I didn’t expect that sex was going to fix the issues going on with her, but I was hoping that it would help, even a little bit.
18
ELIZABETH
What is wrong with me? The words pound through my skull as I smooth my skirt back over my thighs, fingers trembling at the hem.
He’s right here—Jon, the one man I can say anything to—and still, when it matters, my throat locks shut.
Maybe it’s habit. A lifetime of swallowing words because Karl always took up the air in the room. Because my father only ever leaned in when it was my brother talking.
I hate how that still lingers in me, turning my spine soft when I need it sharp.
Across from me, Jon buckles his belt with deliberate movements, head bent, jaw tight. Even in something as ordinary as pulling his pants back on, he looks controlled, dangerous. Like nothing rattles him. And here I am, shrinking under the weight of secrets.
The couch still smells of him—his cologne mingling with the faint smoke of the candle Dani left burning. If she walked inright now, she’d see the imprint of his hand on my thigh, the flushed heat in my cheeks. She’d know exactly what we’d been doing. That thought alone knots my stomach tighter.
But when Jon glances over, one brow lifted, the corners of his mouth softening just for me, the panic eases. He doesn’t even have to touch me; his presence alone drowns out Sherry’s threats, my family’s chaos, all of it.
And maybe that’s the problem. Because telling him about the construction company could shatter this quiet. Could shatter him.
I press my lips together, forcing a smile I don’t quite feel. If I keep this close a little longer, maybe the world won’t come crashing down. Not while I’m finally starting to feel what it’s like to be wanted.
“Listen,” Jon says as he slips into his shoes. “I know you aren’t being completely truthful with me. It’s visible that you aren’t okay, but I won’t pry anymore. I just want to be here for you, and I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”
I want to be open with him, but the fear of the unknown is keeping me from telling him. “Thank you,” I whisper as I start walking toward the kitchen. “That means a lot to me.” Opening the fridge, I grab two bottles of water and bring them to the living room, where Jon remains on the couch.
“So, this is where Elizabeth Morgan lives. It represents you,” he says, trying to lighten the mood as he takes a drink of the cold water.
“I hope that’s a good thing.” I lay my head on his shoulder and sigh, wanting to soak up all the alone time I can before he has toleave. The man that he is outside of work versus in the office is very different.
Outside of work, he is funny and playful. The real Jon Clark shines through, and I feel like the luckiest woman in the world that only a few select people get to see, including me.
Jon laughs. “Of course. It’s cozy and bright. It’s put together, yet fun. And smells like strawberries.” Laughing, I pat his leg with my hand.
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. Your place is very nice, but it doesn’t scream Jonathan Clark. The real Jon that I see.”
“Hmm,” he replies. “And what would my place look like to you?”
Smiling, I shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe warmer. I love the decorations and the black and gray scheme you have going, but it screams bachelor pad. I think that your place would have softer colors, a big, cozy couch, and a fireplace that has a real fire instead of the fake one you have. Kind of like the cabin we stayed in. That screams Jon to me.”
“True,” he remarks. “But to be fair, I’ve been a bachelor all my life.”
Giggling, I tuck my arm into his. He has this way about him that can bring light to any situation. He can always make me feel better by cracking a joke.
Maybe telling him won’t be as bad as I’m imagining it in my head. I tend to let my anxiety run wild, making up fake scenarios in my mind and causing me to shy away from doing what I should.
“Hey,” I begin with a weary voice. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
My heart pounds as he looks down at me. Can I do this? “The reason I’m acting so strange is?—”
Just before I’m able to finish telling him about Jones Construction, I hear the lock on the front door click, and Dani walks in, but stops as we both stare at her.
“Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” she mumbles.
“No, not at all.” I sit up again and grab my water bottle off the coffee table.
Jon smirks and looks down at his watch. “Actually, great timing. I should probably go. It’s late and we have work in the morning.” He stands, and while I hate to see him leave, I’m relieved that Dani’s coming home has bought me at least another day to rethink some things.
