“I feel stupid,” I whisper.
“You’re not.”
“It was all my fault.”
“No.” Tex walks up and grips my chin in his big hand, lifting my face up to his, his blue eyes burning with fire. “This was not your fault.”
“But—”
“River was drunk, you said it yourself, he didn’t understand what the word ‘no’ means.” Tex’s voice is firm. “He should’ve never put his hands on you like that.”
I let his words sink in and sigh. He opens his arms, and I step into them. His arms are warm and secure. My head quiets.
“I’m so tired of this. Of fighting. Of trying to breathe when it feels like everyone’s trying to shove my head under water.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
“The good things don’t come easy. You’re going to make it to the other side and you’re going to be stronger for it.”
The words undo me. I close my eyes, lean into his touch as he tucks my hair behind my ear and rests his forehead gently against mine. For that moment, it’s just us. The feel of his arms around me like armor.
His breath is warm against my cheek, and I don’t move. Not right away.
I don’t want to leave the safety of his arms, don’t want to pull away from the only place that feels steady in a world that keeps trying to knock me off balance.
Then I look up at him, eyes searching, and I kiss him.
Soft at first.
A question.
His hand clenches at my waist, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond. My heart is thundering now, the ache in my chest too big, too loud.
“I need this,” I whisper against his lips. “Please, Tex. I need you.”
His eyes close like he is at war with himself. “You’re upset.”
“I know.”
“You should rest.”
“I don’t want to,” I say, more desperate now. “Make it stop. Please.”
He looks at me like I’m breaking something in him just by asking. Then I kiss him again. Deeper, firmer, and this time he kisses me back.
And when he kisses me… it’s not careful.
It’s like he’s been holding back for days, weeks—months, even. His hand cups the side of my face, calloused fingers grounding me, thumb brushing under my jaw as his mouth claims mine.
I gasp into him, and he swallows the sound.
He walks me backward until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed, and he pulls away just enough to look at me—his chest heaving, eyes dark.
“Tell me this is what you want,” his voice is hoarse.
“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t. I want your hands on me, not his.”
Something in him disintegrates. His mouth crashes against mine again, hungry and rough. His hands move up into my hair, exposing my neck to him.
