Against All Odds

Chapter 8

STELLA

"Stella!"

Even over the crash of waves, his voice was unmistakable. I doubted I would ever forget the tenor of it, strong enough to carry over the dominant sounds of nature surrounding me. Even then, my shoulders stiffened involuntarily, and a tremor of anxiety knotted my stomach.

After last night and his painful rejection of my apology and explanation, Killian had made it blatantly clear that he wanted nothing further to do with me. Therefore, any further encounter with him made me... fidgety. I forced myself to stop, the water churning about my calves as I waded into the frothy tide to clean off the sand from some of the broken and pretty shells I had pillaged from the shoreline, and turned to Killian, squinting against the sun.

"Stellaa!" he shouted again, trotting towards me. Once, a long time ago, the way he bellowed my name would be reminiscent of a young Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire, and we would re-enact the famous iconic scene in an overly dramatic fashion... but not anymore.

For a moment, the glare of the sunlight made his silhouette an indiscernible blur, but when he came into focus, I tried not to be affected by the ripple of muscles across his chest and shoulders. Why oh why did Killian choose not to wear a shirt the day after flaying open a wound that was not as healed over as I once believed it to be? Tattoos covered his left arm from shoulder to wrist, another stamped over his flank that seemed to consist of something Celtic and shadowy pine trees.

I caught myself before I could ogle the delectable V that tapered his hips and disappeared under the band of his shorts.

I narrowed my eyes and averted my gaze. No point looking there and definitely no point in finding him attractive. I'd given him up... Perhaps I would have to pay penance for that decision for the rest of my life because of it, but it was a choice I couldn't let myself regret.

He took a few steps into the waves, closing the distance that separated us until he stood a few feet away from me. I couldn't decipher the expression on his face. He was normally serious, only sporting a goofball smile if he spoke about Lord of the Rings, Terry Pratchett or something equally dorky, so it was difficult to read him now as he didn't seem to be overly serious. Rather, I think he looked hesitant...

"Christ this water is cold," he mumbled, grimacing a little as a wave splashed up his thighs and dampened the nylon fabric of his shorts.

"We can go to the shore-"

"No, it's alright, this won't take long." He was nervous, I saw, when his hands flexed and he shook out his fingers, as if not sure what to do with them. "I thought we should talk."

I felt the colour drain from my cheeks. Now he wanted to talk? Last night would have been better. I was recklessly confident then, emboldened by tequila, the giddy heat of the jacuzzi and the shadows helped cover the stretch marks on my hips and tummy. No idea where the urge to cover myself came from, but the driving need to throw a t-shirt over my shoulders made me realise that I was also nervous.

I inhaled deeply, fighting those insecurities off. They didn't have any place in the present and I had worked hard to not let external validations affect me- and regardless, Killian had always worshipped my body in the past. Maybe it was the memory of that photograph of him and Amber that kept rising to the forefront of my mind that was sparking off such thoughts.

Whatever it was, I let it go and clenched my fingers around the shells, the hard edges of one biting into my skin. "Sure," I said, hoping I sounded nonchalant even if my throat felt restricted. "OK."

He cleared his throat, looking agitated. Killian had been confident in our youth, but he'd never been outwardly confrontational. I wondered at how much that could have changed given his career. I was sure being involved in politics, even as an analyst, would have to amount to some balls.