I don’t remember the last time I’ve allowed myself to cry like this, and I’ve never let anyone witness my grief and pain. It’s unfamiliar, but fuck, it feels good. I cry until there are no more tears. Until there’s nothing left and I feel hollow and raw, inside and out. As themoments pass, my chest begins to fall and rise in a steady rhythm that matches Jackson’s.
His hand smooths up and down my back, drawing long lines that I’m sure are meant to be comforting. They are at first, but as the minutes pass and his movements slow along with the beat of his heart, I am hyperaware of the fact he’s about to fall asleep. Next to me. In his bed. Like a couple.Shit.
“This bed is so comfortable,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
“Well, it is yours.”
“I forgot how good it feels.”
My heart squeezes at the fact he’s been sleeping anywhere but his own bed. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? I’ll take the couch.” It’s only fair.
His hand tightens around my waist as I begin to pull away. “Only if you stay with me.”
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
He smiles against my stiff body when I don’t answer.
“Worried I’ll take advantage of you?”
More worried we’re crossing boundaries we won’t be able to take back. Worried I’ll actually enjoy sleeping next to a man—more specifically,thisman. Worried that next week’s crash back to reality will hurt more than it should.
My desire for closeness battles with the need to protect myself, and I’m caught in a web of indecision.
“Stay. Sleep.” He yawns and nestles his body closer to mine. “I promise to be good. Sleep only.”
Sleep. This is only sleep. It doesn’t have to mean more than that. I’m an adult. I can do this. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.Liar.
“What time do you have to be up?” I ask, still unsure.
“Oh, I’m not working tomorrow.”
“You aren’t calling out for me, are you?” I’m unable to mask the panic from my voice. I don’t want him calling out, because I’m scaredof what that means. I’m scared of wanting him more than for this week. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t go there. “Because I don’t want you to do that.”
“What’s the matter, Rosalie? You already sick of me?” he teases, but there’s an edge of vulnerability beneath the question. Almost as if he needs reassurance.
The smart thing would be to shut him down. To put up a boundary so nothing is left for interpretation. But I don’t have it in me to hurt him—not when he’s been so amazing. Not after what I shared.
“I just don’t want anyone to figure out I stayed here. I don’t want your brother to get suspicious.”
His hold on my body loosens. “Nothin’ to worry ’bout there.” His eyes are closed. “Lucky for you, Ryan expects my irresponsible life choices.” He sighs. “Your secret is safe with me.”
I’m safe with him. Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.
I should get up. Take my pillow downstairs and sleep on the sofa. Keep lines from being blurred. But instead, I curl into his warmth, letting him wrap his arms around me as I rest my head on his chest.
His heartbeat is steady, his body an anchor holding my retreat at bay. My body relaxes as his goes slack with sleep.
How would it be to have this every night? To crawl into bed with someone and let them hold me? To have someone take care of me? To not go through this life alone? For a moment, I wish I could have this. That I could have him—Jackson. But the thought is quickly replaced with dread.
I like him.Too much.
I want him.Too much.
Tonight, I told him things I don’t tell anyone. I let him get too close.Shit.As he sleeps soundly, I replay every word of our conversations. Not just tonight, but this entire week.
Oh,God.What have I done?
Panic claws away at my remaining peace and my heart races, not in a good way. His arms are too heavy around my body.
