Chapter 8
KAYLA
PRESENT DAY“Don’t. Scream.” Deacon releases a shaky breath as he holds me in the back of the coffee shop. “Alright? At least, not until I say something…”
He seems nervous.
Like I’ve never seen him before.
The dark hair I’d known as a child and teen is ink black, seemingly ten times darker. His skin is tanned, swathed in a sort of summertime glow, and as he plants one forearm over the wall behind me, I can’t help but notice how muscular it’s become, how chiseled the rest of him may be.
His biceps pulse beneath the sleeves of a blinding white t-shirt and beneath his dark eyebrows sits those same cement gray eyes that once stared playfully into mine.
Only this time, there’s nothing playful about the heat simmering beneath those ash-like irises.
I grab for my purse, clu
