Once Pure Read online

  Killian grimaced. “You’re right. She can say whatever the hell she wants.” He leaned forward again and resumed his pic-selecting duties.

  The muscles peeked out the sides of his tank. All I wanted then was to stroke the length of his back and be comfortable doing it. But I’d never actually touched a man.

  Young men had touched me in ways I hadn’t enjoyed, wanted, or deserved. There wasn’t love or any pretense of it in the way their hands took my body. They were simply following hookup protocol, or doing whatever they needed to get off, regardless of the pain they caused.

  It wasn’t the way it should have been.

  And it definitely wasn’t the way I’d envisioned it being with Killian.

  “These are great. The action ones are the best.” He tapped on the screen. “I’d like more of these kicks—and maybe a few of Finn taking down a bigger opponent.”

  “Whatever you want. I still have Lino’s camera. But first let me show you something.” I clicked my mouse until I reached a black-and-white shot. Killian had punched someone so hard, the guy had spun, making him blurry. “I’d like to keep everyone but your family’s faces out. Even if they sign waivers, I don’t want to risk you getting sued for using their images.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “I hear you.”

  This was the most we’d interacted since the start of the week. I liked us alone, and I wanted another opportunity. “You know you’ll have to get a few of Wren, too,” he said. “She’s teaching—”

  “Will you walk me home?” I cringed when I realized how desperate that sounded.

  Killian cocked his head. “What?”

  I sighed and lowered my eyelids. “I wanted to know if you’d walk me home later—after closing, I mean. You’ve had Finn do it, but I was hoping…”

  He surprised me by smiling. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  Chapter 4

  The noise of the city seemed to die down the closer we drew to the old neighborhood. Our street, and the three nearest to it, sat on dead ends and mostly consisted of Irish families intermixed with Cubans and Colombians. The cars rushing past seemed to lessen the further we walked away from the busier streets, but the voices of the residents grew, becoming clearer and more distinct.

  We waved to a few of the older folks sitting on their stoops watching life go by them. There was Mr. Santiago and Mr. O’Malley chatting about the Phils and complaining about the Yankees between sips of Schlitz. Mrs. Bailey swept her front stoop while Señora Medina hung out her window, yelling at her granddaughters to come inside and stop talking to those cabrón boys who were up to no good. She used to yell at her daughters the same way. I smiled. Some things never changed.

  Killian tugged on one of my long, inky curls, I suppose to remind me that he was still with me. “Lety in England with that funny guy—what’s his name, Brody?”

  I clasped my hands in front of me. “Yes, for a week now. She’s already complaining about the food.”

  “What, no platanos there?”

  Having grown up among so many Latinos, Killian pronounced the word perfectly. “Nope. No platanos, no tortillas, she can’t even make yellow rice.”

  “She’s pretty screwed then, huh?”

  I laughed. “So is Brody. For someone who didn’t grow up around Latin food, he sure does love it.”

  Killian didn’t laugh. I didn’t understand why until I caught sight of Norman Kessler. One of his caregivers pushed him along in his wheelchair. They were probably on their way back from getting some air. Drool spilled from Norman’s open mouth. He let it fall, not knowing enough to wipe it. His eyes fixated on the sky, staring blankly. If his brain still formed thoughts he didn’t express them, and based on his condition, he likely never would.

  Norman was once just a regular guy who lived a few blocks away from the corner store. One night he was mugged by what must have been a group of men. They took his money and bashed his skull in, turning him into what remained before us.

  Killian led me across the street and out of their way. “Poor guy,” I muttered.

  Killian huffed. “There’s nothing poor about him. From what I heard, that piece of shit got what he deserved.”

  “What?” It wasn’t like Killian to burn someone like that. Especially someone disabled.

  I glanced back as Norman and his caregiver disappeared around the corner. When I returned my attention to Killian, his jaw was set tight, his expression unreadable. Something about him seemed…wrong. Without thinking, I reached out to touch his arm.

  My fingernails had barely grazed him when I changed my mind and withdrew.

  He watched my hand as it fell to my side, his smile returning. “Did you just try to touch me?”

  “Um, no?”

  He laughed. “Oh, yeah? Hmm. I don’t know, Sofia, that looked like touching to me.”

  This would have been the perfect time to be witty and cute. Once more, witty and cute ran off and left me in the dust. I cleared my throat. “If I had touched you—and I’m not saying I did…would that have been okay?”

  He lowered his head, shaking it, his deep voice rumbling like a brewing storm. “Sofia, I’ve been waiting a long time for you to touch me.”

  My breath lodged in my chest, and I swear, I almost stumbled from the shock. But of course I wouldn’t be me without retreating inward and slamming my mouth shut.

  We passed the next block in silence, and the one after that, too. A few of the neighborhood kids swerved around us, laughing in their haste to reach the bodega. I knew that was where they were headed even before they rushed the small brick steps. Every kid in the area went there for water ice in the summer. Just like Killian and I had done in our childhood.

  We turned into our old neighborhood next. The street seemed so massive once. And still I said nothing. Killian remained close, dutifully walking me home as he’d promised, something he’d done a thousand times when we were little.

  God, I had so many memories when it came to him.

  A two-and-a-half-year age difference didn’t seem like a lot now, but it was then. Two and a half years meant he graduated grade school and middle school ahead of me. It also meant he was well into high school before I could start.

  Maybe that was what finally drove a wedge between us. I was still a child, and he had to finish growing up without me.

  “Do you think those kids play with Matchbox cars?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts. He motioned to the sidewalk with his chin. “Eat candy and hoagies on the stoops like we did?”

  The corners of my lips lifted into a smile. I’d loved the two dolls I had, but I gave them up to crawl along the dirty walkway and play cars with Killian and his brothers.

  “I hope so,” I said, envisioning us the way we once were—me with my bouncy curls, and him with shaggy dark hair that covered his ears. “It was fun.”

  He spoke softly. “Yeah, it was. Lots of memories of this old place.”

  “Yes. Lots of them.”

  I should’ve been tighter with Finn or Wren. Both were closer to my age. But it was always Killian I was drawn to. He’d started out small with a big heart. As he grew into his immense form, I was pleased to see that his heart grew with him.

  I missed the days of playing cars and sharing peanut M&Ms from our Easter and Halloween stashes. Those were the few memories from my childhood that I clung to. They were the only parts worth remembering. The ones that made me genuinely happy.

  If I stole a glance at Killian’s deep blue eyes, I still caught traces of that sweet boy in their warmth, and his mischief in their sparkle. But he was definitely all man. A man I wished I knew better.

  I wanted to tell him I’d missed him then. But I didn’t know how. Besides, it seemed like such a stupid thing to say to someone standing right in front of me.

  We stopped in front of my stoop. “I guess we’re here,” I said quietly, stating the obvious.

  “Yeah.” Killian glanced across to look at his old house. “Looks smaller than it ever did.”

>   “I know. I think that every time I come.”

  All the stoop lights were on except for two. Voices drifted out of open windows and TVs blasted the news. I watched Killian scan the old neighborhood. The narrow row homes were mostly the same, consisting of brick fronts, old wood floors, cement front stoops, and the same three box-shaped bedrooms barely big enough to hold beds. The only obvious difference I sensed was the lack of fear in the air. It had lifted the day my father was sentenced to serve three consecutive life terms. He’d caused the fear here. But he wouldn’t any longer.

  “I hear a couple of families are moving into my side. Most of the older folks are jumping ship and heading south.” Killian cocked his head. “Your ma planning to stay?”

  “Yes. She doesn’t work much anymore. Teo’s been supporting her and paying her rent. He wants to buy her something small that she can call her own.”

  “Do you think she’ll let him?”

  Killian knew my family well enough to know the answer, but I told him anyway. “Probably not. Ma’s never been good with change. I think she’ll stay as long she can function independently.” I smiled, thankful that the awkward silence between us had passed. “Your ma made a good decision, moving to Florida. Finn says it’s nice where she lives.”

  Killian chuckled. “The luck of the Irish is what got her there—you know she’s always had it on her side. She called me the other week to tell me she won another scratch-off. I couldn’t fucking believe it.”

  I raised my brows. “How much did she win this time?”

  “Twelve grand.”

  “Holy…”

  “I know, right?”

  This time, I was the one laughing. Killian’s mother had a knack for having money land right in her lap. She’d find twenty bucks on the street here, fifty there, and this was at least the third scratch-off ticket she’d won since I’d known her. None of it was ever enough to live on, but it always seemed to come to her. The biggest, though, came at the expense of her cheating husband, Killian’s dad. He died in his girlfriend’s bed, but left an outrageous amount of life insurance and his Navy pension to Killian’s mother. Killian’s mother in turn sold the family dry cleaning business and retired to Florida, but not before giving each of her seven children about eighty grand each.

  Killian shook his head. “You know, I’ve never had that kind of luck. Remember that one time I won fifteen bucks and completely lost my shit?”

  “Oh, I remember. Hmmm. Weren’t you fourteen when it happened?” He smirked, knowing where I was headed. I shook my finger at him, feeling a little brave. “You know, underage gambling is illegal and gambling itself…tsk, tsk, tsk, Killian, that’s a sin.”

  “I know. You made it clear back when it happened.” He narrowed his eyes. “By the way, thanks for ratting me out to Father Flanagan. He appreciated the donation to the church.”

  “You can thank me again when you’re allowed into heaven.”

  He chuckled, taking a seat next to me when I sat on the stoop. He laid my laptop case by his feet, careful to angle it against the steps so it wouldn’t tip. “You were always trying to save me, weren’t you?”

  I grinned. “I felt it was one of my nunly duties to report you. Someone had to ensure you’d make it past Saint Peter.”

  He bowed his head, laughing. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever met who seriously considered becoming a nun.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” I stared at my hands, remembering how many times I prayed the rosary when I was little and scared, and how the feel of the cheap plastic cross always managed to bring me comfort. But when what remained of my innocence was robbed, nothing seemed to comfort me anymore. I sighed. “My faith—it’s what got me through the rough parts of my childhood.” I shrugged. “I wanted to give back—to be a part of something special and greater than myself. But I know now it’s not where I belong.”

  “So where do you belong?”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t become a Bride of Christ, Sofia. So what do you think you’ll become instead?”

  “I don’t think I know yet.” I played with the buttons on my sundress. “But I want to.”

  In the distance, police sirens wailed. The racing children we’d passed on the way hurried back onto our street, each slurping a different flavor of water ice. Three of them skipped up the steps of the second house on the left. The other two disappeared three houses down from Killian’s old place.

  “Those kids are out late,” Killian said. He inched closer to me, whispering low as if he were telling me a big secret. “If we weren’t in by the time the stoop light was on, our asses were getting beat.”

  I grinned. “I don’t believe you. Your mama is a sweet lady. She always has been.”

  “Sweet lady capable of beating our asses like a ninja.” He leaned back against the steps. “Did I ever tell you about the time Seamus called her a bitch?”

  I gasped. “No!”

  “Oh, yeah. He was twelve and trying to act all grown. He said, ‘Damn, Mama. Why you being such a bitch?’ ”

  I watched him closely. “How did that go over?”

  Killian’s chest shook with laughter. “As well as you might think. She asked him, ‘What did you just say to me?’ Like a dumbass, Seamus said it again. She was real quiet for about two seconds before she broke a fucking broomstick on his back. Angus and Declan tried to wrench her off him when she tossed the pieces aside and went all windmill on his ass—the rest of us ran for our lives.”

  I was doubled over, laughing, and so was Killian. It took us a while to stop. I wiped my tears away with my fingertips. “I don’t care what you say. Your mama’s still sweet in my eyes.”

  “That’s because she’s never beaten your ass. She’s liked you from the first moment she saw you in those little ponytails you used to wear.” He coughed a few times and tried to mimic his mother’s voice and her thick Irish accent. “Killian, did you play with the lovely Sofia today? You did? Oh, you must have had fun, me boy, playing with such a pretty little girl!”

  I giggled. Killian had the accent down, but his deep voice was still too low to sound anything close to feminine.

  Killian met my smile, angling his body so he could play with one of my long curls. “My mother was right about one thing. You were a pretty little girl.” His smile softened at my blush. “But neither of us realized how beautiful you’d become.”

  I didn’t turn from him, but I couldn’t keep his gaze. I lowered my lashes, falling quiet. It was only when he stroked my cheek with his finger that I glanced up again. “Did you know you were my first kiss?”

  I straightened slightly. “I was not.”

  “Yeah you were. It was Christmas. You were eight, I was ten.” He grinned. “And I swear to God it knocked me on my ass.”

  My face heated and the edges of my lips twitched. I was torn between smiling and letting my jaw just fall open. “It— I— You counted that? As your first kiss?”

  “Why not? You saying your lips didn’t touch mine?”

  I opened and closed my mouth several times, becoming flustered. “I meant to kiss your cheek—I’m Cuban. We kiss cheeks! I didn’t know you were going to turn like that.”

  Killian’s shoulders shook when he laughed. “That’s because I didn’t know what the hell you were doing. When I realized, you took off running and no one could catch you.”

  I held out my hands. “No, no, I…”

  As much as I tried to deny it, it was true. We were on our way to church. My mother had us stop by Killian’s house so we could drop off the tray of paella that she’d made for his family. She told me in Spanish to kiss everyone and wish them a Merry Christmas. I started with Killian since he was my favorite and the one I could never wait to see.

  I covered my eyes, remembering. Killian was in a hand-me-down Easter suit from one of his brothers. It was pale blue and the sleeves were too short. He wore it with a white shirt and a clip-on red tie. He kept tugging on his collar like it bu
gged him. I smiled shyly, stood up on my toes, and pressed my lips right onto his when he turned. The contact was brief, but I remember my lids and his flying back.

  And yeah, then I ran like the wind.

  I stood and jerked a thumb toward my front door when he continued to smirk. “I should head in. Long day, you know?”

  Killian rose and then slowly passed a hand through his thick head of hair, as if debating what to say next. When he looked at me, my heart momentarily stalled. An intensity I’d never seen fired his deep blue eyes. “I never thanked you for that kiss,” said. “Or for the smile you gave me because of it. But thank you.”

  I felt myself go very still. I would have swooned—I know I would have—had I been able to move.

  He released a small sigh. “I know I promised I wouldn’t push you, Sofia. But I really want to return that kiss. Will you let me?”

  “Ah, like, now?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I was kind of hoping.”

  My first instinct was to run from him, like I had so many years ago. I was scared about what he would think of me, just as I was then.

  But he was Killian, my crush since childhood and one of the few males to ever show me kindness.

  So I didn’t fight.

  And I didn’t cower.

  I simply glided to him, as if it were exactly where I belonged.

  Killian took my hands in his, one at a time, entwining our fingers as he carefully drew me closer. The steps that remained between us were minimal and few. I stopped, my breasts mere inches from meeting his body. That knowledge, and the proximity of where I stood, froze me in place.

  Our chests rose and fell gently, reducing the sounds of our breaths. He kept his head bowed, staring at me through a thick veil of dark lashes. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

  His voice lured me closer until our bodies touched.

  I thought I should take a step back. I thought that this was a mistake. But then Killian bent to meet my mouth. And everything suddenly seemed right.