Page 96 of Third Strike Smitten

The dam breaks and the tears come in earnest now, hot and relentless, soaking into his shirt. I’m crying for my father, for the years I’ve spent pretending I’m fine, for the love I’m feeling that terrifies me, for the inevitable goodbye that looms on the horizon. I cry for all of it, and Killian holds me through every sob.

He doesn’t tell me to stop. Doesn’t offer empty platitudes or try to fix what can’t be fixed. He just holds me, his hand making slow, soothing circles on my back, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath my ear. His chin rests on top of my head, and I feel his lips press against my hair in a gesture so tender it makes me cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” I manage between sobs, embarrassed by the force of my emotions.

“Don’t be,” Killian assures. “Don’t ever apologize for feeling, Isla.”

We stay like that for what feels like hours, the stars wheeling overhead, witness to this moment of real emotion. Eventually, my tears slow to a trickle, then stop altogether. The sobs that wracked my body settle into occasional hiccups, and I become aware of Killian’s steady heartbeat beneath my ear, the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his arms around me.

“Better?” Killian asks softly, his voice rumbling in his chest where my head rests.

“Yeah,” I nod against him, not quite ready to pull away from the safety of his embrace, my voice hoarse from crying. “Sorry about your shirt.”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through me. “It’s just fabric.”

I smile despite myself. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I’ve been told I’m a good hugger,” he says, his tone light but gentle. “Plus, I figure if you’re comfortable enough to cry on me, that’s kind of a compliment.”

I pull back slightly to look at him, his face half-illuminated by starlight. “How are you so good at this?”

“What? Hugging?”

“Not just hugging,” I say, my voice still thick with emotion. “This. All of this. You’re so... present with me. Most people would have gotten uncomfortable or tried to distract me with a joke by now.”

Killian’s thumb traces the curve of my jaw, his touch feather-light. “I’m not most people.”

“No,” I agree, my heart swelling painfully in my chest. “You’re not.”

His eyes search mine in the starlight, and I wonder what he sees there. The vulnerability I’ve been hiding for years? The fear that’s been building since I realized how much I care about him? The love I’m too terrified to name?

“I like seeing this side of you,” he says quietly. “The real you, not the one who’s always deflecting with humor.”

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed. “It’s scary.”

“What is?”

“Letting someone see me like this.” I gesture vaguely at my tear-stained face. “Not having my walls up.”

Killian’s hand moves to cup my cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. “You don’t need walls with me, Isla.”

I want so badly to believe him, to let myself fall completely into whatever this is between us because it’s definitely not nothing, but I’m terrified. I’m scared of losing another person in my life that means the world to me. I was barely strong enough to survive it the first time.

The next time might very well be the end of me.

“This dress is a no,” I report from the dressing room. “Light pink looks dumb against my red hair.”

“Come on, let me see!” Tara calls from outside the curtain. “I bet it’s not as bad as you think.”

I step out reluctantly, turning to face the mirror. The pale pink fabric washes me out completely, making my freckles look more pronounced and my hair appear almost garish in contrast. “See? I look like a flamingo that got into a fight with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.”

Tara covers her mouth to stifle her laugh. “Okay, maybe not your color.”

“I told you.” I spin around, catching a glimpse of myself from the back. The cut is nice—sleek and simple—but the color is all wrong. “Maybe black or purple or dark green? Or a shade of blue? Definitely not pink.”

I’ve been putting it off long enough and didn’t have a choice but to go dress shopping today. It’s my one day off before the gala on Saturday so I begged Tara and Sutton to come with me to help me pick out a gown. Something to make me look and feel sexy and confident but also sophisticated and classy. Something that says, “Hey rich people, make a huge donation because I look good and I say so.”

Because obviously that’s how the world works.