Her fingers curl into the hem of my shirt—weak, uncertain… but firm enough to stop me.
I freeze.
She doesn’t open her eyes.
She’s still asleep.
But she holds on.
“Don’t go,” she breathes.
My brain implodes.
I could stay frozen like this forever.
But then comes the killing blow:
“You… make me feel better.”
Not sexy.
Not seductive.
Not some whispered tease meant to drive me insane.
But I go insane anyway.
It’s vulnerability.
Fear.
Truth.
And I am done for.
I kneel beside the bed again.
Try to gently pry her fingers off my shirt so I don’t wake her.
She tightens her grip.
My heart does something wildly illegal according to FIFA regulations.
“Angel…” I whisper, desperate to calm myself. “If I stay, you’re going to kill me tomorrow.”
She doesn’t answer.
Of course she doesn’t.
She’s asleep.
Fighting something in her head.
And I’m part of the mess—too much a part of the mess.
I can’t leave her like this.
I just… can’t.
