Skila

Amryn . . . Camryn . . . was Kiptyn’s brother. How is that even possible? Camryn lived in Atlanta, two thousand miles away. Didn’t he? I didn’t really know. I didn’t know a damn thing about him. That was startlingly obvious, considering I didn’t even know his real name. Why? Why lie? I don’t get it.

Kiptyn tosses the cab driver a hundred dollars and waits for me to tell him my address. It rolls off my tongue as the tears roll off my cheeks. My heart hurts. I want to scream and yell and shout and cry. My emotions are all over the place. A piece of me is torn to bits knowing he was gone . . . like really gone, not just some dick who decided he’d had enough of fucking me, but really gone, dead, and then, following up on the tail end of that pain is . . . relief.

I can’t explain it, but knowing he hadn’t just vanished, that there was a reason he didn’t show up and didn’t call, made me feel good. Obviously, I didn’t want him dead. I’d never wish that on anyone. Kiptyn stands rooted to the same spot. The look on his face tears at my resolve. I want to jump from the cab and run back up his drive, throw my arms around him, and make all his pain go away, but I can’t. He was Camryn's brother. Whatever could have been between us is over. Gone.

My heart shatters. I rub the heel of my palm against my chest to push the pain away, but it doesn’t work. My breath catches in the base of my throat. I push it out, and a pain-filled cry echoes the interior of the cab. The driver glances back at me, pity clear in the hard lines of his face. No doubt, he thinks we had a spat. Or worse, maybe he’s a regular at Kiptyn’s and thinks I’m another of his discarded women. The answer to my unspoken question comes a second later.

“Don’t cry, miss. He ain't worth it. Plenty more in the sea . . . maybe not so rich, but still.” His choppy English does nothing to soften the blow his words deal. I want to tell him to mind his own fucking business. I want to scream at him and tell him to go to fucking hell and leave me alone, that it isn’t like that, but the words won’t come. Pulling my legs up on the seat, I curl in around myself, letting the pain of his loss crash over me.

It isn’t until I’m sitting on the couch, going over everything with Lisa, that I realize that the loss I cried over wasn’t for Camryn. I'd miss him, of course, and I hate to think that he will never get the chance to live his life, to fall in love and have a family.

No, the loss I feel is for Kiptyn. I’ve known him less than a week—if you don’t count the run-in at the club—and already my heart has betrayed me, falling hard and fast for him. It has nothing to do with his money or fame. It’s so much more. The sweetness he carries inside of himself, the fact that he still looks out for people from his past and helps strangers in bars, the way he held me and touched me. The list goes on and on.

“It's going to be okay, Sky.” Lisa tries to calm me, but she can't. I’m not upset. I’m devastated.

“How, Lisa? How is it going to be ok? The man is dead.” My words are louder than I intend, but I need her to explain to me how she thinks it's going to be ok.

“I know that, but you had already let him go. You’ve already moved on. I don’t get why you’re so upset. Did you love him?” she asks, and now I understand. She thinks I’m hurting over Amryn . . . Camryn.

“It's not him, Lisa. No, I didn’t love him.” I let out a harsh laugh. “I didn’t even know him.”

“Then what’s wrong, babe?”

“It’s Kiptyn. I . . . I can't explain it. My heart hurts for him. It was his brother, Lisa. I can't imagine. What if I lost Devan or Jax? I’d die, right then and there.”

“Are you falling in love with him?”

The knowing look on her face mocks me. She’s always looking for love in someone’s actions. The poor girl sits around reading romance novels by the truckload, hoping one of the imaginary book boyfriends will magically come to life and sweep her off her feet.

Normally, I pity her. Normally, I laugh and joke back with her, telling her she reads too much or that true love doesn’t exist. Not today. Today, I sit silently on the couch a foot away from her, my head tucked into the crease of my elbow against the side arm, trying and failing to choke my sobs back down. I don’t have to say a word today, because she already knows.

I’m crazy about a man that I can't have. Even if I was willing to try to date the brother of my deceased ex . . . boyfriend? There is no way he would. I saw it in the look he gave me when he realized who I was. He would never touch me again. It’s over.

My stomach rolls with nausea. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I race to the bathroom, puking up everything I have inside of me. How on earth has my life become this? Maybe it’s time for me to admit defeat and move back to Atlanta.

No, screw that. I can do this. I'll find a way to make it work here in LA. First thing tomorrow, I'll start looking for a new job. There’s no way Mr. Ames is going to let me keep mine, especially if I didn’t produce that exclusive interview I had promised him, but I’m one hell of a reporter and I can land another job. It probably won’t be with a paper as large as the Los Angeles Daily Home, but as long as it pays the bills, I’m happy.

With some semblance of a game plan, I crawl in between the silky soft sheets covering my bed and beg the Sandman to come visit me soon. I need all the help I can get to forget tonight. If only his magical sand could make me forget Kiptyn Price, then I'd be in heaven.