Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I wasn’t going to lie; it was a stunning picture.
Well, I was going to lie to Emilia, obviously…
I’d been so focused on making this a great birthday gift for Shannon that I’d completely forgotten how much I used to love coming here. Or rather, to the symphony in London. My parents had taken Luna and me once a year after we’d visited family in Ireland. My sister had grown restless; I had been transfixed, to everyone’s surprise.
The Verizon Hall at the Kimmel Center was filled to the max tonight, and we had the best seats in our balcony, with the orchestra right in front of us one story down.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes as the choir mingled with the violins, and I wondered idly if my parents had been here this season. But maybe not. They’d changed churches back in the day just to avoid running into me, and church meant a lot more than an orchestra.
The music swept me away and offered a break. A break from everything that usually caused my brain to spin out.
I needed more of this in my life.
When the piece was over, I applauded with everyone else, and I glanced over at Shan next to me. He looked overwhelmed but at peace. And his smile when he turned to me confirmed it. Then he leaned in, and I tilted my head to hear what he wanted to say.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Kellan. And I’m not just talking about tonight. You certainly know how to be an unwavering rock too.”
I inched away and swallowed hard, and I mustered an uncertain smile as my stomach became a knotted mess. He had to fucking realize what we could be for each other. He had to. Because there was no going back.
Chapter 14
The weeks leading up to our trip were sheer fucking hell for me.
Shan was going through something he didn’t wanna talk about, and it resulted in the mother of all roller-coaster rides. I could come home after work to find him folding clothes he wanted to bring, music playing on the TV, a careful smile on his lips as he admitted he missed France. I could also come home and find him at the bottom of another bottle. A few days ago, I’d arrived home to hear him laughing at some stupid comedy special on Netflix.
Who knew what I’d come home to today.
Every up and down affected me too much, because we were talking more. Openly, honestly. Which just pulled me in further. If Shannon O’Shea was a river, I was wrestling with the fallen branches along the bottom.
Yesterday, he’d asked why I’d never brought home a boyfriend. I’d admitted it was impossible to find someone I could picture uniting with my lifestyle.
“What about Alfie? You two seem to share a history.”
“It was fun and games in college, but we’re not each other’s type.”
It had led to the big question.
“Who is your type?”
You, I’d wanted to say, but he wasn’t ready for that level of honesty yet. I’d been truthful about age—someone older than me, more experienced, naturally dominant… “You know, Grade A Daddy material,” I’d finished jokingly.
It hadn’t been a hit.
The honesty had flown out the window, and he’d retired to the guest room for the evening with a bullshit excuse of how tired he was.
I braced myself and opened the door. We were leaving tomorrow night, and I wanted nothing more than to order a pizza, crack open a couple beers, and sit down and discuss sight-seeing. But that wasn’t going to happen. The apartment was dark, aside from a single lamp next to an open window. A chair had been knocked over outside the kitchen, presumably from when Shannon threw his suitcase across the room. There were shirts, socks, and chinos strewn all over the place.
The man himself sat on the couch, one hand fisting his hair, elbow on his knee. Dressed in jeans and an undershirt, he was smoking incessantly on a cigarette and eyeing a bottle of pills on the coffee table.
I wished with every fiber of my being that I could fight the demons in his head for him.
I joined him on the couch and dropped my iPad slipcover on the table.
“Have you taken any?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head.
Thank fuck.
I grabbed the pill bottle and stuffed it into my pocket.
“Cancel my trip,” he rasped. “Go without me.”
I ignored the punch in the gut at that and shifted closer to him. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m fucking broken.” He sniffled and lit up a new smoke with the old one. “I can’t even pack a suitcase without falling apart.”
I looked behind me, wondering what’d triggered it all. It was always a memory. Something that made him think about Patrick.
“One of the shirts—he got it for me for Father’s Day probably twenty years ago.” He answered my unspoken question, and I faced him again. “He told me it had to last forever because he didn’t have enough money to buy me a new shirt every year.”