Page 38 of Unreasonably Yours

Toni

Anxiety hums through my body as I perch on the loveseat in Cillian’s room. While it wasn’t my fault that I’d been in the living room when Michael said what—from the look on his face when he’d seen me—was clearly not meant for my ears, I still feel guilty.

How many times in twenty-four hours can I be in the wrong place?

I may have been moderately useful yesterday, but still, it wasn’t a scene or situation I had any right being a part of. And once we made it back to Somerville, I should have just texted Lucy and Oliver. Gone back to my apartment.

Just like the first night I spent in this room should have been the only time I was here.

What was I doing? In this house? In this city?

Just go home. A judgmental voice in my head says as if I have ever had any clue where that is.

The stairs of the old house creak, and I turn as Cillian appears at the top of them.

“Hey,” I say, cringing internally. Hey. Like nothing has happened. Hey. Like everything is fine .

The corner of Cillian’s mouth twitches up just a smidge. “Hey.” He sits on the other side of the small couch.

It’s still dark enough outside that our illuminated images are reflected in the window. A hazy still life.

Every empty comfort and pointless thing I could say trip over one another on their way to my tongue, causing a pile up at the back of my throat. I look at my reflection, convinced I’ll be able to see the mass they’re creating there.

“I’ll be ten years sober next year. On my birthday.” He doesn’t say it like a celebration; he says it like penance.

I can’t bring myself to look at him directly, so I choose the still life version. The edges are smudged, fading in the growing dawn, but I can make him out still, elbows on his knees, eyes on his hands. Those beautiful hands.

“I—He—Michael. He found me. Saved my life. That was the last time.”

Now I understand why Oliver didn’t explain the why behind Cillian’s birthday avoidance, why no one had let so much as a whisper slip about it around the actual day.

I shift my eyes from his fading reflection. His position hasn’t changed, but now, in full focus, I can see the weight of everything he’s carried, all of it as clear as though it sat on his hunched shoulders.

I don’t know what to say to take some of that burden off him. All I know is that I can be sure I’m not adding to it.

“If this...” He trails off. I hold my tongue. “If this is all too much, I get it.”

Indignation flares hot in my chest.

How could anyone make him feel like his healing was too much? As if his survival was a thing to be ashamed of.

“Why would you being honest be too much?” I try to keep the heat from my voice.

Cillian’s jaw flexes, teeth grinding. “I know it’s another thing. Another tick in the cons column.”

“Next to what?” If I had a pros and cons list for this man, that column was decidedly empty.

“Plenty.” He stares out the window, fiddling with his necklace.

“Your sobriety is something to be proud of. That’s not a con.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, but when ‘recovering addict’ sits beside ‘combat veteran,’ I know it implies?—”

“It implies nothing,” I cut him off. “And it doesn’t have any impact on our friendship either.”

I feel a shift in the space between us and hold my breath.

“Friendship?” Cillian asks.

He looks at me, and I wish I could disappear.

It had to be that. Friendship. Just that.

The only thing Cillian telling me about his recovery did was resolve the thoughts I’d had in the shower this morning—or was it yesterday? Regardless, he’d worked too damn hard for me to roll in and wreck shop.

“Yeah? At least I thought—” I cut myself off, looking toward the stairs as I hear a door close.

“Michael’s going to crash here for a few hours before we head to our parents’ place.”

“Ah.” I know ‘we’ doesn’t include me.

“And you thought right.” Cillian takes my hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure you’re ready to get home.”

There was that damn word again. Home.

“I can call a car.”

“I can take you.”

“It’s ok,” I say, fingers already moving across my phone screen. “They’ll be here in five.”

Time folds in on itself as I gather my things. Five minutes feels both like an eternity and a millisecond.

We make our way downstairs, Michael’s snores from the couch making it clear he’s dead to the world .

As we stand in the foyer, I realize with a pang, this is the only time I’ve gone out the front door since the first night we spent together.

Cillian sets my bag down and pulls me to him. “Thank you for everything,” he says into my hair. I rest my ear above his heart, breathe in his scent—evergreen and tobacco today—squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the tears.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, informing me of my driver’s arrival.

With a tender touch, Cillian tilts my chin up to kiss me. Slowly. Intentionally. When we separate, I know the shine in his eyes matches my own.

“If you need anything...” My voice trails off.

“I know where to find you.” He tucks one of my curls behind my ear, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Goodbye, Toni.”

My heart cracks.

Sparse early morning traffic makes the ride across town blessedly short, so I manage to hold on to my composure right until my door closes behind me.

The sob doubles me over. Hot tears soaking my cheeks in a breath.

Some selfish, unreasonable, part of me is screaming to get in my goddamn car and go back. Beg him to...

What?

Love me?

Bitter laughter bubbles up through the tears. I let my knees sink to the floor and lean against the wall, dragging in stuttering breaths.

A knock at the door sends my heart into a panicked, hopeful staccato. Furiously, I wipe at the tears, knowing there’s nothing to be done about my overall state.

With one final steadying breath, I haul myself up and open the door.

My landlord stands on the porch, a vase of flowers in hand.

Not Cillian.

Of course.

“Hey!” She greets me with a smile. “Everything, ok?”

I sniff. “Yeah. Just . . .” I shrug.

“Life does that.” She holds the vase out. “These came for you on Friday, didn’t want them to die before you came back.”

“Thank you,” I say, accepting it. “I’ll put them in something else and give you your vase back. One?—”

“Don’t worry about it. You can give it to me later.”

“Thanks again.”

She gives me an understanding smile. “And if you need a little more time to think about the lease, that’s fine. We’re not in a rush.”

I finger the card, still attached to its little plastic holder. “That’s...really nice of y’all.”

She shrugs. “It leases pretty fast. Not a big deal. Have a good day!”

“You, too.”

She opens her door, disappearing up the stairs as I step back inside.

In my kitchen, I set the vase on the island, studying the flowers while my coffee brews.

A generic assortment of mums and daisies.

Bracing myself, I open the card.

Toni,

Couldn't stop thinking of you. I hope these bring extra beauty into your day.

Always yours,

David

Over our three years together, I could count on one, maybe two, hands the number of times that man got me flowers. Too impractical, he’d say. But that wasn’t what had my hand shaking.

This wasn’t a forwarded package from my brother’s address. Somehow, he figured out where I lived.

I shudder.

After college, I moved to Atlanta. I’d gotten a job at a marketing firm and was ready to get out of Texas. I hopped on Craigslist—much to Belle’s chagrin—found a roommate, packed my car, and left. I had a great time...until a hookup turned into a stalker.

I moved apartments twice, and somehow, that guy kept finding me, sending flowers and gifts, insisting we pursue something more serious. Eventually, he threatened me if I didn’t. It didn’t stop until I put several states between us.

David knew all about that experience. And still, he sent these.

It was either intentional cruelty or extreme negligence. I wasn’t sure which one hurt more.

Exhaustion washes over me, drowning my heartache and my rage, leaving me numb.

Coffee forgotten, I throw the flowers in the trash and retreat to my bed.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up a better woman. One who isn’t running from her past. One who doesn’t want what she can't have. One who knows what the hell to do next.