Coming Home (Only Time Will Tell #1) (4 page)

Ryan spots me and quickly holds his finger up to his lips, signaling me to keep quiet. It's so sweet that he's surprised her.

I look at Nod, checking that she doesn't suddenly turn around and spot him as he heads to the bar.

As both men head over, I quickly readjust my dress while still seated. I feel rather bloated after our huge meal.

Ryan sets the wine bottle on the table in front of her and then places his beer in front of an empty seat between us both.

“Do you mind if we join you two lovely ladies?” he asks just as Nod realizes who it is and quickly jumps out her seat and throws herself around his neck.

“Ryan?” she screeches. “What the hell are you doing here? I didn't think you were due back till tomorrow?”

He removes her slightly, then places a gentle kiss on her lips. Even I'm swooning at them both, wanting to pinch both their cheeks and tell them how cute they are.

“Thought I'd surprise you. Did it work?”

“Yes!” she squeaks, then plants a kiss on his lips, a hell of a lot harder than the gentle one he gave her.

While they’re kissing and muttering to each other so we can't hear, Kyle sits himself on the only free seat. I'm definitely ready for my weekend alone now.

“Are you having a good night?” he asks

“It's not been bad. You?” I reply flatly.

He's still wearing the same clothes he had on earlier and is slightly slouching in his chair, twirling the beer bottle around on the table with the tips of his fingers. I want to smack myself upside the head for licking my lips as I watch him. Remembering how I used to love the feeling of his hands all over me, even before we dated. He just always made me shudder whenever there was skin on skin contact, even if it was to stop me from doing something. “It's been okay.”

“Good.” I leave it there. Not wanting to start a full conversation.

Ryan and Nadine eventually sit themselves back down and they all start talking about this past week, I sit there, mainly in silence because this has very little to do with me.

Ryan has explained everything about his business trip and Kyle has given us the sickening run through of his vacation. It's not that they did anything sickening, I just hate to hear him talk about the almost romantic getaway he had in France with that screeching bitch.

About eleven thirty, I’m starting to think about calling it a night. As I prepare myself to tell them my plan, a stupidly thin woman with black hair comes running through the bar, launching herself into Kyle’s lap, her already short skirt hitching up further than should be legal. Nadine looks at me wide-eyed and knocks Ryan’s attention away with her hand before the whole restaurant is flashed. “Oh. My. God, Kyle. What are you doing in here?” she asks in one of those childish-adult voices. “I’ve been waiting for you to call, did you lose my number?”

Yeah, because that’s what happened.
“No, Maggie?” he replies, almost questions, as his face screws up awkwardly.
 

She smiles at him with a pinched “I’m trying to be cute” face and corrects him. “You’re so silly, it’s Molly. Why don’t I come back to yours and I can remind you?” Winking at him and giggling.

Grabbing my glass I down the contents, needing it, especially as I spot his hand running tenderly up and down her leg…over her “classy” rose tattoo that seems to go all the way around. I have nothing against tattoos. I just have things against people who get them done by the cheapest guy they can find… and you can tell.

“Oh, come on, Kyle,” she whines. “We had so much fun last time, I’ll even bring the handcuffs, again.”

I can’t listen to this.
Pushing the chair back with my feet, making a God awful squeal against the wooden floor. Looking at Nod I inform her, “I'm heading home. I'll see you Monday.”
 

“You’re leaving? It's like only nine?” she questions, checking her watch and squinting like she doesn't actually believe that it’s almost midnight.

I shake my head, giving her a quick hug and saying goodbye to Ryan before I head for the door. When I'm outside, the cold air that I desperately want isn't there. There’s just a humid blanket.

I crack my neck and head to the curb, ready to hail a cab.

“Cat!”

I look round at the entrance of The Chesterfield—the name of the hotel—and see Kyle heading my way. Looks like the trash is where it should be. “What?” I say exasperated and drained, my back and shoulders slumping and my bag dropping from the crook of my elbow and into my hand.

He rakes his hand through his messy hair, making the odd piece stick up in ridiculous directions. “You’re going? Alone?”

I search around me, just to make sure that I don't have a few extra people with me who decided to tag along. “Looks like it, why?”

He grabs hold of my elbow and starts to drag me towards the hotel again. “What do you think you’re doing?” I demand, uselessly trying to get his hand off of me.

“I'll give you a ride, you’re not leaving here alone. Anything could happen.”

My heels try to anchor against the sidewalk, but that just causes me to stumble. “Oh, and me getting a ride off someone who I met a few hours ago is a hell of a lot safer than getting a cab?” Hoping that it will make him snap into saying something, just to acknowledge me a little bit.

He stops and turns to look at me searching my face, and then my eyes. My breath catching in my throat. Those eyes always made me a puddle of gooey mush—those teamed up with that smile of his had me doing stupid things whenever he thought them up. Why is he still effecting me after all these years?

“If I was to do something, you could quite easily tell my Uncle. You really think I want to piss him off?” he whispers.
Bang goes my plan.
 

“I guess not.” I whisper back, “But you can let go of me. I'll come quietly.” I say sarcastically, which causes his mouth to turn into a smirk.

Reluctantly, he lets me go and I follow him through the hotel and out into the parking lot. Sitting there is a shiny black car with an older looking driver. Kyle opens the door and ushers me in. The first thing I do is scoot to the opposite end.

When the door is slammed shut, we drive out and head in the direction of my apartment. To say he hated all this, he's doing a fine job at living it.

As soon as I'm out of this car, I'm going to try and keep out of his way, try and carry on with my life like I wanted it, and that didn't include him. I don't care if it means I have to hide out in my apartment for months at a time. I need to get him out of my head, out of my line of vision and I don't care what stupid measures I will have to do to get that.

All I know is Kyle Cooper and I need to keep our distance so we can both carry on with our lives. We can go back to living like we have done for the last few years.

When the car pulls up outside the apartment block, I thank the driver and open the door, taking my time just in case he decides to say something, but he doesn’t. I carelessly throw a thank you back at Kyle before I slam the door shut.

Alone time sounds so good right now.

I'm in my pajamas, staring out my bedroom window, looking out at the streets below
—
people watching: they
’
re all going about their daily lives, daily routines and they have no idea I'm up here watching them. Not in a creepy way, just watching.
 

I pull the hair band from around my ponytail and let it fall free. Tipping my head forward, I run my fingers through my hair and attempt to put a bit of life and volume back in to it. When I straighten myself back up, I look down and find every piece of hair curled perfectly into spirals. I'm looking at it, confused, when something out the window catches my eye. I look out and the outside world isn't there anymore. In fact, I'm staring into my parents’ living room, the house I've spent the last eight years in.

I can't hear anything that's being said, but it looks like they’re distressed. My parents are shouting at each other, arms are flying around everywhere.

I start banging on the window trying to get their attention, but they can't hear me. I continue to bang my fist against the glass and try to shout, but nothing comes out. Instead, I begin to choke, as water fills my mouth!

I'm submerged in water and the whole room is floating around me: the bed, the dresser, the nightstand
—
everything. The air I had in my lungs has now left me and I'm gasping for air. I try and swim to the surface, but no matter how hard I swim, I don't move. I need air... I need to breathe!
 

After trying and not succeeding at getting to the surface, I make one final effort to get my parents’ attention. I swim back to the window and my parents are still there, still having their heated conversation. I begin banging on the window, the palm of my hand slamming so hard on the glass that I'm scared my bones will shatter into a trillion pieces, not that I'd feel it, because it's starting to feel numb. But I don't stop banging....

I wake up sitting bolt-upright in bed. My breathing is erratic, I'm sweaty and disorientated.

My room is exactly how it should be, nothing is out of place and the view out my window is… normal. Was it a dream? It was a dream, I reassure myself.

I collapse back on the bed, clutching my chest over my heart and subconsciously try and calm down. Dreaming that you’re dying is not something that I appreciate.

There's a bang on the apartment door that makes me jump out my skin and starts my heart rate soaring again. What could Nod need this early in the morning? Have they had a fight?

Still shaken from my nightmare, I gingerly start to get out of bed just as another bang hits the door and makes me jump again. I actually start getting scared. She could be hurt for all I know, but then why come to me when she has Ryan at home?

I make my way through the lounge, shouting, “I'm coming!” and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I look a mess and she knows this is what I'll look like this early on a Saturday morning after a few drinks. So she had better be prepared for the sight.

Quickly yanking the door open I start to shout, “Seriously woman, can you not knock at a...” trailing off as I realize it isn’t Nadine who storms past me and heads into my apartment.

I watch as Kyle walks into the kitchen as I close the door and follow him, confused and well… confused. I watch him from the edge of the kitchen as he starts looking through my kitchen cupboards, eventually finding what he’s searching for and placing a plate on the kitchen island.

I walk around and take a seat, still watching and trying to figure out if I'm dreaming still. “Make yourself at home,” I say sarcastically.

He places a bagel on the plate and slides it in front of me before placing a to-go coffee cup next to it. “Thanks. I brought you breakfast.”

No shit, Sherlock. “Breakfast? Why? More to the point, what the hell do you want?”

“Nothing,” he says as he tosses the packaging in the trash. “I was just passing by and thought you might want something to eat. You sure drank a lot last night.”

I rub my forehead, my alcohol induced headache slowly creeping up on me the more I wake up. “Seriously?”

“Sure, why not?” he shrugs, then comes around the island and takes a seat next to me.

I take a couple of sips of my latte and take a bite of my salmon and cream cheese bagel—my favorite—while trying to figure out the huge puzzle that's exploded in my head.

I never told him what apartment number I lived in. Come to think of it, I never told him where I lived, period. He never asked me last night either, so how did he manage to whisper it to the driver before he got in the car?

“How did you find out where I lived?” I ask, confusion etched across my face as I turn to look at him as he casually sips on his own coffee.

He smirks around the cup as he holds it to his lips. “I have my sources.”

“Sources? Nadine? Did she tell you? Did she give you my address?”

“No, it wasn't Nadine.”

I think long and hard, trying to figure out how else he could have gotten that information while I continue to eat and finish my bagel. “Mr. Johnson?”

“Nope,” he says, his lips making a popping sound as he says it. “But you’re getting close.”

My brain continues to work overtime, which is a lot of hard work considering the hangover that’s slowly trying to take hold. “How? Just tell me!”

“Your work file,” he states flatly.

He went through my records! “Why the hell would you do that? Can't you ask like a normal human being?” I shout at him.

“Would you have told me?” he calmly asks me, my shouting not affecting him at all.

I slam the coffee cup down. “No!”

“That's why, then.”

I stare at him open-mouthed. He can't see how wrong this is, not even in the tiniest element.

I pick up my empty plate and get up, walking around into the kitchen and tossing it in the sink, causing it to clatter loudly and bust into two. The noise rings like a fire alarm at close range in my head.
I'm never drinking
—
again!
I place my hands on my hips and take a couple of deep breaths, waiting for the pain and irritation to ease. When it doesn't, I reach into one of the cupboards and pull the medicine box from the top shelf, and grab the Advil to take. When I've swallowed them, I turn and look back at Kyle, who is looking at my legs.
Damn shorts.
“Excuse me. My face is up here,” I say directing him with my finger which he follows with a slight smile.