When I step under the spray, the hot water hits my skin and something inside my chest relaxes.
I close my eyes and let the water pour down over my shoulders and run through my hair. For a few minutes, I do nothing but stand here. Breathing. Allowing the tension to leave my body in slow, steady waves.
The heat sinks into my muscles, relaxing the tight knots that have lingered there for days. I tilt my head back and let the water flow over my face, washing away the dried tear tracks and the hospital smell that clings to my skin.
The idea that my dad is awake still seems fragile.
When I turn off the water and step out of the shower, my body feels heavier.
I dry off, pulling a towel through my hair before tossing it aside. My bones have a heaviness to them, as though they’ve been substituted with pieces of lead.
I pull on an oversized shirt that reaches halfway down my thighs and a pair of underwear before stepping back into my bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed and take a deep breath. Then another. My chest rises and falls as I look down at my hands resting in my lap.
What a fucking day?
I collapse onto the bed and the tears start before I can stop them. They slide down my temples, vanishing into my hair as I lie there, staring up at the ceiling.
For the first time in days, my mind starts to slow down.
I wonder what Jace is doing downstairs, whether he’s sitting on the couch or pacing the living room the way he does when something is bothering him.
A small part of me wants to get up and go downstairs to ask him what his problem is. Another part just wants to crawl back into his bed and let him pull me against his chest, just like he has every night he’s been here. I sleep better when I’m tucked against him. He makes me feel safe.
“I’ll get up in a minute,” I whisper to myself.
But my body won’t move. My eyelids grow heavier. The silence in the room surrounds me as exhaustion pulls me deeper into the mattress.
I close my eyes for just a minute, just long enough to catch my breath. Sleep takes me before I even realize it’s happening.
Chapter Eighteen
Jace
It begins the moment I wake up. That feeling. That quiet shift in the air. The kind that sneaks in before anyone has actually said anything. The one that tells you something has shifted, and you are just the idiot finally catching up to it.
Last night, I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. Waiting. Which is fucking laughable when you think about it, because I do not wait for chicks. Chicks wait for me.
Except last night, I lay there with one arm behind my head, staring at the ceiling and listening for the sound of Bells footsteps coming down the hall because that’s what she has done every night since I’ve been here. She slips into my room in the dark, curls against my chest with her hair in my face, knees shoved between my legs while she sleeps, her breath warm against my collarbone, her fingers on my skin.
The first night she did it, I thought it would be a one-time thing. A moment of weakness after a lousy day at the hospital. On the second night, I told myself she was scared and still processing everything with her dad. On the third night, I stopped pretending it didn’t matter.
But last night? Nothing. No footsteps. No weight on the mattress beside me. Just silence.
I laid there long enough for the realization to start creeping in under my skin, burrowing deep where I couldn’t shake it loose.
She didn’t need me last night. The crisis is over. Her dad is awake, and suddenly, the reason she kept crawling into my bed every night is gone.
That should have been a good thing. Except there I was, flat on my back in the dark, feeling like some pathetic loser waiting for something that was never meant to stick around in the first place.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand down my face.
This is exactly the kind of shit I avoid. It makes you need someone when you should know better.
I drag myself out of bed, shove the sheets off, and stand still for a second. I grab a clean pair of jeans from the chair and pull them on, not bothering with a belt yet.
I drag myself into the bathroom and turn on the faucet. Cold water rushes into the sink. I lean forward and splash a handful on my face. The shock of it clears my head a bit. Droplets run down my jaw and drip into the porcelain as I brace both hands on the counter.
The guy looking back at me in the mirror looks like a mess. His hair is all over the place. Eyes are tired and shadowed. There’s a tightness around my mouth that tells me I already know exactly what kind of mood I’m walking into today. The kind where I shuteverything down, lock it up, and go back to being the asshole everyone expects of me.
