But I’m still me. And this stillhurts.
And then Ansel reached for me.
Not just my hand this time.
He shifted his chair closer, slid his palms up my arms, warm and slow and steady, like he was grounding me. Like he could feel the tremble under my skin and wanted to soothe it from the outside in.
“I didn’t know about your mom,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I should have asked. I should’ve?—”
“Don’t.” My voice cracked on the word.
“Juniper—”
“You don’t have to fix it.”
“I’m not trying to.” His hands stilled on my shoulders, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of my sleeves. “I just… I care. And I hate that you thought I didn’t.”
“I didn’t think that,” I whispered. “I didn’t think anything. I don’t letmyselfthink about it.”
He didn’t argue. Just touched me. Smoothed his hands over the slope of my shoulders, then up, brushing a few strands of hair off my face.
“You do that,” he murmured.
“What?”
“When you’re hurting. You shrink. You go quiet and try to disappear.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“I know.” He cupped my face in both hands. “That’s why I’m here. So you don’t try and disappear alone.”
My throat closed. My chest stung.
God, I loved him.
I loved him.
And still —still— I couldn’t say it. The words piled up in my chest like static, sharp and loud and too dangerous to let free.
But he didn’t push. Just leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “Not yet. I know.” I closed my eyes.
He was close enough I could feel his breath on my cheeks. His hands were still on my jaw, thumbs tracing soft little arcs under my ears like I was something delicate. Something worth holding gently.
“I’m not him,” he said, and I hated how deeply I wanted to believe it. “You can say it when you’re ready, and I’ll still be here.”
My fingers curled in his shirt. I couldn’t help it. I needed him closer. He came without hesitation, arms sliding around me, tucking me in against his chest. His mouth found my temple, then my hairline, then that spot just above my ear that made my knees go soft. Not sexual. Not now.
Just here. Just real.
I didn’t say it. Couldn’t — I wanted tosobadly.
But I held him like I meant it.
And he understood.
CHAPTER 58
