I can't risk that. I've already lost him once. I won't survive losing him again.
So, I sit in the chair and I watch him sleep, and I try to figure out how to be whatever he needs me to be. A friend. A brother. A reminder of the past.
Anything.
I'll be anything, play any role, become any person, as long as he doesn't leave my life again.
Ivan stirs, shifts, makes a soft sound. I watch him swim up from sleep, watch his eyes flutter open, watch him frown in confusion as he tries to remember where he is.
Then he sees me and he smiles.
"Hey," he says. "How long have you been awake?"
"A while. Didn't want to wake you. You needed the sleep."
"You should have." He stretches, arms over his head, and the shirt—my shirt—rides up, exposing a strip of stomach. Tan skin, a line of muscle, the suggestion of more beneath. I look away quickly, before I can see more.Fuck."I would have gotten up. We could have talked or something."
"You needed the sleep. You had a long day yesterday."
Ivan sits up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, his hair sticking up in every direction. "How did you sleep? Any nightmares?"
"No. I slept really well. Best sleep I've had in years."
Ivan's smile widens. "Good. That's really good, Jay."
I don't tell him that he's the reason. I don't tell him that having him next to me was the only thing that kept the dreams away, that his presence was like a shield against the darkness. I don't tell him that waking up with him in my arms was the best moment of my entire miserable life.
I just nod and say, "Yeah. It is."
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, stretching again, rolling his shoulders. My clothes are rumpled on him, the sweatpants sitting low on his hips in a way that makes my mouth go dry. The t-shirt is tight across his shoulders, pulling at the seams. He looks comfortable. He looks like he belongs here, like this is his space too.
But he doesn't.
He belongs somewhere better than this shithole. Somewhere with clean sheets and walls that aren't stained.
But God help me, I want him to stay with an intensity that frightens me.
"So," Ivan says, looking at me with those clear blue eyes that see too much. "What happens now?"
He's looking at me for answers I don't have. I don't have a plan. I don't have anything except this aching need for him to not walk out that door.
"I don't know what happens now," I admit.
"Well," Ivan says. "I guess we'll figure it out." Then he smiles at me again and goes into the bathroom.
I blow out a breath.
He's not leaving.
Not yet.
Chapter 19: Ivan
When I come out of the bathroom, I search for my phone. It's on the floor next to the bed. There are three missed calls from Rosalyn and a string of texts that make guilt twist sharply in my stomach.
Where are you? Your truck is gone.
Caleb says you left before breakfast. Everything okay?
