Inspire (The Muse #1)(65)
Author: Cora Carmack

One hand cradles the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, and my back meets the brick wall behind me. I tighten my fists on his shirt, but instead of pushing him away like I know I should, I end up pulling him closer. His body pushes so tight against me that the brick scratches at my back and my arms and legs. His mouth is hard and frantic, and I can feel his sadness and his anger in every desperate thrust of his tongue. His other hand grips my waist so tightly that his fingers are likely to leave a bruise. It’s punishing, this kiss. But it’s not a punishment. Or it doesn’t feel like one to me. It’s the first time I haven’t been in pain in months.

And that’s why I have to stop.

I tear my mouth away, turning my head to the side on a gasp. But Wilder doesn’t stop. His mouth drags down to my neck, sucking soft skin into his mouth hard enough to leave a mark.

I try to say his name, but nothing comes out. Then his hand leaves my waist, and his fingers wrap around my thigh, tugging it up against his hip. He pauses his assault on my neck long enough to push his lower body against mine, leaning all of his weight until I’m pinned completely between him and the wall. I can feel his arousal against me, even through our clothes, the weight of it pushes deliciously against my core.

“Come home with me,” he pleads. “We can talk about everything else later. But I need to be inside you, need to feel your skin against mine. It’s the only way I’ll know for certain I’m not crazy right now. That you’re really here.”

Everything snaps back into place, and all my objections and fears come roaring back so loud, like they’d been on mute with the volume turned up high. Finally in control again, I push him back. He loses his grip on me, caught by surprise, and I take off for my car.

After a few moments, I hear him behind me. And gods, how must we look? Like two actors playing out our own tragedy on stage. I make it to my car, but he catches the door before I’m able to tug it closed.

“Please,” I beg. “I know it’s not fair. I know you’re confused. And I’m sorry. More sorry than you will ever know. But if you love me, you need to let me go.”

He falters, his grip going slack, and I take advantage and push his hand off the door long enough to close it. I flip the lock and start the car. He’s still right there beside me as I start to pull away. His hands braced on the hood, he moves with me, saying, “Kalli, stop. At least tell me where you’re going. Are you going home? Can I see you again? Will you fucking tell me anything?”

So I tell him the only thing I can. The truth that threatens to slice me down the middle. “We can’t be together. Not anymore. I’m sorry.”

This time, I let myself watch him through my rearview mirror. He doesn’t run after me. Instead, he stands staring in the road, his hands clutching his head as I go. I don’t breathe again until I turn the corner and he’s out of sight.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Wilder

I don’t know how to let her go.

Even though she asked me to. Even though I know it’s not fucking healthy to hold on to this. I can’t. It’s not like we had a fight and broke up. It’s not like either of us lost interest. Something is wrong, and she’s hurting, and I cannot let that go.

I stay staring after her car for a while after she leaves, trying to decide whether I should get in my SUV and go after her or not. Last time I did that, I went to her apartment, and she never came back. If she’s running again, there’s not much I can do about it. So, I do what I came to do, which is apologize to Bridget for skipping our gig the other night to camp out on Kalli’s porch.

After she left, I had to go back to the music. It was the only thing that could get me out of bed in the morning. That and the marketing class that Kalli and I shared that I kept irrationally hoping she’d return to.

I still don’t have the time to play as often as we used to, but I was managing. Then I drove by Kalli’s apartment, a habit of mine every time I go near campus. I saw her car, and nothing else mattered.

I hit the buzzer for Bridget’s apartment number, and after a few moments, she buzzes me in. I shove my hands in my pockets, and tell myself just to get this over with. One thing at a time. That’s how I’d been living the last three months.

I knock on Bridget’s door, and it opens almost immediately.

“Were you just here?” she asks.

I frown. “No. I just buzzed up.”

“I know. But there was a knock at my door a few minutes ago, and I opened it and no one was there, and …” She trails off.

“And what?”

“Nothing. I don’t remember. It’s like I blacked out or something. You weren’t at the door?”

My guts twist as I think about Kalli walking out of the building, a baseball cap hiding her face.

“You’re okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just … weird.”

Weird. Right. What could Kalli have been doing here? Is it some bizarre jealousy thing? Did she come back into town and think that I’d started seeing Bridget again in her absence? How could she think that? And if she wants me to let her go, what the hell does it matter?

She opens the door a little wider and gestures for me to come in. I step inside, and my anxiety kicks up a notch. What if that’s why Kalli pushed me away? She came here to make sure I wasn’t with Bridget, and then I go and show up. What must it have looked like to her?

Bridget crosses to the couch, but when I don’t follow, she stops and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Listen, I can’t stay long,” I say. “But I just wanted to apologize for bailing the other night.”

“What happened? Rook said something about the girl.”

The girl.

“Kalli is back in town.”

Bridget scoffs. “She is, is she? What was her excuse for leaving you high and dry?”

I swallow and purse my lips. I don’t know if I’m upset she didn’t give me an excuse or relieved. Nothing she could have said would have made a difference. Except to promise she’s back for good.

Bridget’s eyebrows lift. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

I sigh. “Bridge—”

“No, it’s fine. I realize that I’m probably the last person you want to talk about relationships with.”

“I don’t know. Rook gives pretty terrible advice. It’s a tight race.”

She laughs, and drops her defensive posture. “Are you … are things better?”