Chapter 77 79

Chapter 77 79
LARA PARKER

I woke up to cold sheets.

For a moment, I just lay there, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, my hand instinctively reaching out across the mattress. Empty. Cold. I frowned, pushing myself up onto my elbows, trying to piece together the fog of half-memories from the night before.

I could have sworn I felt him get back into bed at some point. The weight of him settling beside me, his arms pulling me in, his lips against my forehead. Or maybe I had dreamed it. I could not tell anymore where the line between sleep and memory blurred.

Rubbing at my eyes, I sat up properly, glancing at the empty space beside me before deciding to go find him. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint sound of something sizzling, and the unmistakable smell of bacon and eggs drifting from down the hall.

I padded barefoot toward the kitchen, my oversized shirt, his shirt, really, hanging loose off one shoulder. And there he was, Killian, standing at the stove in a pair of sweats, no shirt, humming something under his breath as he flipped what looked like an omelet with far too much confidence for someone who once burned toast trying to make it in a pan.

"Well, look who decided to wake up." He did not even turn around, somehow sensing me there.

"I could say the same thing about you." I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. "You were not there when I woke up."

He glanced over his shoulder then, a smile tugging at his lips. "Could not sleep. Figured I would make you breakfast instead of staring at the ceiling."

I hummed, unconvinced but not pushing it, and made my way further into the kitchen. He met me halfway, one hand curling around my waist to pull me in, his lips pressing against mine in a slow, unhurried kiss that had my toes curling despite myself.

"Good morning." He murmured against my lips when he finally pulled back, his eyes soft as they took me in.

"Morning." I echoed, though something in me hesitated, just slightly, before I let myself melt into him the way I normally would.

It was stupid, I knew. Mariah's words from last night, about his history, about the women he had been with, about how it was surprising he had not treated me the same, should not have mattered. He had been nothing but attentive, nothing but sweet since we started this, whatever this even was. But hearing it out loud, hearing someone else voice the thoughts I had tried so hard to bury, had a way of digging its claws in deep.

I was not about to bring it up though. Not this morning. Not when he was looking at me like that, like I was something precious.

"You hungry?" He asked, already turning back to the stove, plating the omelet along with a side of bacon and toast.

"Starving." I admitted, sliding onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, watching him move around with an ease that still baffled me. Hockey captain by night, apparently a decent cook by morning.

He set the plate in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice, before rounding the island to sit beside me with his own plate. "Eat up. You will need the energy."

"For what?" I raised a brow, already digging into the eggs.

"Well," He said between bites, "I have got the game tonight. Figured you would want to know in case you were coming."

Right. The game. I chewed slowly, considering how to phrase what I wanted to say. "About that."

"I can let them know at the club to set you up with the family and VIP section." He continued, not catching the hesitation in my voice yet. "Same section as the other guys' partners and family. You will have a good view of the ice from there."

"Actually," I set my fork down, turning to face him properly. "I was thinking I would come, but not to sit with the VIP."

He blinked, brows knitting together. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I am covering the game." I said, unable to help the small smile tugging at my lips. "For the outlet. My editor wants a feature on tonight's match, and I already pitched it to her. She approved it already."

Understanding dawned on his face slowly, followed by something that looked like realization mixed with an odd sort of pride. "You are covering my game."

"I am covering the game." I corrected, though the distinction barely mattered. "It just happens that you are playing in it."

He stared at me for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes before it melted into a small, boyish grin. "So no VIP section for you then."

"Nope." I popped the P, taking another bite of my toast. "I will be with the press, doing my job."

"Bummer." He said, and I could hear the genuine disappointment lacing his tone, the corner of his mouth turning down slightly. "Was looking forward to pointing you out to the guys. Showing off my girl and all that."

I rolled my eyes, though warmth spread through my chest at his words. "You can show me off after the game."

"I suppose that works too." He conceded, before his expression shifted into something softer, something that made my breath catch slightly. "I am so proud of you though. You know that, right? Making your dream come true, chasing this the way you have been."

My chest tightened at his words, a small, involuntary smile creeping onto my face despite the confusion still swirling in my head. "Thank you." I said quietly, meaning it.

"I mean it." He reached over, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "Watching you work, watching you go after what you want like that. It does something to me."

I ducked my head slightly, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze, unable to hold his stare for too long without feeling like he could see straight through me, straight to the mess of thoughts I was trying to keep hidden.

Because as much as I wanted to believe every word, as much as I wanted to sit here and just enjoy this, the breakfast, the affection, the easy domesticity of it all, a small, nagging part of me could not stop replaying Mariah's words from the night before.

He clearly has changed and does not see you as one of those women he dates and dumps.

Was that true though? Or was I simply another name to add to a growing list, someone who believed she was different until she was not?

I hated that I was even entertaining the thought. Hated that Savanna's little stunt at the club, whatever she had said to me, was still somehow gnawing at the back of my mind even though I had brushed it off outwardly, refusing to let it get to me.

But here, sitting across from him, watching him look at me like I hung the stars themselves, I could not help but wonder if I was fooling myself into believing something that was not entirely real. Or if this, all of this, was simply too good to be true.

"You okay?" His voice pulled me from my thoughts, his brows furrowing slightly in concern. "You went quiet there."

I blinked, forcing a smile onto my face, pushing the thoughts to the furthest corner of my mind. "Yeah." I said, reaching for my juice. "Just thinking about tonight's article. That is all."

He studied me for a moment longer, like he was not entirely convinced, before letting it go, turning back to his own plate.

I let the conversation drift elsewhere after that, let myself laugh at his jokes, let myself lean into every touch and every kiss he pressed against my temple as we finished breakfast together.

But underneath it all, the question still lingered, quiet and persistent, refusing to fully let go.