Page 17 of When We Are Complete

The warmth slips away, and the air is suddenly colder. Kelly puts both hands on my chest and pushes me away. I set her feeton the ground and pull out, the mess of us dripping down her leg. She makes a face, using her hand to wipe it away, before doing her best to clean her hand on the manicured grass.

“Kelly,” I say. But I don’t know how to follow that, so I just stand there, an idiot with my jeans around my ankles while she scrambles for her clothes, adjusting her bra, pulling up her dress. Her movements are jerky, urgent, as though she’s trying to outrun what just happened.

“Kelly?” Nora’s close now.

“I’m here, I’m coming. Just a minute.” She finally looks at me, not meeting my eye, and I see the moment where she realizes the full implications of what just happened. Her gaze brushes mine, but it’s empty—distant. She’s already pulling away from me, from what just happened between us.

That’s when it hits me. I see it in the way her lips press together, the way her shoulders hunch forward. The moment when everything that felt so good just seconds ago suddenly turns into something she wishes never happened.

“Kelly, wait.”

“This was a mistake. Shit. I’ve got to go.”

“Kelly, wait—”

“No, don’t. Just—don’t.” There’s an edge to her voice, sharp enough to slice through the haze of booze and lust still clouding my brain.

She’s composed now, poised, her figure stiff as she zips up her jacket and starts walking toward the sound of Nora’s voice. Too late, I realize I should move, say something, anything, to fix this.

But she’s already walking away. “Don’t follow me,” she states flatly as she glances over her shoulder. “I never want to see you again.”

Then she’s gone, disappearing between the shadows and the trees. My feet are rooted to the spot, but I force myself to bend down and pull up my boxers and pants, doing up my belt.

Frustration grips my chest, but beneath that frustration, there’s something else.

Her voice drifts back to me, talking to Nora as they head toward the inn. I lean against the tree, the bark still warm where her back had pressed against it, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, shaking my head. Because no matter how much she tries to convince herself that what just happened was a mistake, I know better.

The way her eyes met mine, the way she kissed me—she’s feeling it, too. What used to burn so brightly between us isn’t gone. It’s there, just like it used to be.

I push off the tree, straightening up. Kelly can be stubborn and intense, and I’ll need to be patient, wait for the right time, show her she can trust me again.

It might be a long shot—but after tonight, there’s still a chance I can fix one of the biggest mistakes of my life.

A grin breaks across my face.

Chapter 9

Kelly

Noraand I are walking side by side toward the inn, the moonlight mocking me, casting a silver glow over the garden’s beauty as if tonight is nothing more than a whimsical stroll. But the thunder in my chest, the damp between my legs, screams otherwise.

“So, what were you doing out here?” Her tone is light, but her gaze sharpens, reading me as she always does, taking in my crumpled dress, the tense expression on my face.

It’s as though I’ve swallowed barbed wire, and the words pour out before I can stop them, tainting the crisp ocean air between us: “I just hooked up with Jake.”

I can’t tear my gaze away from Nora’s widened eyes—twin mirrors reflecting my own disbelief. I’m waiting for her to say something, anything, that can stitch the night back together. But there’s only this confession hanging between us.

“And—oh my God—we didn’t even use a condom.” Reality hits hard, right in the gut, where all my fears love to gnaw atme. They’re having a field day right now, laughing at my reckless stupidity.

“God, I’m such a lightweight.” I wave my hands around as if that’ll help shake off the shame, the drinks swirling in my system making everything a little too bright, a little too loud. “A lightweight with no self-control. Great.”

Nora’s usually animated face goes completely still as she processes my train wreck of a decision. “You’re on the pill, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.” But it’s not just about pregnancy scares—it’s about losing control, giving in to some deep desire I’ve been trying to pretend wasn’t there, tossing caution to the wind when I’m supposed to have it all together. “I’m not here to be a screw up.” The words come out before I can stop them, and they sound jittery and way too loud.

“You’re not a screw up.”

A chilling breeze rolls in off the ocean and I wrap my arms around myself. “What was I thinking? With Jake, of all people.”

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