Shit.
Time to set aside my feelings and focus on her.
I pull her into my apartment and shut the door behind her before bringing her over to the couch and taking a seat.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m sad.” She swipes at her nose. “Today was surreal, a moment I thought I would share with my mom one day, and the fact that she wasn’t there, it’s just killing me, Breaker. I keep wondering, would she have liked the dress I picked out? Would she have cried? Would she have taken a picture with me celebrating the moment?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “Yes, to all of those things.”
“I love that dress,” she says. “But a part of me just feels empty about everything, and I wish I could be happy about getting married, but I have my doubts, I have my worries.”
“About Brian?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she answers quietly. “I love him, but I feel like my entire life has been strained ever since he proposed. I don’t feel right, not like myself. I feel trapped in this little box of what’s expected of me, and now, I think I’m starting to lose my mind over it.” Her eyes meet mine, and she says, “When we were fighting, I had no one to turn to. Not a parent, not a friend, and I didn’t want to tell Brian because he probably would have used it as fodder as to why I shouldn’t hang out with you, despite him saying he’s okay with our relationship.” She glances down at her hands. “I’m starting to realize how much I lost when my parents died.” Her eyes well up again, and she leans back on the couch, crying.
I don’t know what to say, because I agree with her—she lost so much when she lost her parents. I think she settled with Brian because he was there at the right time, but how the hell am I supposed to say that to her?
She’s already going through a rough time, and clearly, my motives have been skewed ever since my realization this morning, so instead of saying something, I say nothing and just listen to her cry while I hold her hand.
After what feels like an hour, she turns toward me and says, “I just want to go to bed.”
“Okay.” I stand and pull her up with me. “Let me get you situated in the guest room.”
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to be alone. Can I sleep with you?”
That would be a hard no.
Very hard no.
No way can I let the woman I love sleep in my bed while she belongs to another man. Nope, that’s asking for trouble.
“Uh, don’t you think that might be a little inappropriate?” I ask gently, trying not to rock the boat on the emotions.
“We’ve done it before. Why would it be any different now?” she asks.
Very valid point.
Because we have done it before, so . . . what’s changed?
Well, you love her, that’s changed, and you’re still trying to sort through those untimely feelings.
She’s engaged, that’s what is different. That’s a sound excuse. And will save me from utter embarrassment and the possible agony of sleeping in the same bed with her.
Yup, let’s go with the engaged thing.
“Well, you’re engaged now.” The moment the words slip out of my mouth, I watch her shoulders droop, and her lashes flutter down in disappointment.
It’s like a fucking knife to the heart, twisting and gutting me as I watch her slowly turtle in on herself.Yup, you did that, you ass.
“But,” I find myself saying like a dipshit, “if that doesn’t bother you, then sure.”
Her eyes float up to mine. “It doesn’t.”
I plaster on the fakest smile I can muster. “Okay, well, great. Let me just lock up and get ready. You know where your toothbrush is.”
Yup, we’ve done this enough that she has a toothbrush here.
