The way he just says it straight out, not feeling sorry for me or judging me, makes something crack inside me. A shaky breath escapes me before I look away, trying to pull it together.
James's arms are still around me. I could step back now, probably should. But I don't.
Instead, I let myself actually lean into him, not just letting him hold me steady anymore but actually wanting the comfort. He responds immediately, pulling me even tighter, and his hand moves to the back of my neck, thumb brushing the tense muscles there.
This isn't part of our plan. There's no one here to see. Just me, finally too tired to keep holding everything together alone.
"I've got you," he says quietly, his thumb keeps stroking across the back of my neck. "It'll be okay."
We stand like that for several minutes, his steady breath against my ear gives me something to focus on. When I finally pull back, I am steadier, though embarrassed by my momentary weakness.
"Sorry," muttered. "That was?—"
"Don't," he interrupts. "Don't apologize. What happened to you was wrong, and how your family handled it was worse. You have every right to be upset."
Looking up at him, what I see surprises me. The fury in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, it's all directed at protecting me. My family never?—
Can't finish that thought."Thank you. For listening. For believing me."
"Of course I believe you," he says, like he couldn't imagine doing anything else. "And just so you know, if that guy comes back tonight, I won't hold back like you did."
That should worry me; violence at a campaign event would be a nightmare, but instead, it makes me feel strangely warm inside.
James is angry on my behalf, protective in a way no one has ever been before.
"As satisfying as that might be, let's try to avoid assault charges tonight," I say, attempting to lighten the mood. "Though I appreciate the sentiment."
He smiles at me, but his face is tense, and something darker remains in his eyes. "Fine. But I reserve the right to accidentally spill a drink on him if he gets too close."
"Deal." Straightening my bow tie, I try to shake the phone call off and reclaim my composure. "We should get back inside before my mother sends a search party."
James nods, but before we can move, he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my forehead; the move is surprisingly gentle. "For what it's worth," he says quietly, "your parents are fucking idiots if they can't see what an incredible son they have."
The unexpected compliment leaves me momentarily speechless. When I find my voice, it's soft. "We should get back."
He holds out his hand, and I grab it right away. This time, we're not faking it for anyone. I need someone to hold onto right now, and somehow, he gets that without me having to say a word.
As we head back inside, my brain won't shut up. His hand in mine. He said I was incredible, how none of this feels like pretending anymore.
Which is absurd. It's been one event. One conversation.
Should pull away. Don't want to.
And there's this thought, creeping in sideways where I can't quite shove it back down: what if this wasn't fake? What if James and I were actually...
No. Absolutely not.This is James Hunter. Grumpy webmaster whom I've barely tolerated for months. Except he held me on that balcony like I mattered, and defended me to Christopher without hesitation, and now I'm apparently considering whether?—
Fuck.
Something shifted. Can't un-shift it. Can't pretend I didn't imagine what really dating James would look like.
And that's?—
Not tonight. Can't deal with this tonight.
The restof the night goes by in a haze of fake smiles and boring small talk. James doesn't leave my side, and I'm grateful for it. He's my rock while I wade through all these people.
"Caleb." Christopher's voice comes from behind us. "Surely you have a moment for an old family friend?"
