Chapter 148
Summer's POV
"Summer." Kieran's voice was strained, almost pained. "You're—where exactly are you touching?"
Heat flooded my face so fast I felt dizzy. My hand had somehow wandered down past his belt, and oh God, I could feel—
"I'm sorry!" I tried to jerk my hand away, but the bike hit a pothole and I had to grab onto him again or risk flying off. "I didn't mean to, I wasn't paying attention, I—"
The front wheel caught on a raised edge of broken pavement, and the bike lurched violently to the side. I screamed, my arms flailing as I felt myself sliding off the seat.
Kieran's hand shot out and caught my wrist, yanking me back against him with enough force that I crashed into his back. His grip was iron-tight, his damaged right hand somehow finding the strength to hold me in place.
"Idiot," he said, his voice shaking with something that might have been fear or laughter or both. "Hold onto me. Just—hold on. I don't care where you touch, just don't let go."
"But I didn't mean—it's not like that—I wasn't trying to—" The words tumbled out in a mortified rush, and even though it was March and the wind was freezing, my face felt hot enough to catch fire. My cheeks must have been the color of overripe peaches.
"Summer." There was definitely laughter in his voice now, rough and breathless but real. "It's fine. Just hold on."
I wrapped my arms around his waist again, more carefully this time, my hands pressed firmly against his ribcage where I could feel his heart still racing. My face was burning against his back, and I knew if he could see me right now I'd look like a tomato in a cheerleading uniform.
"It's not what you think," I mumbled against his shoulder blade. "I was just scared of falling."
"I know." His voice had gone soft again, and I felt him lean back slightly into my hold. "I've got you. I won't let you fall."
I won't let you fall either, I thought, tightening my grip. Not this time. Not ever again.
We rode in silence after that, the lights of Southie fading behind us until we were in a quieter neighborhood with narrow streets and bare trees. Kieran's breathing had finally slowed to something approaching normal, though I could still feel the tension in his body, could still sense the fear that hadn't quite left him.
In my first life, we'd sat in the back of that Rolls-Royce together after our wedding, and I'd looked at him across the leather seats and felt like we were separated by an ocean. He'd been a stranger in an expensive suit, someone who'd married me for my mother's company and nothing more. I'd never touched him like this. Never felt his heartbeat or his breathing or the warmth of his skin.
If I'd held onto him like this back then, I thought, would he have known? Would he have understood that underneath all my desperate, clumsy attempts to make him love me, I was just trying to reach him? Trying to bridge that ocean between us?
But there was no ocean now. Just his heartbeat against my palms and the cold March air and the feeling that if I let go, I'd lose something I couldn't name. Something I'd already lost once and couldn't bear to lose again.
"What do you want to eat?" Kieran asked finally, his voice quiet and almost tentative. Like he was afraid I'd changed my mind. Like he thought I might ask him to take me back to the T station and leave him alone.
I tightened my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his back, feeling his heart still beating fast and strong beneath his ribs.
"Anything," I said. "As long as you're there."
He didn't answer. But I felt him shift slightly, leaning back into my hold just a fraction, and his right hand came up to briefly cover mine where it rested against his stomach. The touch was fleeting, barely there, but it felt like a promise.
I'm here, it seemed to say. I'm not going anywhere.
And I held on tighter, because whatever storm was coming—whatever hell Drake was about to rain down on him—I wasn't going to let him face it alone this time.
Not again.
Never again.