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Authors: Karen Kingsbury
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had everything fallen apart? What could have caused him to change so quickly?
There had been so much she wanted to say to him before she returned home. But in the end, the only thing she had done was ask him to kiss her. One kiss. She jogged down her front steps and made the turn onto Twenty-third, the wind biting against her cheeks. The cold didn’t matter. All she could feel were his warm hands on her face, the strength of his arms. The way she’d felt safe and loved and whole for those few minutes.
This many years later, that single kiss, thosestolen moments in the backyard of her parents’ Brentwood house, were the most romantic of her life. Her whole life. In his embrace, she felt herself falling, changing, finding the strength to stand up to her father. She had meant what she’d said to Ryan Kelly that night. All she needed was a reason—and he was her reason.
She was sure of that back then.
Even after they’d been caught, her only fear was her father, whether he’d find out and buy her a ticket home. Either the staff never saw the two of them kissing in the backyard or they never contacted her dad, because nothing was ever said. She didn’t talk to her dad until a few weeks later, and by then she had her answer. She was going back home. Not because of his demands but because Ryan had changed his mind.
She knew something was wrong the moment he picked her up for school the next morning. Molly had planned out the moment. In her dreams, he would jump out and open the door for her—same as always—but when they were inside, he would draw her to him once more, and the kiss that had been cutshort the night before would continue. It would continue and it would never end. Not ever.
Instead, Ryan was distant and cool. He opened her door, but he seemed careful not to let their arms brush. On the drive to Belmont, he said very little, talking only about the test he had that day in music theory and how he needed to buckle down and study more for his history class.
By this time Molly began to feel sick. It was almost as if someone had come in the still of the night and kidnapped the Ryan she had known, the best friend of two years who had made her believe he was falling for her. As if he had been replaced with someone who looked like him and dressed like him and smelled like him. Someone who drove his truck and attended his classes.
After that, the Ryan Kelly she knew no longer existed.
All day she worked up the courage to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong and demand that he be honest. But when they reached The Bridge a few hours later, he spoke before she had the chance. In a few rushed sentences, he apologized for the nightbefore, calling it a mistake. He told her she had her life back home and he had his. She remembered wanting to scream at him or cry out or shake him. How many times had she told him she wasn’t in love with Preston? Or that her dreams had nothing to do with running her father’s corporation?
He was adamant, and in under a minute, the pieces came together. It wasn’t her life back home that had caused him to rethink their night together, their kiss.
It was his.
He must have realized that in the end he would go back to Carthage and that he wasn’t ready to break up with the girl waiting for him. He was still in love with her. That must have been the conclusion he had reached overnight, and now he could do nothing but apologize.
Molly shuddered, sickened by the thought as much now as she had been then. Could there be anything worse? The guy she’d spent two years with, so regretting kissing her that he had to apologize? In the same minute it had taken Molly to understand the reasons Ryan was sorry, she had known something else. She would never let him see her crumble. She wouldn’t beg him or question him or convince him he waswrong. If he wouldn’t let go of his past, she would do the only thing she had left.
She would go back home without him.
S he told Ryan good-bye without
There had been so much she wanted to say to him before she returned home. But in the end, the only thing she had done was ask him to kiss her. One kiss. She jogged down her front steps and made the turn onto Twenty-third, the wind biting against her cheeks. The cold didn’t matter. All she could feel were his warm hands on her face, the strength of his arms. The way she’d felt safe and loved and whole for those few minutes.
This many years later, that single kiss, thosestolen moments in the backyard of her parents’ Brentwood house, were the most romantic of her life. Her whole life. In his embrace, she felt herself falling, changing, finding the strength to stand up to her father. She had meant what she’d said to Ryan Kelly that night. All she needed was a reason—and he was her reason.
She was sure of that back then.
Even after they’d been caught, her only fear was her father, whether he’d find out and buy her a ticket home. Either the staff never saw the two of them kissing in the backyard or they never contacted her dad, because nothing was ever said. She didn’t talk to her dad until a few weeks later, and by then she had her answer. She was going back home. Not because of his demands but because Ryan had changed his mind.
She knew something was wrong the moment he picked her up for school the next morning. Molly had planned out the moment. In her dreams, he would jump out and open the door for her—same as always—but when they were inside, he would draw her to him once more, and the kiss that had been cutshort the night before would continue. It would continue and it would never end. Not ever.
Instead, Ryan was distant and cool. He opened her door, but he seemed careful not to let their arms brush. On the drive to Belmont, he said very little, talking only about the test he had that day in music theory and how he needed to buckle down and study more for his history class.
By this time Molly began to feel sick. It was almost as if someone had come in the still of the night and kidnapped the Ryan she had known, the best friend of two years who had made her believe he was falling for her. As if he had been replaced with someone who looked like him and dressed like him and smelled like him. Someone who drove his truck and attended his classes.
After that, the Ryan Kelly she knew no longer existed.
All day she worked up the courage to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong and demand that he be honest. But when they reached The Bridge a few hours later, he spoke before she had the chance. In a few rushed sentences, he apologized for the nightbefore, calling it a mistake. He told her she had her life back home and he had his. She remembered wanting to scream at him or cry out or shake him. How many times had she told him she wasn’t in love with Preston? Or that her dreams had nothing to do with running her father’s corporation?
He was adamant, and in under a minute, the pieces came together. It wasn’t her life back home that had caused him to rethink their night together, their kiss.
It was his.
He must have realized that in the end he would go back to Carthage and that he wasn’t ready to break up with the girl waiting for him. He was still in love with her. That must have been the conclusion he had reached overnight, and now he could do nothing but apologize.
Molly shuddered, sickened by the thought as much now as she had been then. Could there be anything worse? The guy she’d spent two years with, so regretting kissing her that he had to apologize? In the same minute it had taken Molly to understand the reasons Ryan was sorry, she had known something else. She would never let him see her crumble. She wouldn’t beg him or question him or convince him he waswrong. If he wouldn’t let go of his past, she would do the only thing she had left.
She would go back home without him.
S he told Ryan good-bye without
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