“This was not a test,” Mr. Greene says to Killian. “You’re allowed to work together.”
Killian shrugs. “Just saying, keep an eye on her next time we have a test.”
Mr. Greene sends me a suspicious look, and that tense feeling in my chest twists even tighter, and I have to bite my teeth together to hide the hurt. Suddenly, I just want to cry. I can’t believe Killian would try to get me into trouble like that. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe Ihavelost him for good.
The realization weighs even heavier than Mr. Greene’s suspicion, and when Mr. Greene sends me a stern warning,saying, “Are you paying attention, Jenna?” I nearly break into tears in front of all my classmates, who turn to look at me.
I just nod, swallowing hard repeatedly until everyone turns back around—except Killian. I try not to look at him, but I can’t help it. He draws me in like a magnet. Always. But what I find on his face is not the mockery I expected. His frown almost makes it seem like he’s concerned. It only makes me want to cry that much more, because I miss the way Killian used to care about me so, so much.
Blinking, I look away, but when I glance back, he’s still turned toward me. He has rolled up a piece of paper and tucked it between his lip and nose like Mr. Greene’s thick moustache, and he’s holding up his pen like the ruler our teacher uses to point at the board, mouthing along to his words. The long face and frowning brows he makes look so much like Mr. Greene that I have to slap my hand over my mouth to suppress a loud giggle.
“Killian,” Mr. Greene erupts with a sharp warning that makes Killian whip around in his chair.
“Sorry,” Killian says. But when Mr. Greene turns back to the blackboard, Killian casts me a bright, wide smile that loosens the lingering tightness in my chest, and when he goes back to mocking me on our lunch break, it’s easier to ignore his stupid remarks becausemyKillian is still in there somewhere.
All I can think is,someday I’ll get him back.
29
The Aftermath
Ian
It only takes a minute before I hear footsteps on the stairs, then another one before Killian appears at the door. But even two minutes is too long. I’m afraid Jenna is going to pass out with the way she’s hyperventilating and sobbing.
“What?” Killian deadpans. But his whole demeanor changes the moment he sees Jenna curling in on herself, crying like she’s in severe pain—which I think she might be, judging from the way she’s clutching her stomach. He stiffens, eyes widening. “Shit, what’s wrong?”
“I think her stomach is cramping up. Help me move the bench.” I grab one side, and he rushes to grab the other. We carefully lift the bench with Jenna away from the piano to create more space around her.
I’m about to step in front of her, but Killian beats me to it, rushing to crouch before her.
“Jenna,” he urges. “Jenna, look at me.”
I pause, surprised to see how he zeroes in on her. I’m not sure what I expected, but him handling Jenna with this urgent care was not it.
When she doesn’t react, he grabs her head between his palms, lifting it. “Look at me, Jenna,” he repeats with an almost pleading tone.
Snapping out of the surprise, I step behind her and grab her arms. “You’re safe,” I assure. “We’ve got you.”
At those last words, Killian glances at me, a slight frown knitting his brow before he goes back into a rare protective mode. He doesn’t like to provide care for anyone. It clashes with his need to protect himself and maintain the cold facade he erected many years ago. But even so, he keeps going.
“Good girl,” he says when Jenna opens her eyes, his sincerity startling. I’ve heard him use those words before, but they usually carry an edge of mockery. “Take a deep breath for me.”
“No,” she cries, slamming her hands to her face. She’s stuck in her own desperation, and Killian is probably the last person she needs right now. I’m about to round the bench and take over, but I can’t bear to interrupt when Killian leans up and gently pries her hands away. “Jenna, I’ve got you.” His jaw tics as he mimics my words—the words he doesn’t want to say, but the ones he knows might work. His determination to get her out of this wins over his own selfish needs.
“Breathe,” he urges, placing a hand on her chest and drawing a loud inhale. I’m not sure if he realizes that he’s doing the exact same thing I used to do when he had panic attacks during the first few months after his mother left. I think some kind of instinct has kicked in. This is not the same closed-off, cold Killian I’m used to. This reminds me more of the gentle, unguarded version I knew so many years ago and thought was forever gone.
Hope grows inside me. Even more so when Jenna responds with a long inhale—shuddery, but deep.
I’ve never seen Killian in a crisis, and I couldn’t be prouder. Maybe this is the sign I needed to know that he’s ready to have her on his own—that I can trust him with her.
“And out,” he says, pressing slightly against her chest.
Her exhale morphs into more sobs, but Killian is quick to grab her hands before she can sink deep into the panic again.
“Jenna, look at me. Breathe in.” He brushes the hair from her face and repeats the demonstrative inhale. I know the moment she looks at him from the way he brightens. I can’t help but marvel. All he sees is her while he guides her through repeated deep breaths.
Finally, she calms somewhat. She’s still crying, her breathing labored, but she’s no longer spiraling.
