Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Killian made sure I don’t need to make ends meet financially, but I still have a shit ton of boredom to stave off and time to kill. So, for fun, I sometimes help Enid out with her new gallery. I dragged my feet about it for the longest time because I couldn’t stand to even be around art, but she finally wore me down and talked me into helping, to at least get out of the house.

Besides, Enid’s place isn’t anything like my parents’ gallery. It has a younger, fresher vibe. Fewer pretentious ass-sniffers and more expressive realism from modern artists. She actually sells a lot of reprints at prices real people can afford, making it all so much more accessible, and I like that. It’s something my parents never bothered to do.

On the weekends, I come in and help answer phones or do other menial stuff she doesn’t care for anymore. And as much as Enid drives me nuts with her uptight attitude and crass sarcasm, she’s started dating a woman named Nikki from England, who I adore. So most days, it’s just me and Nikki sitting up front, making conversation and cracking jokes while Enid does all the work in the back.

By this point, Enid and Nikki know everything about Killian—then and now. They find our story both bizarre and romantic, and I can’t say I disagree.

“We still talk from time to time,” I say as I unpack a box of paper bags and tuck them under the cash register.

“You’re not thinking of seeing other people, are you?” Nikki asks.

“Fuck no,” I reply. “If anything, I’m just going to board a plane and march right up to his doorstep and say enough .”

“Why don’t you?” she asks. “Go over there and whip your tits out. That’ll do the trick.”

With a sad smile, I let out a sigh. “Because he needs me to be supportive, and I am. I do support him and everything he’s doing. It’s incredible, but…” My eyes trail downward, and I clench my jaw.

“You miss him.”

Solemnly, I nod.

“You can’t wait forever, Sylvie. At some point, you’re gonna have to move on.”

Despondently, I nod. “I know.”

The door chimes as someone comes in, and Nikki greets them casually. “Welcome in.”

My eyes lift to the door, expecting it to be another customer, but I’m struck silent when I see the person standing there, staring at me in surprise.

“Mom?” I mutter as I stand up.

“Sylvie?” she says at the same time. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were back from Scotland.”

I close my mouth and square my shoulders. I won’t fall silent like I did the last time I saw her. “I’ve been back since August.”

“August?”

Immediately, I recognize how my mother puts me on the defensive, whipping questions around on me. So before answering her, I turn toward Nikki. “Handle this customer, please. I’ll be in the back.”

“Ummm…” Nikki stammers, but I don’t wait for her response.

“Goodbye, Mom. Enjoy the gallery.” I spin on my feet and march toward the back of the room.

“Sylvie, wait!” my mother calls.

“I don’t have to talk to you,” I reply. “In fact, I choose not to .”

She follows me past the front desk and around the corner to the back of the building. “Sylvie, please. Just wait. Give me a second.”

“No,” I argue. My blood pressure is rising with every moment. I’ve been preparing myself for this instance and I just keep repeating the same thing to myself over and over again. Don’t engage. Don’t engage. Don’t engage.

“Can’t I at least apologize?” she cries.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Enid standing frozen near the service entrance, but I brush right past her.

“No,” I call back to my mother.

Even when I reach the alleyway, I just keep on walking. I have no clue where I’m going, but I can’t turn back. I can’t get into a conversation with my mother.

“Sylvie, I’m begging you.”

I hear the sadness in her voice, but it only makes me angrier. Stopping in my tracks, I spin toward my mother and point a finger in her face. “No! You don’t get to be sad now. Not when every conversation we’ve ever had has made me feel like complete shit.”

Tears fill her eyes as she reaches for me, but I quickly wave her off. “No! I’m not engaging. I have to protect my peace, which means I can’t talk to you.”

“Okay, then don’t talk!” she shouts. “Just listen.”

I let out a frustrated scream because listening to her is even worse. It’s the last thing I want to do. But now I’m out of places to run. I’ve hit a fence line, blocking me in.

So I freeze at the end of the alley and let her catch up. I’m waiting for the inevitable, You don’t try hard enough, Sylvie. Or I’m just trying to help you, Sylvie.

What comes out of her mouth is nothing close to what I expect.

“Your father and I were terrible parents!” she shouts. “We are still terrible parents. I wish I knew how to even try to fix it, Sylvie, but I don’t. You didn’t deserve us, and if I could go back in time and give you to people who would have raised you better, I would.”

I shake my head, keeping my back to her as I try to force my brain to block out the hurtful things she’s said to me. But even I know that’s impossible.

I don’t respond as she continues. “There was never anything wrong with you, Sylvie. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way, and I’m sure it’s too late for apologies now, but I have to try at least. And we might have been terrible fucking parents, but look at you!”

“What about me?” I shout, turning around to find my mother with tears streaming down her face, her hair windblown and sweat-soaked. She’s a mess.

“You turned out to be the most resilient, insightful, brilliant person I’ve ever met.”

A wrinkle forms between my eyes as I scrutinize her. What is she getting at? What is the catch? Where is the but of that statement?

She just raises her hands and lets them fall at her sides. “That’s it. That’s all I want to say—just that I’m sorry. And…I’m proud of you.”

Still panting from the chase, she lets her shoulders slump with a look of defeat on her face. Then, she turns away from me and walks back toward the gallery.

I let her go without another word. At the moment, I don’t quite know what to say. I’m not ready for hugging it out and handing out forgiveness, but I do feel a sense of relief wash over me. It’s like I don’t feel the same heavy cloud weighing over me anymore. That whole your-parents-hate-you-and-you’re-a-disappointment fog has started to clear.

Still standing in the alleyway with an expression of disbelief on my face, I pull out my phone and dial Killian’s number. It rings and rings and rings, going to voicemail. And I realize that’s to be expected now, especially now that he’s probably doing things like going to rugby matches with his friends and spending hours away from the house. And that is great , but it’s hard not to feel a little disappointed too.

It’s like he’s moving in the right direction, but that direction is away from me.

***

When I get back to the gallery, I have to tell Nikki and Enid everything about the bizarre interaction with my mom.

Enid is shocked, and Nikki is a slut for good gossip and drama, so she eats the entire story up, wanting all the juicy details. When Enid realizes Nikki doesn’t know the full story about how they came to our house in Scotland and the way Killian escorted them out, she has to tell that part of the story herself.

We’re all laughing together when I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. A sense of relief washes over me as I assume it’s Killian. Pulling it out, my face falls when I see that it’s not him.

It’s his sister.

Quickly, I swipe open the call and step away to give Anna my full attention. Immediately, I hear her panic.

“Sylvie!” she shrieks in tears. “He needs you, Sylvie. You have to come now. ”

My eyes widen with fear as something cold and heavy lands in the pit of my stomach. “Anna, where is he? What happened?”

Already I’m moving. I don’t even say a word to the girls as I burst out the front door, walking toward my apartment. I’m just a few blocks from my place.

“He’s gone,” she wails into the phone.

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

“He’s not here !” Her voice is frantic and screaming. “My aunt called me this morning to tell me that Killian had just dropped off the deed for the house to her, and then he was gone. No explanation. No warning. I’m scared, Sylvie. What if he’s gone somewhere to hurt himself? What if we drove him to do it? He was doing so well.”

My hands are shaking now with fear, and I know she’s being hysterical. I know Killian would never do that. Don’t I?

I haven’t seen him face-to-face in months. What if he’s lied to me? He’s made me believe he was fine before.

And he didn’t answer my call today.

“I’m coming, Anna,” I say because it’s the only thing I can manage at the moment. I’m sprinting now, just a few blocks from my street. I’ll pack my bag in less than five minutes and be at the airport within an hour. I could be in Scotland by morning, and we will find him. He has to be all right.

“Please, Sylvie. You’re the only person I knew to call. He talks about you so much still, so I knew you would help us. He needs you.”

“I’m coming,” I say again. Nothing could stop me. I’ve never moved with so much purpose in my entire life. I’ve never felt something so true and real. There are no doubts or questions. If my husband needs me, I will be there—every single time.

“Anna, I’m almost home. Let me try to call him again. I’ll let you know when I get a flight at the airport.”

“Please hurry,” she sobs.

“I’m hurrying.” With that, I hang up the phone.

I have to cross one more intersection before I’m on my street. The light takes forever to turn, and all the while, I’m running through possibilities in my head. Maybe he’s on a bender with his friends somewhere, drunk out of his mind. Or he met someone and stayed at her place. Or he decided to leave us all behind and took off like a thief in the night.

Or the very real possibility…he had an attack somewhere, and I wasn’t there to help ground him. And he got hurt or worse.

Finally, the light turns, and we cross. I sprint to the next street, making the last turn as his phone’s voicemail picks up again.

“Damn it!” I snap as I shove my phone back into my pocket. Then, I look up from the street and stop dead in my tracks.

My chest is heaving for air, and I’m staring down the long street with my building halfway down. There, on my stoop, is a large dark-haired man sitting on the steps as if he were waiting for me. I continue walking toward the apartment, not wanting to let my heart get away with my head.

But the closer he comes into focus, the more hope I allow myself to feel.

Then he sees me coming. In one quick movement, he stands, and I gasp as goose bumps cover my skin. My heart might as well fall out of my chest and down to the cement. My hand covers my mouth as I walk toward him.

I’m begging my mind not to play tricks on me. I need to know it’s him before I let myself believe it. And when he smiles, that same smile I saw on the beach, I break out in a full sprint. My shoes click against the pavement as my legs carry me the rest of the way, anticipating the moment when I have my arms around him again.

And when I finally get there, I launch myself against him so hard I nearly knock him off his feet.