Those blue eyes watch me with an intensity that still—shockingly—doesn’t feel like scrutiny. It’s more of an assessment. “You defended yourself,” he concedes.
“I panicked,” I counter automatically.
“Youdefendedyourself,” he repeats, more firmly this time.
The certainty in his voice doesn’t erase what happened, but it steadies something inside me that’s been quietly tilting sideways all night.
“I almost called 911, I swear I did, but all I could think about was the wine on the counter. The divorce papers. The way ‘fell’ would’ve turn into ‘pushed’.”
“So you called your dad.”
I nod. “I didn’t mean to kill him. It just…happened.”
“I know.”
And somehow that’s exactly what I needed to hear. His certainty isn’t loud, but those two little words ground me, allowing me to exhale what almost feels like a relieved breath.
We sit there in a comfortable silence until the fire is more ember than flame. When Crew stands, it’s fluid and decisive. He crushes the last glowing spot beneath his Converse and jerks his head toward the cabin. “It’s late. We should call it for the night.”
The warmth from the heater greets us when we step back inside the cabin. The space somehow feels smaller now, more intimate. My gaze drifts to the single bed pressed up against the wall.
Crew doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ll take the couch,” he states without hesitation.
The couch is narrow, too small for a man like him. The cushions are quite thin, too. “You don’t have to,” I tell him. “You’re here because of me. Take the bed.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
But I do.
It’s not so much that I mind. I just… I hesitate for another pregnant beat, then force myself to say the thing that’s been tightening my chest since we arrived. “I don’t…think I can sleep alone.”
The honesty of that statement hums between us. For a long second thereafter, Crew just studies me. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no deflection. He simply pulls his shirt off over his head, his beanie along with it, and tosses them onto the coffee table.
“Okay,” he says simply.
I have to look away, keeping my line of sight straight ahead as I shuffle over to the bed and climb onto one side. Part of me wonders if I should leave it fully made and forgo using the blankets, but that would only make it weird.
Or weirder, I guess I should say.
Two people are perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed witout things getting out of hand.
The mattress dips when he settles into the spot beside me, spiking my pulse of its own will. I pull the covers over my shoulder and stare at the wall, begging sleep to just take me so I can escape the awkwardness of this moment. A few minutes later, he clicks the lamp off. Darkness wraps around us, broken only by the sliver of moonlight peeking in through the curtain.
His breathing evens out first.
Mine doesn’t—at all.
I try to relax, to let my body sink into the mattress, but the moment I close my eyes, I see Lance’s face as he fell down the stairs. The puddle of blood that creeped out from his head, the unnatural stillness of someone who was shouting only seconds before. My eyes snap back open, and while I don’t want to risk waking the man beside me, I shift onto my back.
Minutes pass, yet the images don’t stop. Even staring at the ceiling I can see the entire encounter playing out before me. I try focusing on the sound of Crew’s breathing, on his presence beside me, on the fact that he’s solid, and warm, and real.
Ugh, stop it.
I turn onto my side again.
“Sleep,” Crew murmurs quietly.
My fingers curl into the blanket, pulling it tighter around myself. “I can’t,” I whisper into the dark.
