“Your”—she made a noise in the back of her throat; she’d just had it in her mouth, but she wasn’t ready to say the word—“is in love with me?”
He paused. Her pulse hammered loud behind her ears. Neither of them spoke.
He rubbed her neck with his fingertips, finally allowing her to lift her head and meet his gaze.
“It happened shortly afterIfell in love with you.” He’d gone pale again, and the vein in his throat pounded visibly.
Her world slammed to a stop, spinning her right off into the black unknown. He loved her? A simple thank-you was all she’d expected for her efforts. Not this…
“Brek—”
“You don’t have to say anything. I know we agreed we wouldn’t do this. We were supposed to be temporary.”
She swallowed the pressure in her throat, her lungs grasping for oxygen but only finding that the weight of the world had settled in her chest.
“I guess that’s what happens, though. That’s what Pops told me. That you just know.”
He’d talked to her grandfather about this? That must’ve been the religious experience they’d discussed earlier. He searched her face, looking for something. What? She had no idea.
“Brek…” She glanced away, silent because, at that moment, she didn’t know anything. Words didn’t feel right. Not “I love you,” not “thank you,” not “let’s order takeout for dinner.”
She hadn’t signed up to fall in love with someone so far removed from her carefully crafted plans. Someone temporary. Someone like him.
Then again, she wouldn’t do what she’d just done to any of the guys who fit on her list. He sucked in a breath and held her tighter. All the words in the world aside, his embrace pulled her out of the black void and back into their reality.
He flipped her on her back, rested her head on the couch pillow, and raised himself over the top of her, braced on his arms. “I like living here. You like me living here?”
She glanced up to the ridiculous pigeon painting he had added above the mantel. The thing had grown on her.
“Uh…yeah.” She couldn’t move, her body rigid. Where was he going with all of this?
“You think you can handle being with a guy who rides a motorcycle?”
“Your bike and I have become good friends.” She smiled in an attempt to release the tension inside.
“Maybe you and I should look at that disability insurance bullshit… And I’ve gotta get a haircut.”
“Brek, you don’t need to cut your hair.”
He shrugged. “Don’t mind.”
She raised her calf and rubbed it over the hair on the back of his leg. The pressure in her chest diffused a little once they were in the safe zone of conversation that had nothing to do with the three-word bomb he’d just dropped.
“And I’ve still got my band and shi—stuff. The boys agreed to play a club in Denver next week, but I’ll get them settled and then I’ll be at your dinner. Being a band manager means I’ve gotta leave sometimes. But my job’s steady.” His expression was stone. “Steady income. Steady work. And I’ll have your compass to show me the way home.”
He was coming back. He’d leave, like they’d planned, but he would return. Warmth spread through her. She ran her hands over the blank space on his shoulder where he said he would put the new tattoo.
“Now I’m gonna go down on you. You good with that?” he asked.
Time began moving again, towing her along for the ride. Her pulse still beat, Brek was still there, the three words hadn’t changed anything.
Just everything.
Chapter Twenty-One
Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 8 Days
Velma reached for the platter as Jase’s brother Zak passed yet another cake—this one chocolate with mousse filling and berries. She took a slice for herself, knowing she wouldn’t be able to eat any. Nerves were getting the better of her tonight.
