It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2) (34 page)

I should walk away. I should turn and leave while I’m so confused, but I’m already moving in the direction of the dimly lit studio. Before I press the button I tell myself I have to think of what to say, but it’s too late, my finger has already pressed the call button.

I hear Aiden’s voice.

My voice cracks.

“Kenzie?” he asks. The last time I was here, he told me to leave. Why would now be any different?

I open my mouth to speak again, and only a squeak of a yes tumbles out.

“Kenzie,” he grabs onto my name and holds it, like if he lets go, he would never see me again. I can’t stop wishing it were his arms holding onto me.

I hear his feet running down the stairs, and then the door flies open.

My damp hair is now stuck to my face. I look at him with wide eyes, and shrug, no words to offer.

“Get in here,” he commands, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me inside, guiding me up the stairs. “Did you walk here?” he asks, as he moves into the bathroom and retrieves a towel, wrapping it around me.

“I guess I did.”

“This isn’t a safe area for you to be walking around at night, Kenzie,” he bites at me. “And what do you mean you guess?” he presses, his eyes locked onto me.

“I don’t really remember walking here, but I guess I did,” I answer honestly.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks quickly, bending down on one knee. I notice he’s wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I miss being comfortable with him.

I shake my head again, pulling the towel tighter around my shoulders.
There’s so much wrong. Where do I even begin?

I
MISSED HER EYES.
I always miss something about her. In Africa, she would walk to the truck and when she would return I would catch her scent and think of how it felt wrong when that scent didn’t surround me.

Why is she being so secretive? Something has to have happened. Something besides me being a complete jerk the last time I saw her. Panic rushes through my body and I stiffen, moving forward and placing a hand on her knee.

She looks at me. I can see the trails of tears stained on her cheeks. “You’ve been crying.” I want to hold her, but I don’t know if that’s something I still get to do.

She swallows hard. “Yeah.”

My insides ache as I think of her last visit. “Look, I’ve been trying to think of what to say to you after—”

“What?” she gasps in a haze of confusion.

“I’m sorry,” I continue. “About my dad. He’s a dick, and I shouldn’t have let the things he says come between us.”

“Oh,” she whispers then laughs slightly. “Yeah, he’s a pretty big dick.”

“And I was a jerk to lose it on you the way I did,” I add.

She smiles. “Yup, I agree with you there too, but that’s not why I’m upset.”

“Oh God, I’m such an idiot,” I scoop her hand into mine and squeeze it. The jealousy doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is the pain I see on her face. “Is it Ben?”

She nods.

“Is he—” I hesitate. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll live, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replies, but she doesn’t look at me. I want her to look at me. I want her eyes to reveal the secret she seems to want to keep so guarded from me.

Concern stitches its way across my brow, “then that’s great news, isn’t it?”

She shrugs. “The doctors say he’s most likely never going to walk again,” her voice cracks, followed by a flood of tears. She collapses into a heap, and I can’t help but feel relieved to get to comfort her.

“I’m so sorry baby,” I whisper, my lips now pressed against her forehead. I rock her gently, and she presses further into my body.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she manages through the sobs.

“I don’t understand, what do you mean?” I ask, not loosening my grip on her.

She heaves in and out a few times, struggling to regain her composure. Finally, she takes a deep breath and pulls away from me, repositioning herself in a chair across from me.

“What do you mean?” I ask her again, this time in a more demanding tone, trying to hide my fear.

She rests her elbows on her kneecaps with her face in her hands. I reach out and touch her arm, but she pulls back.

“Please Kenzie, tell me what’s going on,” I plead with her now. “You’re scaring me.”

Breathe. Stay calm.

“He asked me to marry him tonight,” she says looking into my eyes.

I start to shake.

Breathe. Stay calm.

“And what did you say?” As I ask the question I wonder if this pain is what people mean when they talk about a broken heart.

She shakes her head, throwing her arms up into the air. “What do you think I said?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

Her eyes are blank. I’ve always been so good at reading people, but the more I got to know Kenzie the more she became a puzzle to me. Perhaps I got too close to her. Too close to view her objectively anymore.

“I didn’t say anything.” She laughs an uncomfortable snort. “I turned around and got the hell out of there.”

Hope blossoms where despair had been breeding. “Wait, so you didn’t tell him you would marry him?”

She shakes her head, dropping her chin and slouching back into the chair. “Of course not. I just turned around, ran out, and somehow I ended up here.”

I suck in another breath. I want her. But more than that I want her to be happy. “Do you want to marry him?” I’ve never been more afraid to ask any question in my life.

She stands and with my eyes wide I watch her pace as she contemplates my question. She begins to ramble thoughts of me, and how much she loves me. Her words quickly shift to him and their history. She speaks of loyalty, of a love she has for his family, of right and wrong. Then she falls silent, turning and looking at me, waiting for me to offer her something. What does she want from me? An answer? An answer on what she should do? I love her. I want her to stay with me forever.

I start to open my mouth but quickly close it again. Inside my head, I have a conversation with her. One where I tell her I want to wake up next to her every morning. I need my beautiful girl at my side to make me whole again. To tell her that without her lying next to me I can never be a complete man. But I say none of these things.

My father forced me to be with him. He used guilt and threats. I loathe him. And only one pain could be worse than the one I am feeling at this moment. If Kenzie resented and hated me because she feels like I made her make a choice she can’t live with.

“Well?” She says impatiently.

“What do you want me to say?” I reply softly.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Do you love him?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Of course I do. But I love you, too.”

I shake my head. “You can’t.”

“But I do,” she insists.

“Well, I won’t share you, Kenzie.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she snaps defensively.

I say nothing again. I stand, my eyes fixed on her. I move in closer. She doesn’t step back. Her demeanor softens. I take another step toward her, disarming her further. She stays firmly planted. I close the gap even more. My chest grazes against hers and I can feel her breath on my neck.

“Say something,” she begs in a whisper.

I push my hips into her; there’s a hitched breath that escapes as her eyes turn into two large circles. Her head tilts back. I can feel her heart pounding in her chest against my body. I can’t tell her what to do, but I can make sure I leave her with a haunting memory of me.

I lower my lips to her neck, and she doesn’t move. Hovering just above her flesh I whisper in a breathy voice, “What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me not to marry him,” she nearly cries the words.

“I can’t,” I say, still an inch from her flesh.

Her skin grazes against my lips as she swallows hard.

“Do you want me to marry him?” her voice quivers.

“I want you to do what your heart tells you to do,” the words hurt as they leave my mouth, but at the same time, they’re freeing. All the hair stands up on the back of my neck, as I know this proves I am not my father. I will never treat a woman like he treated my mother. I will never own her, and if she chooses to be mine, I will only cherish her.

“Don’t you love me?” she asks me.

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved another living soul,” I offer honestly, then let my lips gently kiss the skin of her neck. Her body falls limp in my arms as I move my mouth up to hers. I pull her into me, tighter.

My kisses are soft at first, my lips careful to memorize every curve of the pink flesh. Then I press more intensely, parting her trembling lips, and telling her without words that I need her. I want her. And please, never leave my side again.

She lingers as I pull away, her eyes now closed, her lips pouty and full as if she is waiting for another.

“You should go,” I force myself to say.

Her eyes pop open. “What?” It’s clear I’ve shocked her.

I put space between us, then look her in the eyes. “You need to figure this out on your own.”

“I love you,” she says again desperately.

“And I love you, too. I’m not kicking you out. You take all the time you need, but you have to make a decision,” I explain.

She doesn’t argue. I order her an Uber. I don’t ask where she’s going next. I don’t ask what she’s thinking, even though these are the questions that are burning in my mind. I force myself to smile and wonder if I will ever touch those lips again.

I watch the lights of the car until they disappear out of sight, fighting against every muscle in my body to chase her down the street and tell her, of course she shouldn’t marry Ben. She should marry me. Dear God, I have been with this woman for six weeks, and I am ready to give her forever. But I don’t chase after her.

I close the door and climb the stairs to my lonely loft. Electrical twinges fire throughout my body. I begin to convulse in frustration. A rage burns deep inside my gut. Her lips flash through my mind. His lips. Good God, then his lips touching hers.

My fingers wrap around the back of a chair, and I toss it across the room. It crashes to the floor in a splintered pile of wood. It feels good. I’m hungry for more. Grabbing a stack of catalogs in my hand, I fling them in the direction of the kitchen, causing a glass to fly from the counter and tumble to the floor in a heap of shattered shards.

The anger makes me feel whole for a moment. A purpose. I continue, my pain manifesting in a stampede of destruction. My fist slams into the wall repeatedly, the brick doing more damage to my knuckles than I could ever do to it in return. It hurts, but at least it’s a pain I can control.

When most of the studio is left in shambles, and I can find nothing else to destroy, I collapse on the floor. “Kenzie.” I cry her name repeatedly. Heaving in a dizzying breath, I wonder if I just let the greatest thing that has ever happened to me walk right out the door and out of my life forever.