Page 72 of Keeping Kaitlyn

Because I’m still in love with her.

Because I’ll nevernotbe in love with her.

Resigned, I carry her to the elevator and take her home.

FORTY

KAITLYN

Even though Iknow she wanted to, the young woman manning the front desk at the Hawthorne didn’t call security to have me escorted from the building after she told me that Went wasunavailable.

“I’m sorry, Miss…” Even though her tone was polite and professional, it was perfectly clear she wasn’t sorry about anything. “But Mr. Fiorella is unavailable. If you’d like to leave him a message, I’ll be happy to relay it to him as soon as he returns.”

“No thank you,” I tell her with every intention of leaving. Instead, I made my way further into the lobby. Finding it empty, I make myself comfortable in one of its large, upholstered chairs with the intention of waiting for him to come home.

That’s the last thing I remember.

Waking up in the dark, unsure of where I am, I feel my heart slam itself into my throat.

Went.

I came to the Hawthorne to find Went and fell asleep in the lobby waiting for him to come home. I’m not in the lobbyanymore. I can see the dark outlines of furniture. Couches and chairs. Tables and lamps. Framed art on the walls. Heavily curtained windows. Even though I’ve never been here before, I know this is where Went lives.

Blinking my eyes, trying to adjust them to the dark, I sit up to find the shape of him sitting in a chair not far from where I’m lying, his large frame back lit by the soft glow of a light from some far-off room. Rubbing my hands on the soft legs of my yoga pants, I take a deep, steadying breath before letting it out slowly. “I wasn’t sure it was really you. I thought maybe?—”

He makes a rough, quiet sound in the back of his throat. One I recognize. One he used to make when I said something he didn’t like or didn’t agree with. “Is that why you ran the second my back was turned?Again.”

I feel the back of my neck stiffen because his tone turns his question into an accusation. One I wasn’t ready for. Letting out another long, trembling breath, I shake my head. “Went, I’m?—”

“Don’t,” he says, his tone shifting from accusatory to warning. “Don’t say it. Matter of fact, don’t say another fucking word unless I tell you to.”

When I don’t say anything, as instructed, he makes that rough, familiar sound in the back of his throat again. “I don’t want to talk, so if that’s what you came here to do, you might as well leave.” Leaning forward in his chair, Went braces his forearms on his knees. Even though I can’t see it, I can feel his black, penetrating gaze drill itself into mine. “But if you stay, we’re gonna fuck, and I can’t promise that I’ll be nice about it. You might want to think about that before you make up your mind about staying or going.” Pushing himself out of his seat, he looks down at me, The impossibly large shape of him blocking out the light behind him completely. “Your bag is on the table by the elevator.”

Went turns and walks out of the room and into the next before he disappears without waiting for me to make a decision like it doesn’t matter to him either way.

I did come here to talk to him. I came here to apologize. To explain what happened. Why I left but he’s made it clear he’s not interested in my explanations or apologies.

Leave, Kait, before things get out of hand. Nothing good can come out of staying here. He’s not ready to accept anything you have to say.

Pushing myself off the couch on unsteady legs, I stand here for a moment, trying to find my bearings. My will to find the elevator and use it to get myself out of here before something happens that will undoubtedly make this mess a million times worse. I can try again in a few days, when we’re both calmer. Maybe ask him to meet me somewhere so we can have a rational conversation about how we’re going to navigate the fact that unbeknownst to either of us, we both somehow ended up working for the Gilroys.

Looking around the darkened room, I find the illuminated button panel belonging to the elevator. Cautiously making my way to it, I find my bag on the table beside it, just like Went promised. Reaching for it, I mean to shoulder it and leave. Instead I reach into the belly of it and pull out my phone. It’s after 5AM.

Without giving myself time to think about what I’m doing, I pull up my texts and tap out a message before hitting send.

Me: Hi, do you need me this morning?

Because I know he’s been awake for a while now, I’m not at all surprised when he texts back almost immediately.

Ryan: No

Like I knew he’d already be awake, I also knew that would be his answer. Ryan hasn’t needed me in months and even when he did, he’d be hard pressed to admit it.

Me: Okay… a bunch of my friends are taking the train to New York for the day and asked me if I wanted to go. Is it okay if Mook stays with you for a while longer?

Ryan: Sure. Be careful.

Staring at my phone screen for a few minutes, I feel my heart start to race, the cadence of it fast and uneven.

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