Page 51 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

One Year Ago, March

Nobody hates me more than me.

Kieran

I’d really like to talk to you. Can you meet me somewhere?

Kieran

Will you answer the phone?

Kieran

Olive, come on.

Kieran

I respect that you clearly don’t want to talk, but I would at least like the chance to explain myself.

I read Kieran’s last message again.

He first texted me two days after The Incident. I hadn’t responded, too swept up in the falling out with Nate and the news about my article. He tried to call a few days later, and again a day after that, which I ignored. I didn’t have the brainpower to deal with anything that wasn’t work-related.

Well, I had the brainpower. I just wasn’t willing to spend it on anything that caused me more stress, anxiety, or generally didn’t spark joy. I Marie Kondo’d my text messages.

A week of silence passed before he texted me his latest message.

A chance to explain what? You’re seeing other girls, and I was na?ve and hopeful enough to think you weren’t. What else is there to explain?

I left his texts unanswered. Not so much out of spite, hurt feelings, or the sake of my sensitive, bruised ego.

No, it was good ol’ fashioned avoidance.

It wasn’t a conversation I was willing to have.

Simple as that. I didn’t want to look Kieran in the eyes and feel stupid.

I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was the common denominator.

Healthy, long-term, adult relationships were apparently impossible. Which, for some reason, probably attributed to the patriarchy, felt like a failure on all fronts.

Not to mention, I was just plain sad . I liked where things were going with Kieran before it all went belly up. I missed his company.

A month had passed since the night with Nate, and I was finally beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Not just with my feelings about him, which seemed more manageable and distant the more I looked at him purely as a subject of my article and not as my ex-situationship, but also with the article itself.

Pride bubbled inside me as I worked through my last round of edits before submitting again for consideration.

Even if my article made it through the selection process, it could still be months before it ever saw publication.

But my piece was better, stronger, more impactful now than it ever was before my rejection .

I leaned closer to my laptop screen, scanning for the millionth time, looking for any last-minute edits, when a knock at my apartment door nearly made me jump out of my skin.

“What the hell?”

My fuzzy socks slid across the kitchen floor as I shuffled to the door and squinted through the peephole.

Kieran’s hulking frame stood on the other side, an anxious look painting his face. His light green eyes were unfamiliar and wary with nervous anticipation. I took a step back, staring at my closed door, unable to decide what I wanted to do.

I didn’t have time to think about what plan of action to take, what the possible outcomes might be.

He knocked again. My instinct was to unlock the deadbolt and let him in, lean into him, feel the weight of his arms around my shoulders. But my stubborn pride kept me bolted to the spot.

“Olive?” his muffled voice called behind the door.

“If you don’t want to answer the door, that’s fine.

I just thought coming down here to talk to you in person would be a little less pathetic than calling and texting over and over again.

But, now I’m thinking…” He trailed off. “This feels kind of pathetic either way.”

He sounded like he was about to completely deflate on the dirty floor of the landing.

I took pity and opened the door before he totally lost his nerve. His eyes snapped to mine, and he stood there, mouth agape, for a moment before he tentatively crossed the threshold into my apartment one careful foot at a time.

“Olive,” he said, his voice hoarse. “This sucks. I’ve missed the hell out of you these past few weeks.

Please believe me when I say this is a huge misunderstanding.

” He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, shaking his head slightly.

“I know this probably sounds like a sorry fucking excuse, but I promise you, I genuinely did not realize you wanted to be exclusive. Saying that out loud makes me feel like a dick, I know, but that’s the truth. ”

He laughed humorlessly. “If I knew you wanted to be exclusive, I would’ve jumped at the opportunity.

I’d be an idiot not to. I guess I just assumed you were dating around, too.

That’s just how most people in the dating world are.

Everyone’s on the apps; everyone has multiple people they’re talking to at a time. ”

I wasn’t on the apps, but I’d heard how nightmarish it could be. My arms stayed crossed over my chest.

He took a small step toward me. “I was talking to Kellie and very, very casually texting another girl, too. But things are over and done with both of them.” He took another step closer, stooping his head to catch my eye.

Dammit, Olive. You’re supposed to be mad at him.

“I’m sorry for catching you off guard. I don’t want those other girls, okay? I want to be with you.”

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

He assumed I was seeing other guys. Could I blame him? Aside from finding out he was dating around, Kieran had never done anything wrong. On paper, he was the kind of guy anyone would be lucky to have. And here he was, communicating and telling me exactly how he felt.

He wasn’t talking to anyone else. He didn’t want anyone else. He wanted me.

And I didn’t realize it, not consciously, but more than anything, I wanted to be wanted .

His expectant eyes still bore into me, waiting for a response. The silence drug on, making me want to crawl out of my skin. But his nervous, patient expression was so hopeful.

“That was very nice,” I said quietly, matter-of-factly, hoping the tension would dissipate.

It worked. He let out a short bark of a laugh, his chest falling as he released a long breath.

“God, I hope so. I rehearsed it the whole way over. You’re a hard woman to get a hold of.” Kieran reached a hand out as if to wrap around my waist, but stopped short and righted himself. “Tell me you forgive me.”

I nodded, looking down at my feet, and took a single step to close the gap between us.

“I think we can talk about it.”

Realizing what that step meant—concession, showing that I was willing to work things out—Kieran closed the space between our bodies and lifted me off the ground in a crushing embrace.