“Stop screaming. Please. I can’t … handle … it.”
“Oh, fuck me, I’m so sorry.” The door suddenly opened, and his arms hugged me from behind. My back flattened against his chest, the heat from his body blanketing me. “Are you okay?”
“I … don’t know.”
“Alivia, I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t know anyone was here.” His lips were on the top of my head, his grip strengthening, not weakening. “I fucked up, Alivia. I told you I’d stop, and I haven’t.” He was rocking me, or maybe I was moving, but there was swaying. “Forgive me. Please.” His cheek pressed against mine, the scratching of his beard a welcome feeling—anything to take my mind off what was happening in me. “Stop shaking, baby.”
I took several deep breaths, trying to focus on the feel of him, on the power in his arms, on their protectiveness.
“I’ll get better,” he said softly. “I will.”
I slowly turned in his arms and wrapped around his middle. What stared back were the most haunted eyes. A face full of anguish.
He knew what he had done, and he was hurting.
I whispered, “I believe you.”
“I’m going to keep fucking up. But I’ll eventually get it. I promise I will.” His hands went to my face, his lips to my forehead, and he kept them there, breathing into me. “What are you still doing here?”
“I stayed late.” My eyes were closed, and I kept them that way. “I wanted to get some practice in. I knew you were still here. Had I left, I would have stopped in to say goodbye—youknow that. My plan was to come to your office after I finished.” My lungs were still tight when I tried to fill them. “This is the after.”
I tilted my head back. His expression still hadn’t changed.
“What were you freaking out about?”
He leaned a little to the side, showing me his office, his tall frame completely blocking it before. The floor was littered with balled-up paper.
“What’s all that?”
His tongue tapped the center of his upper lip. “My fucking mess.”
“Obviously, but what’s with all the paper? Were you writing a novel? And how did you manage to not make one single shot in the trash can?”
His exhale was gritty. “Even the sight of the trash can makes me fucking angry.”
“Ah, we’re in one of those moods. All right. Tell me, what’s written on those papers?”
“I either need to come up with a menu for James’s charity event or I need to cancel. And I need to decide immediately because, so help me God, if Eden asks me one more time whether I’m doing it or not, I’m going to lose it.”
“Walker, I think you’ve already lost it.” I gave him my most sympathetic grin, holding it since the statement I was about to make was bold. “Can I help?”
“Help with what?”
“There are at least thirty balls on the floor, which I’m guessing means thirty—if not more—unsuccessful attempts at making a menu. And I’m also guessing that means you’re feeling extremely uninspired.” I ran my free hand over his chest. “Let me inspire you.”
“How?” He released me to pound against the spot above hisheart. “There’s nothing in here. Only emptiness. I can’t fucking do it, Alivia. I have to tell Eden to cancel.”
“How about we try together?” When he didn’t respond, I gave him a tiny nudge. “Just trust me, okay?” When he still said nothing and didn’t even move, I added, “Go sit.”
His brows went so high; I felt like he was about to scold me. “You’re telling me to go sit in my office?”
“Yes.” I banged my body into his. “Go.”
He huffed.
“Do you have any idea how good it feels to say that to you?” I teased. “I can’t even count how many times you’ve saidgoto me.”
He chuckled and turned around.
