The Dirty Ones

“A guy?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, closing my eyes.

“Oh,” he repeats. “So you’re seeing someone?”

“No. He’s just a friend who looks out for me. That’s all. Come back to bed.”

Honestly, I don’t expect him to get back in bed with me. Connor Arlington has always had a possessive streak in him. With me, with Sofia. Probably with every woman he’s ever dated. So I figure he’ll skip bed and put his life back together, starting with the suit hanging over the radiator in my laundry room, and just be on his way because I’m no longer holding him captive at the end of a snow-packed driveway.

His body is both warm and cold when he flips up my blanket and slips up next to me. His legs are chilled from standing in the open doorway, but his chest is warm when he wraps his arms around me.

“Kiera,” he whispers.

“What?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

I can’t help the little laugh that escapes. I turn over, facing him, and find he’s serious. “I said no.”

“So this guy who thinks you need saving from the storm… he’s what? A friend? An ex?”

“A friend,” I say. “That’s all, I promise. Are you jealous?”

He reaches up to move some of my unruly hair away from my face. “I’ve missed you. I don’t think I realized that until I got here.”

“Well, good? I guess. I mean, you know where I live. You could’ve come by any time you wanted.”

“I know. And I feel a little sick that I never did that. But last night was nice and I don’t want any hopes I have to be shattered before I get a chance to sort this whole mess out.”

“What are you hoping?” I ask, still grinning. I know it’s wrong to smile when he’s being so serious, but it’s more out of shyness than self-assured confidence. Because I have always liked this man. But I have also understood that our spheres were never going to intersect in any real way. We’re too different. We live almost three hundred miles apart and I have no plans to upend my quiet life and move to New York City just to be with a man. Even if that man is Connor Arlington.

“I don’t know. A chance, I guess. To start over, maybe?”

“You don’t like our past?”

“Well, if I had the opportunity to meet you all over again under different circumstances, then yeah. I’d choose that.”

I think about this for a few moments. “We’d never fall back into this level of comfort if we didn’t share that past.”

“I know. I get it. But still.” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?’

“That whole fuckin’ year. I… I could’ve handled it differently. I could’ve made a choice, ya know? Committed to something. For once in my life.”

“What kind of choice? Like… opt out?” I almost snort-laugh. “Because we tried that and we both know what happened.”

He sighs again. Closes his eyes and flops over on his back, covering his face with his hand.

“Hey,” I say, scooting closer to him and resting my chin on his shoulder. “Emily made her own choices.”

“I know that. But I have always felt that I could’ve done more.”

“How?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbow. “She tried to shoot you, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah,” he says, lifting his hand away so he can peek at me with one eye. “And shot you instead.”

“That wasn’t your fault. I should’ve…” But I can’t even bring myself to say it now, ten years later. So I shake my head and say, “No. I did what I did and I’d do it again. I’m not going to second-guess that moment.”

We’re quiet for a little while after that. I finally flop back and join him in staring at the ceiling.

“Sometimes,” he finally says, “I wonder what would’ve happened if you died.”

“What?”

He turns to look at me. “I didn’t want you to die. I’m not saying that. I just find myself asking what if? What if our book was never written, ya know? And we could write our own story.”

“I think we both know that if I died, someone would’ve replaced me.”

“No,” he says. “I don’t think so.”

“How could you even think that? I mean, Emily was immediately replaced with Louise.”

“Yeah, but you were the writer.”

“So? Sofia could’ve taken my place. Even Camille could’ve done what I did.”

“I don’t think so, Kiera.”

“Wait,” I say, propping myself up again. “You’re saying… I was the central figure in that stupid game? Me?” I laugh. And it’s loud.

“Why is that funny?”

“I think it’s obvious, Con. I mean, come on. I’m nobody compared to you guys. I’ve done nothing with my life.”

“You’re a New York Times bestselling author, Kiera.”

“So what?” I bark out another laugh. “That means nothing. I’m not running for office, or doing legal things like Bennett, or… whatever it is that Hayes does. I mean, Sofia writes smut like me, for sure. But she also writes literature. She’s legit. And so is Camille.”