presumably to go collect the kettle from the kitchen.
Left alone in the living room, Killian sighed, noting the large wet patch on his shirt. He tried to brush it out a little, but gave up. Besides, the tears would dry.
But what was he going to do about Alicia and her confession, about her problem? He could imagine a way that he might be able to help, but it involved revealing far more about his past to her than he had ever imagined, and he would almost certainly put her in a lot more risk than she was in now.
But if he did nothing, on the other hand, her brother would almost certainly die.
Killian groaned, leaning back a little on the couch and running his hand through his hair, staring up at the textured and slightly dingy ceiling of the living room.
What in the world was he going to do?
Chapter eight
In the kitchen, Alicia leaned on the counter, using both hands to prop herself up. Looking down at the steaming, whistling kettle on the stove in front of her, she took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.
What had happened? She'd just intended to tell Killian the basic facts, see if he could maybe help her out somehow, point her in the right direction, or even just listen and commiserate with her. She'd never intended to have a full breakdown, to burst into tears and sob into his chest! She hadn't meant to tell him everything, to open up so deeply to a man who might as well be a complete stranger!
Still, she did have to admit that she felt a lot better now, after telling another soul about her problem. She doubted that Killian would truly be able to help at all, but she was thankful that he'd been at least willing to listen to her problem, to wrap his big arms around her and hold her, comfort her.
She could still catch little whiffs of his scent on her, she realized as she picked up the kettle from the stove. She hadn't paid much attention to how he smelled when she had her face buried in his chest, but she now realized that she could still catch a faint hint of his scent. He smelled clean, like fresh soap. It was a comforting sort of smell.
Carefully holding the kettle out away from her so she wouldn't accidentally burn herself by brushing against the hot sides, she headed back out to the living room. Somehow, she'd half imagined that Killian would have vanished, gone running away as soon as she turned her back. But no, he still sat there, looking up at her with a slightly curious expression dancing around the corners of his face.
"Tea's ready," Alicia announced, hoping that this normal little gesture of pouring tea might help distract from the enormity of the situation she'd just revealed to the man.
Obligingly, Killian picked up his cup and held it out for her to fill. She did so, passing it back, and then attended to her own cup.
For a few moments, as the tea bags steeped, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched out, but Alicia didn't know what to say. What could she say to break this heaviness, this oppressive blanket that had settled over them both?
Finally, after taking a sip of the hot tea, Alicia felt that she couldn't wait any longer to speak. "I thought about going to the police about this, but..." she started, lapsing off halfway through the sentence.
Already, though, she saw Killian shaking his head. "Not a good idea," he commented. "Sometimes these mob outfits have a mole inside the cops, sometimes they don't, but it's not worth the risk, not with your brother's life. And besides, they can't do nearly as much as most people think."
Alicia nodded; she'd already guessed as much. "It sounds like you know a little about this," she tried next, reflecting on how quickly he'd spoken out against going to the police. Had he been speaking from some sort of experience?
Killian just leaned back on the old couch, taking another sip of his tea. She realized quickly that she wouldn't be able to trap him with a conversational gambit. Killian had his guard up, even though he looked only
Left alone in the living room, Killian sighed, noting the large wet patch on his shirt. He tried to brush it out a little, but gave up. Besides, the tears would dry.
But what was he going to do about Alicia and her confession, about her problem? He could imagine a way that he might be able to help, but it involved revealing far more about his past to her than he had ever imagined, and he would almost certainly put her in a lot more risk than she was in now.
But if he did nothing, on the other hand, her brother would almost certainly die.
Killian groaned, leaning back a little on the couch and running his hand through his hair, staring up at the textured and slightly dingy ceiling of the living room.
What in the world was he going to do?
Chapter eight
In the kitchen, Alicia leaned on the counter, using both hands to prop herself up. Looking down at the steaming, whistling kettle on the stove in front of her, she took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.
What had happened? She'd just intended to tell Killian the basic facts, see if he could maybe help her out somehow, point her in the right direction, or even just listen and commiserate with her. She'd never intended to have a full breakdown, to burst into tears and sob into his chest! She hadn't meant to tell him everything, to open up so deeply to a man who might as well be a complete stranger!
Still, she did have to admit that she felt a lot better now, after telling another soul about her problem. She doubted that Killian would truly be able to help at all, but she was thankful that he'd been at least willing to listen to her problem, to wrap his big arms around her and hold her, comfort her.
She could still catch little whiffs of his scent on her, she realized as she picked up the kettle from the stove. She hadn't paid much attention to how he smelled when she had her face buried in his chest, but she now realized that she could still catch a faint hint of his scent. He smelled clean, like fresh soap. It was a comforting sort of smell.
Carefully holding the kettle out away from her so she wouldn't accidentally burn herself by brushing against the hot sides, she headed back out to the living room. Somehow, she'd half imagined that Killian would have vanished, gone running away as soon as she turned her back. But no, he still sat there, looking up at her with a slightly curious expression dancing around the corners of his face.
"Tea's ready," Alicia announced, hoping that this normal little gesture of pouring tea might help distract from the enormity of the situation she'd just revealed to the man.
Obligingly, Killian picked up his cup and held it out for her to fill. She did so, passing it back, and then attended to her own cup.
For a few moments, as the tea bags steeped, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched out, but Alicia didn't know what to say. What could she say to break this heaviness, this oppressive blanket that had settled over them both?
Finally, after taking a sip of the hot tea, Alicia felt that she couldn't wait any longer to speak. "I thought about going to the police about this, but..." she started, lapsing off halfway through the sentence.
Already, though, she saw Killian shaking his head. "Not a good idea," he commented. "Sometimes these mob outfits have a mole inside the cops, sometimes they don't, but it's not worth the risk, not with your brother's life. And besides, they can't do nearly as much as most people think."
Alicia nodded; she'd already guessed as much. "It sounds like you know a little about this," she tried next, reflecting on how quickly he'd spoken out against going to the police. Had he been speaking from some sort of experience?
Killian just leaned back on the old couch, taking another sip of his tea. She realized quickly that she wouldn't be able to trap him with a conversational gambit. Killian had his guard up, even though he looked only
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