“Goodnight, Enrick,” she whispers.
It sounds too final.
By the time I get Isa settled with her water—and read her two more pages of her favorite book because she suddenly wasn’t sleepy anymore—and return to the hallway, Desiree’s room is dark. The sliver of space beneath her door shows no light, no movement, no sign of life.
I stand there like an idiot, staring at that closed door.
My hand lifts of its own accord, knuckles hovering an inch from the wood. I could knock. I should knock and demand she let me in so we can finish what we started, but pushing her may cause more harm than good.
I lower my hand and force myself back to my room. The door closes behind me, and I don’t bother turning on the lights. Just stand there in the darkness, trying to calm the frustration thrumming under my skin.
My room shares a wall with hers.
I move to it without thinking, pressing my palm flat against the cool surface. On the other side of this wall, she’s probably lying in bed, maybe staring at the ceiling the same way I will be in a minute. Maybe thinking about me. Maybe trying not to think about me.
I wish I could tear this wall down. Tear down all the walls between us—the physical ones and the ones built from hurt and fear and six years of missed chances.
Fifteen Minutes in the Cellar
Desiree
My phone glows: 11:47 PM. I’ve been lying here for over an hour, hyperaware of the slide of sheets against my thighs, the ghost of Enrick’s hands on my waist, and the ache low in my belly that won’t quit no matter how many times I flip this damn pillow.
I can only prove myself a better man now.
Yeah, well. Words are easy. Especially when you’re pressed up against someone in a dark hallway with your voice all rough and your hands in their hair.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of him hard against me in the hot tub. The way I rocked into him like I had no self-control. How close I came to reaching down and…
Nope. Not going there.
I flip my pillow to the cool side for the third time and scroll through my phone. Social media is full of people’s perfect holiday setups, trees and smiling families. I close it, open my email, and close that too.
The weather app shows snow falling until tomorrow morning—Christmas Eve.
The roads might open by evening if we’re lucky. Twenty-four more hours trapped in this beautiful prison with a man who thinks he can apologize his way back into my life.
My thumb hovers over the airline app when a text notification from Cassidy pops up.
Are you awake?
Instead of texting back, I hit call. She answers on the first ring.
“Girl, why are we conscious right now?” I whisper.
“Because I stupidly kissed Ethan again.” Cassidy’s voice is hoarse, like she’s been crying. “Tell me you’re drinking something stronger than hot chocolate.”
“I wish. This house is all wholesome family values and homemade cookies.” I shift in bed, trying to get comfortable and failing. “Meanwhile, I’m lying here thinking about my baby daddy’s tongue in my mouth and his hands on my... yeah. Real wholesome.”
She gives a watery laugh. “We should’ve gone straight to Jamaica,” she says. “Skip the family obligations, skip the drama, just beaches and rum punches until New Year’s.”
“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.” I shift in bed, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “How are things over there?”
The pause stretches long enough that I check to make sure we didn’t disconnect.
“Messy,” she finally admits. “Really fucking messy, Des.”
“Messy how?”
