“No, I won’t. I’m fine.” I’m lying on my right side so Iwrap my left around him. “I’m fine. And I can’t stand it anymore.”
He doesn’t ask what I mean. He knows. It must move him because he suddenly starts to shake in the dark.
I tighten my embrace and he cries silently. I’m close to tears myself, but it’s not for me. It’s for him. An empathy I didn’t believe myself capable of anymore.
He reaches up to take my hand, and he grips it tightly as he shakes and jerks. It isn’t pretty. It isn’t easy. It’s not a natural outpouring of pent-up emotion. It’s rough. Unwilling. As if the sobs are forced out of him against his will.
“I lost her, Kat,” he finally rasps. “How did I let it happen?”
“You didn’t.” I try to hug him from behind. His body is a lot bigger than mine, and it’s warm and real and human. Just on the edge of broken. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It feels like it was. I’m her big brother. She’s my responsibility.”
I wonder if he’s ever let himself cry about Burgundy before. It feels like this is the very first time.
“Sometimes we lose people, and it’s no one’s fault. Sometimes the world just does it to us. It’s not your fault. You can’t take that on. Losing her is hard enough. You can’t blame yourself for it.”
“There’s no one else to blame.”
“I know.” I kiss his shoulder. Then the back of his neck. Then I lift myself up enough to kiss his hair, his cheek, his jaw. “But that doesn’t mean you have to blameyourself. It happened. It’s horrible. Unfair and wrong in every way. But it just happened.”
He doesn’t reply, but he shakes and gasps for a long time until his body finally softens.
I don’t say anything else. Neither does he.
But we eventually fall asleep together.
17
The next morning,Micah is on top of me as I wake up.
He’s sound asleep. I realize that immediately. It’s the only reason I’m not pissed about having a large man moving on top of me while I’m not awake to allow it.
He’s heavy and way too hot. His steady breath blows against my skin and ruffles my hair. He’s mostly on my right side, so my injured arm is free of weight. But I should be uncomfortable, and I am. Iam. But not enough to want him to move.
I like the feel of him on top of me. Not because it’s particularly cozy but for what it signifies. The intimacy. The entitlement.
That I have someone who might accidentally roll on top of me as we sleep. That it’s allowed because we’re together.
Because he’s my man.
That line of thinking is not like me at all. Even back when I was with Jesse and believed in lasting relationships, I was never particularly sentimental or romantic.
So this is strange. Unexpected.
And kind of scary.
But not scary enough to make me push him off.
I shift slightly to see if I can get in a position where he isn’t stretching one of my boobs too far to the side. He mumbles and snuggles into me more persistently.
A soft chuckle ripples out of me without volition.
Micah mumbles something incoherent in his sleep.
I slowly raise my free hand to stroke his hair and his bare back. He’s a strong, competent man. He can be intimidating in certain circumstances. He kept a secret from me that he knew would matter. He did it to protect himself and not me. I shouldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t even like him.
But I do.
