Stupid. Stupid.
I lean forward, elbows on my thighs, face buried in my hands. I should’ve said it after the fireworks. No. On Christmas Day. That would’ve been perfect.
Not after fucking him.
My stomach drops at the memory. That’s exactly why he hesitated. Who the hell drops that then?
Though… what if that’s not the reason?
What if he doesn’t feel the same, and seeing the devastation on my face forced him to say it back? It would’ve been fine. He doesn’t need to love me right now. I could wait. I’d wait forever for him and his feelings.
He didn’t have to lie…
No. I can’t think that. I can’t assume he lied.
Holy fucking shit. My head hurts—this migraine is a bitch with no mercy.
Normally, I’d curl up in Ayden’s lap or shut myself away in a dark, silent room, but I can’t do either right now.
Alysa left this morning, and it’s just the two of us again. Silence isn’t an option—if I sit in it, my mind will run too wild, and I don’t want to lie to him about how I feel.
To be frank, I can see the benefits of therapy clearer than ever. Back when I had it every week—even in the hospital—my mind wasn’t so clogged with these thoughts. Now it’s been weeks without that outlet, and maybe… just maybe, thatmajorin front of my diagnosis isn’t exaggerated.
The sound of footsteps on the wood behind me keeps me from clawing at my temples in frustration.
I’ve been sitting on our dock for a long time. The sun was high when I said I just needed some air, and now it’s close to setting.
He gave me space, lots of it, and I know he’s worried.
How could I have ever doubted that he loves me?
His hand brushes my shoulder, and I sit up straight, tilting my chin to look at him standing over me.
“Can I join you?”
I nod, and he lowers himself to sit beside me. But only for a moment. Then, thinking better of it, he shifts into my lap instead.
He straddles my hips and settles onto my thighs. His fingers drag across my temples, through my hair, and against my scalp, before his elbows come to rest on my shoulders.
“Migraine worse, or better?”
I sigh. “Neither. It’s all the same.” Wrapping my arms aroundhim, I pull him flush to me. My forehead drops against his shoulder, eyes closing. “How’re you? Ya know, with Alysa leaving and all.”
His hold shifts, the embrace tightening around my head.
“Sad,” he admits softly. “But I’m glad she’ll be coming back.”
“Me too.”
“Is her leaving the reason you’re so aloof?”
I press my lips together, then nod. It’s not exactly a lie. Her departure definitely feeds into this feeling, but it’s nowhere near the main reason. While I want the title of stepbrother gone between me and Ayden, I still see Aly as my sister. It’s complicated.
Maybe one day she’ll be my sister-in-law. That would fix the problem.
Guess I just need to get over this hump—my stupid insecurity about the pause.
“You sure?”
