follow me, not straight away. He’d be confused as to what had caused my reaction and I’d need to produce some sort of explanation, although right now I figured he might be starting to work out the truth.
After I’d had the abortion, I’d spent weeks in silent mourning. I’d imagined a little girl with my hair and Killian’s eyes and wondered what we would’ve called her. I’d pictured him running round after her when she started to talk and how he would’ve been completely besotted by her. On what would’ve been her – or his - first birthday, I’d spent the day away from my studies at a spa, indulging in massages and facials and anything to try and forget the choice my heart had wanted to make. I imagined princess parties and trips to Disneyland, pretty dresses and afternoons on the beach, searching in rock pools and paddling in the sea. Every year since I had done something to commemorate what would’ve been her birthday. The only day I allowed myself to mourn.
It had been the right decision. But it had never been an easy one. If I would have followed my heart and continued with the pregnancy, university would’ve been harder. Killian would probably not have joined the Marines and had the career he did. Our young relationship would’ve had pressure placed on it that may have caused it to crumble and my dreams for my child were more idyllic than that.
My own father and mother hadn’t been happy, although they had managed to have the four of us. My mother had post-natal depression and refused treatment; my father was working for most of the time as he was ambitious and wanted to provide for his young family. He also did not have a clue how to parent. I vaguely remembered rows and arguments. I remembered my mother crying and then finally, the day when she wasn’t there and her door never opened that morning for her to come out.
We - Max and Jackson and me - looked after Callum. I was four, Jackson five and Max six. For the next couple of years, we had a series of nannies that we terrorised; our father like a mouse about to be pounced on by a large cat whenever he saw us.
Then he met Marie and our world found order. She was meant to be a mother. As the second eldest of nine, she was used to a lot of children and she liked us. She played with us and loved us and liked us and showed my father what to do, finding him amusing when he stood there staring at the worm Callum held in his hand and showed him as a gift as if he had landed on some other planet when people didn’t speak his language. By the time Marie had the twins and then shortly after, Ava, we were a family. A huge, happy family. There were still undertones. Max and my father had issues that had never been resolved and the rift between Callum and dad had never been bridged, although Callum was always Marie’s favourite, but we were still a slightly unhinged and definitely quirky bunch.
I stepped into the bath, this time having filled it with a lavender bath oil that would make it a nightmare to clean but would help me sleep. The water was deep and hot and soothing and I felt my sadness slip away a little. I accepted the decision I’d made and I didn’t feel regret because it was the right choice, but I would always allow myself the right to mourn.
There was a tap at the door, followed by a slight breeze of cooler air. “Claire,” Killian said, stepping into the room. “Are you okay now?”
The bubbles and water covered me, not that I was bothered. “I am now.”
“You want to tell me why me mentioning princess parties had you in tears?” He started to strip, losing his t-shirt to expose the hardened muscles underneath, his large biceps covered with tattoos and low hung sweats that displayed the happy trail leading to one of my favourite things.
It wasn’t just my head that was throbbing.
He stepped out of his sweats, lacking underwear as usual. His cock was half hard and I couldn’t bring myself to look away, aware that he was amused at my stare. “Shift up in the bath, Claire,” he said. “If you can take your eyes off my dick, that is.”
“I’m wondering if it works as good as it looks,” I said, sitting up and exposing my breasts.
He laughed and stepped into the water, wincing at the heat. “This is like being boiled alive!” he said, having to pause before he could get fully in. I splashed at his legs, his cock now fully hard.
“I thought you were a big hard military man,” I said, managing to look him in the eye.
“You can see I’m big and hard,” he said with a wry smile.
“Jesus, Killian. Get in the freaking water.”
He laughed and sat down facing me, a wave of water almost spilling over the rim of the bath. “How do you stand it this hot?”
I shook my head, his legs resting next to mine. “I’ve always liked hot baths.”
“I remember. At college when there was only a shower you used to complain. I remember a couple of weekends when you went home just so you could get a bath.”
“Only at the start of the term.” Because after that, weekends had been the time we used to steal to be together.
