I opened my mouth to say something normal, something steady, and what came out instead was a sound I hadn’t planned on making.
I pressed both hands over my mouth. My shoulders curled inward. The sound I made was ugly and broken, and I couldn’t hold it back. I stopped trying.
Ben’s arms went around me. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell me it was okay. Just held on while I came apart against his chest.
“He was in the woods because I was on the phone.” The words came out jagged, between breaths. “He was in thewoods, Ben.”
“He was in the woods because he loves that dog and he thought Jolly needed help. That’s not on you.”
I shook my head against his chest. Pressed my fist against my own and tried to breathe.
“I never planned to be a widow in my twenties. I guess nobody ever does. It’s just been William and me since I was twenty-six.” Quieter now, almost to myself, I added, “And most days, I’m fine. I know how to do this.”
His arms tightened around me.
“But this guy I dated. Before I moved here.” I pulled back far enough to look at him. I didn’t bother wiping myface because there was no point. “He called tonight. That’s why I wasn’t paying attention when William asked to go outside. I was on the phone telling Craig Dutton he’s a piece of garbage when my son walked into the woods.”
Ben’s jaw tightened. A compression in the muscle, brief and controlled. He didn’t push for details. His hands stayed on my arms, steady and warm.
“William is upstairs. He’s safe. He’s asleep. That’s what matters tonight.”
I nodded. Wiped my face with the back of my hand. My breathing was coming back under control, but my body felt hollowed out, emptied of everything except exhaustion and the ache of too many feelings crammed into too small a space.
Ben’s hand came up to my face. His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, slow and careful, and I watched something shift behind his eyes. A door opening that he usually kept shut, the effort of keeping it closed suddenly more than he was willing to spend.
I didn’t know who moved first. Maybe both of us. Maybe neither. Maybe it was just the weight of the night collapsing the distance we’d been holding since the fence.
His mouth found mine, and everything outside this room fell away.
This wasn’t the fence kiss, brief and bright and startled. This was slow. His hand on my jaw, the other on the small of my back, pulling me closer with a patience that was its own kind of intensity.
I pressed into him and felt his breath catch, felt his fingers tighten against my spine, and the heat that moved through me had nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with want.
His mouth opened against mine, and I made a sound I would be embarrassed about later. He tightened his armaround me, and for one long, consuming minute, nothing hurt.
Then he pulled back.
“We should probably not do this tonight.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Not when I wanted to lean back into a kiss with him.
“You’ve had the worst night. And there’s a six-year-old sleeping upstairs who might come down for water at any second.”
“I know, but…” Something small and bright behind my sternum went out. I kept my eyes closed because they were already burning.
He took another step back, and the air between us seemed to go cold. I knew that was just my imagination, but I couldn’t help it.
“Goodnight, Kayla.”
“Goodnight.”
He looked at me for another moment. His face held something I couldn’t name. Not the composure he wore for the world and not the softness I’d glimpsed at the fence. Something between the two that seemed to cost him. Then he turned and walked out the door.
I went upstairs and checked on William. He was exactly where I’d left him, curled on his side, his face smooth and slack with sleep, but he had one hand on Jolly’s red ball. I pulled the covers back up over his shoulder and pressed my lips to his temple.
Then I went to my room and closed the door.
No man is ever going to want you.
