“Ah, I see. What’s his name?”
“Killian. We met three years ago, and I fell hard. Got attached far too quickly and things went south.”
“I see.”
“I left him my number last night, but I doubt he got it. I’m sure the security guard will have thrown it away. He probably gets numbers thrown at him left, right, and centre.”
Steph looked puzzled. “Why would he have numbers thrown at him? Who is this guy?”
I pulled out my phone, ignoring the notification, and searched for his name.
Killian McDonagh.
Tempted as I was to read his Wiki page, I skipped to images and pulled up the most recent one. He was barely recognisable from the man I met. His hair was tidier, his frame was thicker,but his smile was the same. The smile that had brought me to my knees each time he sent it my way. I smiled wryly, remembering all the good times we had. There weren’t many, but enough for them to be memorable.
“This is him.”
She gasped. “This is Killian? Your Killian.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say he was my Killian.”
“I love this guy. He sang that song.” She tapped her lips. “You know the one.”
She hummed something I didn’t recognise, lost in the song.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.” The only song I ever remembered him singing was the one he sang the first time I met him.
“No, it’s gone. I can’t remember the title. Wow, Harvey. He’s famous and everything. Well, not so much these days, but he was in the charts a while back.”
“Was he? We lost touch.”
“Well, let’s hope he calls you. You’d be one lucky guy to snag him.”
I had been lucky, and I had thrown it all away. I glanced down at the tattoo still visible on my arm.
Barely Breathing
A constant reminder of what could have been.
I took a deep breath and smiled at her. “It’s all done now. He won’t call.”
Remembering the notification, I opened my text messages and almost dropped my phone.
Unknown number: Let’s meet.
Chapter 27
Killian
What was I fucking thinking?
I’d sent the text in the early hours of the morning after deliberating most of the night, instantly regretting the decision the moment I sent it.
All night, memories of our past together had filled my mind. Had I said the wrong thing? Done something so make him do what he’d done?
I scoured every interaction I could remember, but nothing pointed me in that direction. It wasn’t as if this was the first time I’d done this.
For months afterwards, I’d replay situations, wondering if it was my fault. Everyone had assured me it wasn’t, but it annoyed me when some suggested ‘he wasn’t right in the head.’