Page 83 of Pretty Threats

After pouring ginger peach tea from my thermos into its cup, I press play on the voicemail.

Hey, Raine. From the way you left, I’m guessing you found something out that made you mad at me or you heard something that made you doubt me. The thing is… Everything I said to you Thursday night is the truth. Our relationship can be different now. What hasn’t changed is you’re the one thing I refuse to live without. And we will make that work. You’re more important than my fucking job, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re more important to me than anything.

He exhales a harsh breath.

I know you’re in Boston this weekend. I’m not gonna come right now, even though… it’s fucking killing me. I’ll stay in Foxgrove to give you time to think. But you should hit me back with some texts about where you are and what you’re doing because then I’ll probably be able to hold out longer. That’s my advice to you on how to keep me away. One last thing.

The pause is so long I wonder if he got disconnected. Then he finally speaks in that low whisper he uses when we’re in bed.

I love you.

“Fuck,” I whisper, my heart warring with my head on what it wants to believe.

Leaning back, I stare at the gray sky. He’s impossible.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of things. He clearly had some plan to neutralize the threat I posed to him and his business associates by binding me to him. That was a definite betrayal. Which he must know.

On the other hand, Killian wouldn’t be trying to convince me he was sincere if he wasn’t. That’s not him. Or at least it never has been before. He’s always said that telling me the truth, his horrible secrets and all, feels right to him. And that I know him better than anyone else does. Which is the way he wants it.

Rubbing the side of my neck, I sigh. If I want to hear exactly what he was ordered to do, I’ll have to ask him and see what he’s willing to tell me. Normally, that’s my superpower. Unlocking Killian Callahan. No one but me has ever been able to do that. And many have tried. Our parents, our teachers, our classmates at St. Seb’s, his coaches. Privately, he would shake his head at their attempts, bewildered as to why they would even care.

With a jolt, I realize part of why I’m so upset is I hate the idea that he would confide in his housemates and bosses instead of me. I’ll never forgive him if he made me believe he could be sweet as part of a fucking ruse. If he wants me in his life, he’d better go on pretending to be sweet until it’s part of his normal way of being.

With a deep breath and a shake of my head, I open our text thread.

Raine: I’m so angry I can’t even tell you. YOU MADE ME BELIEVE YOU WOULD TREAT ME THE WAY I DESERVE TO BE TREATED! You made me trust you! If that’s not true, than you’ve already lost me and there is NOTHING you can do to fix this.

Killian: I want you. I’ll do what it takes to keep you. That you can definitely fucking believe. Tell me which things matter, and that’s what you’ll get.

My phone rings. It’s him. I send it to voicemail.

Raine: I don’t want to talk right now. I’m busy. And I’m angry.

Killian: You can have till tomorrow. Then I’m coming to Boston to get you.

Killian: That’s if you text me today. If you go silent, I’m coming now.

“You’re such an asshole!” I yell.

Clenching my fists, my jaws, and pretty much every muscle I’ve got, I try not to scream again in frustration. He doesn’t get to dictate the terms of my forgiveness. Which I am going to tell him. Eventually.

But I don’t want him coming to Marianne and my dad’s tonight. Killian won’t hurt me, but he would hurt anyone who tried to get in the way of his getting to me. Not happening.

While I’m planning my next moves, he must be placated. I open the text thread and fire off a message.

Raine: Eating lunch.

I send a closeup picture of a flower that could have been taken anywhere. As soon as I send it though, I stiffen. Will he be able to unlock its meta data and figure out where I am? Not that it would matter much since he knows I’m in Boston, but still.

There are three dots, but then they disappear. After a few minutes, I realized he’s restraining himself from answering. Keeping his promise to give me the night. Good. Showing restraint is not usually in his wheelhouse.

Change is possible, I tell myself. Even for Killian.

Be patient. But don’t let him get the upper hand.

I’m finishing my lunch when Alicia Zenker walks down the path. She’s dressed in a denim trench coat that’s so long it hits her houndstooth print ankle boots. The outfit is The Devil Wears Prada meets Mission Impossible. Totally over the top.

“Oh, hey, Alicia.” The surprise in my voice is evident.

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