“Do they all mean something?”
I look down at my chest, ignoring the name written across the right side. “I have one on my wrist with four circles. Caleb, Beth, and Mason have the same one.”
“What about the Grim Reaper?”
I look down at my forearm, where a dark figure cloaked in shadows sits sinisterly in a frame of vines and roses. “I guess that one’s a reminder that every decision brings you closer to death, and to own your choices, your actions.”
Isabelle pulls the bathroom door open, her head tilted and eyebrows furrowed. My eyes snap to the ceiling, not wanting to risk peeking at what isn’t mine to look at.
“That’s a very bleak outlook. Why not, every decision brings you closer to death, so make every moment worth living?”
I run my fingers through the short stubble across my jaw. “That’s definitely a more positive way to look at life.” I’m sure it’s how a lot of people live, how everyoneshouldlive. But how many of them killed their best friend? “Anyway, have you got everything you need?”
I’m two steps away when I feel the air shift as Isabelle closes the distance between us. “Why does Beth call you Henry?”
My stomach skips as she walks in front of me, stumbling to her bed and giving me a glimpse of that lace underwear again.Jesus Christ.
“Because that’s my birth name?” My words come out like a question. This woman’s beauty is killing my brain cells.
“You don’t like your birth name?”
I shrug. “Henry just doesn’t feel like me.”
“I like the name Henry.” Isabelle snuggles down under the sheets, hair spread over the white pillows.
“Thanks.” I rub my eyes and step away, eager to get back to the safety of myown room.
“Can you stay?” she asks sweetly. I almost give myself whiplash with the way my eyes turn to find hers in the semi-darkness. “I’m used to my cat sleeping at my feet, and now they feel cold.”
“Umm.”
“Please?”
Why are my feet crossing the room to join her? “Sure.”Sure?No, no, no, this is a very bad idea.
Someone else has control of my body as I start to sit on the edge of the bed. Before my arse makes it, she throws the covers back and shuffles over to one side, inviting me under the covers.Dear. God.
With an audible gulp, I sink into the mattress and lie back, moving as little as possible. I lie like stone beside her, and I’m quickly covering my junk with both hands when her soft body nuzzles into my side.
“What do you do if you can’t sleep?” Isabelle asks into the darkness. I’m used to running on little sleep. In the years since I lost August, sleep has never come easy. Once the nightmares wake me up, I give in. I get up and work out the chaotic energy with my boxing bag.
“I exercise.”
I feel Isabelle’s head lift, the hint of moonlight coming through the closed curtains is enough to see she’s looking straight at me.
“You exercise? What if it’s like three in the morning?”
“On nights I’m at my bar, I don’t usually get home till two or three anyway.”
Her head lands against my shoulder, and her hands wrap around my forearm, humming to herself as she gets comfortable.
“You must get very tired.” She yawns.
Yep. I’m so fucking tired. I’m also leaving a Gage-shaped sweat puddle against her sheets, because the proximity of herbody and her tantalising scent is giving me a semi when I absolutely should not be getting one.
Maybe I can sneak out in a few minutes. She’ll fall asleep in no time, and hopefully, she’ll remember none of this in the morning.
“Sweet dreams, Henry,” she whispers into the darkness, and my body starts to cool. My heart slows. My breath becomes deeper. My head becomes heavier. And when I sneak out of her bed nearly five hours later, I realise that’s the first time in nearly ten years that I haven’t had a nightmare.
