My eyes snapped shut.
“You know that,” he said gently. “You’veknownthat. And I’m not going anywhere. So when you’re ready… you’ll say it.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”
He brushed his thumb along my cheek. “That’s okay. I’ll wait.”
And then he kissed me. Not hungry. Not greedy. Justthere. Steady. Real.
I let him pull me close again, burying my face in the curve of his neck. “Ansel,” my voice snagged. “What if I’m never ready? What then?”
I felt his lips turned upwards. “Then I will love you either way. I just hope you’ll let me stay here, with you. I don’t need the words, kid. I’llneverneed the words, as long as you’re here like this.”
Fuck, I didn’t deserve him. I knew in my heart that I loved him — or I wasverynear to being there. That lingering fear of being left and hurt and alone just… trapped the words inside of my head.
CHAPTER 52
She was still tucked against me when the noise pierced through our sleepy afternoon.
A knock.
No —pounding.
Rhythmic. Angry.
I blinked, still a little groggy, breath still slow from the weight of her body across mine, her face buried under my chin, her thigh slung over my hip like she’d decided I was home and that was the end of it.
I didn’t move.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe it was?—
The knocks came louder.
Juniper muttered something under her breath, pressing her face further into my neck.
My hand curved over the back of her head, protective by instinct. “Shh, it’s nothing. Just ignore it.”
But the pounding came again. Followed by a voice. “Ansel. Open the goddamn door.”
Fuck. I knew that voice. It was raw with fury, sharp with betrayal. Kellogg.
Juniper blinked up at me. Her lashes fluttered, mouth still swollen from kissing. “Who…?”
“Stay here,” I said, voice low. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back, kid.”
I eased out from beneath her as gently as I could, heart pounding for a completely different reason now. My shirt clung to her skin, rumpled and soft, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl right back into that bed and never leave it.
But I pulled on a pair of sweats and padded barefoot to the door.
Kellogg was already halfway through another round of knocking when I opened it.
He didn’t wait.
He shoved past me, rage coming off him in waves, his eyes wild and incredulous as they swept across the space — the messy kitchen, the dish with two forks in the sink, the sweatshirt on the back of a chair.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Kellogg—”
