She didn’t. Instead, she buried her face in my throat and whispered, “I didn’t think I’d ever want to be this close to anyone again.”
My arms tightened fractionally—not pulling her closer, just holding her there like she was something precious and breakable, even if she insisted she wasn’t.
“You don’t have to rush anything,” I murmured into her hair. “We can do this however you need.”
“I know.” Her fingertips traced the line of my spine. “And that’s why I want this. You.”
We stood there like that—slow breaths syncing, skin-to-skin, her heartbeat rabbiting against my chest—until her muscles softened and her shaking eased.
After a minute, she said, “Can we…lie down? Not for anything more. Just…to be close.”
“You never have to explain wanting something,” I said. “Come here.”
I guided her to the bed—letting her climb in first, letting her choose the position—and when she settled on her side, I slid in behind her. Not touching. Not yet. Letting her decide how far she wanted this to go. Then she reached back, took my hand, and pulled my arm around her waist. Her back pressed to my chest, bare skin warm against mine, her breath stuttering before finally settling.
After a long, trembling moment, she said it—quiet, fragile, but real: “Jackson…don’t forget this. Don’t forget me.”
I rested my chin on the top of her head. “Impossible.”
Her fingers tangled with mine. And for the first time in my life, I fell asleep holding something I was terrified to lose.
Chapter Eighteen
? Holly ?
I woke to warmth that didn’t belong to me. For one calm, impossible second, my brain didn’t question it. Didn’t brace. Didn’t run. It just…existed. Wrapped in heat and steady breath and quiet safety. Then the world clicked back into place. Jackson’s arm was draped across my waist, his chest solid against my back, our bare skin pressed together like it was normal.
My heart forgot how to beat correctly. I tried easing out from under his arm—slow, careful, the kind of stealth move you make when you’re sneaking back into the house at two a.m. and praying the floorboards don’t rat you out. But his fingers twitched, then curled against my hip.
“Holly?” His voice was gravel-soft, heavy with sleep.
I froze, halfway upright and looking like a raccoon caught stealing chips.
“Hi,” I croaked. Smooth.
He blinked himself awake enough to register me hovering like a guilty ghost. “You ok?”
Two words. That was all. No panic, no suspicion, no pressure—just checking in. It made everything inside me twist. “I didn’t want to wake you,” I muttered, which wasn’t even close to the truth.
“You didn’t. But you also don’t have to sneak out like you’re escaping a hostage negotiation.”
Heat burned up my neck. God, kill me now. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was…relocating.”
His mouth twitched. “Real stealthy.”
I groaned into my hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Why?” he asked, gently tugging one hand away from my face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Something in my chest pulled tight—like a knot that had been there for years suddenly got tired of being knotted. I pulled my knees up, leaning against the ancient headboard. “Last night was…a lot.”
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “For me too.”
That startled me enough to look at him. Really look. The nervous edges around his eyes, the careful space he kept between us, like he didn’t want to spook me.
“For you?” I asked.
He nodded once. “I’ve never been trusted with anything like that.”
