I tried to pull away, but Teddy’s arms tightened, refusing to let me go.
“Stay, Kels. Please.” His voice was gruff, but there was something underneath it. Something that sounded almost vulnerable.
The please undid me completely. Teddy Riggs never begged for anything.
So, I stayed.
Tomorrow would come with all its complications and regrets. Buttonight, with my face tucked into the hollow of his throat and a blizzard raging all around us outside, I let myself pretend that maybe our daughters had it right.
Just for tonight.
7
Four Days Until Christmas
kelsey
The blankets had multiplied overnight.That, or I’d been too frozen to notice that I’d been cocooned in enough layers to survive an arctic expedition.
My body ached in new and creative ways, a symphony of complaints from the wreck, combined with the soreness of sleeping pressed against someone on a couch after two years of having a king-size bed to myself.
I sat up slowly, cataloging the damage. The cut on my head throbbed dully beneath the bandage, my ribs protested where the seatbelt had pinned me, and my neck had developed an interesting crick from using Teddy’s chest as a pillow. But underneath all that, something else registered—something so foreign it took me a moment to identify.
I’d slept through the night.
Not the restless, broken sleep I’d grown accustomed to, where I’d wake every hour like clockwork, my body trained by grief to remain vigilant. Not the medicated unconsciousness that came from thesleeping pills I’d finally given up because they left me feeling sluggish and foggy the following day.
Real sleep.
The kind where you closed your eyes in one moment and opened them in another, with nothing but darkness in between.
Two years and seven months of nightmares I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy—dreams of beating my fists bloody on a heavy iron door while Levi screamed for me from the other side, never reaching him before his cries for help stopped. In another, I raced down the hall to his room, only to find Teddy’s body instead.
But last night, wrapped in quilts and my ex-husband’s reluctant embrace, my body had apparently decided to take a night off from its regularly scheduled programming.
After confessing to the nonexistent state of my love life and being gently rejected, I’d fallen into an exhausted sleep. Teddy woke me some time after dark, his voice low as he coaxed me upright long enough to eat.
Bleary-eyed, I’d managed to choke down a few spoonfuls of sausage potato soup before pushing the bowl away. He’d pushed it right back, his brow lifting in challenge. “All of it. You need the protein.”
I’d been too tired to argue and let him spoon-feed me like I was one of the kids. Afterward, he’d handed me a mug of herbal tea that smelled like Mentholatum but had tasted surprisingly good.
Once every drop was gone, he’d tucked me back under the quilts before moving to the armchair near the fireplace. Of course, he’d choose to spend the night cramped and uncomfortable rather than risk the intimacy of lying beside me again.
“Cold,” I’d mumbled, the word slipping out before I could stop it. I patted the space beside me for good measure, refusing to dwell on the reasoning behind my need to have him close.
Teddy had hesitated for what felt like an eternity before climbing back under the quilts with me. I’d curled into him the moment the couch dipped under his weight, my cheek finding its familiar place against his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong against my ear. And for the first time in years, the darknesshadn’t felt so heavy.
Now, gray morning light filtered through ice-covered windows, but the space beside me was cold. Empty. The fire had been recently stoked. Which meant he was probably showering. Or maybe outside, checking on the damage from the storm.
The flannel shirt had twisted around me in my sleep, riding up to expose damn near everything to the morning chill. I tugged it down and padded from room to room, my voice still rough with sleep as I called out for Teddy with no response.
In the kitchen, a mug had been set out next to the coffee maker, just waiting to be filled. And propped against it like the world’s least romantic love note was a piece of paper torn from what appeared to be an envelope.
Had to run out.
-T
That was it. No explanation of where he’d gone or when he’d be back. No acknowledgment of last night—not the confession I’d made, not the way we’d slept tangled together like we used to.
