Page 56 of Finding Him
I decide I’ve lost my mind and descend the stairs in the darkness.
I find a glass in the cupboard, filling it at the sink, pressing the cool metal of the faucet against my palm. The water is clear, not blue. Not endless. Not drowning me.
I hear a sound behind me and turn sharply, water sloshing over the rim of the glass and spilling onto my hand.
Molly stands in the doorway, her hair loose around her shoulders, tangled from sleep. She’s wearing a large shirt as a nightgown, the hem of it brushing her thighs and the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder. Neither of us speaks for a long moment, the air between us thick and charged.
Like the moment before lighting strikes.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she finally asks, her voice hushed and rough with sleep.
I shake my head, setting my glass down on the counter. “Bad dream.”
“Same.” She nods, stepping further into the kitchen. She has to reach past me for a glass, causing her hip to brush against mine. The contact sends an electric current rushing through me.
“Molly,” I start, then stop. Her name tastes strange on my tongue for some reason, even though I’ve probably said it fifty times, maybe more, since meeting her.
She turns to look at me, hands suspended mid filling her glass. “Hmm?”
“About earlier—”
“No, I’m sorry,” she cuts in, not watching the sink as her glass fills up. “I shouldn’t have pushed. It wasn’t my place.”
She shouldn’t be sorry.Iwas the one who snapped at her, angry over a litany of things. Running into Jeremy Grigsonoff the pitch, losing the game, the fact that she wasrightin everything she was saying. I should tell somebody about my injury, but I won’t. I hadn’t even meant to tell her, it just came out.
That, was a side effect of talking to Molly Lockhart. She made my lips loose and my mind numb. But the anger? Well, I could draw that all back to the drink I’d taken from a hidden bottle in my room as soon as we’d gotten home, under the pretense of dropping my gear bag in my room.
And then I went into the basement after fighting with her and drank some more.
I run a hand through my hair. I decide the best apology is to be honest with her. Well, partially. “It’s alright, Mol. Nothing you said was untrue.”
The glass is nearly full. “Still I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay. I know.”
The water spills over the glass, running over the side and her fingers, and she quickly turns back to shut it off.
The dream lingers in the back of my mind—the water, the hands reaching for me. Hands that I can’t grab onto, no matter how hard I try.
Molly is drying her hands and the side of her glass on a tea towel, and I can’t tear my eyes away.
The thought that comes is unbidden. I want to pull her into me. To kiss her. It’s less of a want and more of an ache. My gaze drops to her mouth, the soft curve of her bottom lip. She’s close enough that I could close the distance in half a second.
But I don’t. I don’t move.
“I forgive you if you forgive me,” I say instead of giving into the temptation.
I’m rewarded with a smile that paints those pretty lips I’m imagining on mine. “It’s a deal.”
I step back from her, nodding. “Goodnight, Molly.”
She hesitates, her lips parting like she wants to say something more. Then she returns my nod. “Goodnight, Niall.”
23
No Bark, All Bite
Niall
