An hour passes in a haze of technical jargon and stolen glances. As she fades, her responses come slower, movements less precise, and the yawning starts in heavy rotation.
“I should go." The words feel wrong even as I say them.
"Stay?" She looks up at me through those lashes, uncertainty written all over her face.
“You’re wiped out.”
"Please?"
Say no. Maintain defensive positions.
No matter what I tell myself, it’s, the "Okay," slipping from my lips.
We end up on her bed. Leaning back against the headboard, I stretch my legs out before me. She on the other hand curls into a ball, tucking into herself, propping her head against my shoulder.
“Chance?”
“Yeah?”
“It does matter. So are you finally going to tell me?
She blinks up, the soft glow of the lamp catching on those little gold frames. Fidgeting with the edge of the socks, she runs her finger back and forth rhythmically. Completely unaware how fucking sexy that one little move is by itself, but combined with the socks, devastating.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Holly.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t, but let me tell you…” I let it pour out. Unfiltered. More than I’ve ever told Nick even. About Noelle. My father.
About trying so hard to be perfect that I forgot how to be real.
"She looked good on paper," I say peering down at her, my voice rough. "The perfect military match. Colonel's daughter who understood the life, respected the rank..."
Holly shifts beside me. "So what happened?"
"Paper burns." I release a long, shuddering breath. "Just like anything else."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the truth of those words. "Six months of pretending to be the man my father wanted, the husband she deserved... turns out paper can't hold up against who you really are."
"And who are you, soldier boy?"
"Someone who's tired of running." I pause, the weight of everything unsaid pressing against my chest. "Someone who's done making the same mistakes."
Her breathing starts to even out, a quiet rhythm that tells me she’s drifting off. "I should have told you about Noelle. But talking about her means admitting I was a coward—that I let my father decide who I should be, instead of being who I am."
She doesn’t respond, only the soft, steady sound of her breaths breaking the silence. I stay awake, watching over her, each inhale a reminder of everything I stand to lose if I screw this up again.
“Something someone as strong and unstoppable as you would never do.”
Her lips move, words lost to the haze of sleep as she curls into me, fitting like she’s always belonged there. Maybe she does.
Careful not to wake her, I remove her glasses, setting them on the nightstand. She burrows in deeper with more mumbling, tucking perfectly under my arm.
My phone buzzes.
NICK
Get it figured out?
