THIRTY
WES
Clara steppedout of the bathroom in one of my T-shirts, rubbing a towel through her damp hair.
The sight hit harder than anything that had happened in the last hour, and that included having her come apart in my lap.
The shirt hung halfway down her thighs, neck stretched just enough that one bare shoulder showed. Her legs were pink from the shower, toes curling against the rug like she wasn’t sure where to stand. She had wiped off her makeup, leaving nothing but freckles and flushed cheeks and those big doe eyes that had no business looking that soft in my room.
She hovered in the doorway, hand on the frame, like she was waiting for me to point her back down the hall. I was propped against the headboard, leg stretched out and waiting for her to finish.
I’d spent the time she was in the shower figuring out exactly how to say what I wanted. “You should stay.” I cleared my throat. “If you want.”
Her fingers tightened on the doorframe. Surprise flickered across her face, fast and sharp, followed by something that looked a lot like hope trying very hard not to be obvious.
“You sure?” she asked. It came out lighter than it had any right to. “You might wake up and regret voluntarily sharing a bed with a notorious blanket thief.”
The fact she needed to ask did something twisty to my insides.
“I’ll risk it,” I said as I pulled the comforter back. “Stay.”
She searched my face for another second, but crossed the room and climbed in on what could so easily become her side of the bed, careful of where my leg was, moving like she’d been doing this for years instead of minutes.
The mattress dipped under her weight, soothing in a way that scared the hell out of me.
She settled with her head on my shoulder, one arm draped across my stomach, her knee hooking gently over my thigh. Her hair smelled like my shampoo, warm and clean, wrapping around me when she shifted. I slid my arm around her automatically, my palm fitting in at the small of her back. The move felt effortless and enormous all at once.
I let my hand drift in slow circles over her hip, fingers drawing patterns across her skin. Contentment and terror ran neck and neck in my veins. I had no idea what this was anymore, only that the idea of her getting up and walking down the hall suddenly felt like someone standing and leaving halfway through a sentence.
She shifted, tucking closer, and something bright caught the lamplight.
The engagement ring flashed against my chest, the diamond throwing little shards of light onto the sheets.
I went still.
There it was. The past, gleaming on her finger in my bed. A promise made to someone else, in another life, catching the light between us.
Her gaze followed mine.
She froze, then winced. “Right,” she muttered, voice too bright. “That.”
She pulled her hand back like it had burned her and tugged at the ring, twisting it off in one rough motion. It slid free, leaving a faint indentation on her skin. She held it between two fingers for a heartbeat, then huffed out a short, brittle laugh.
“I don’t even know why I’m still wearing it,” she said with a huff, aiming for casual and dismissive.
She reached blindly toward the nightstand, like she was ready to drop it in a drawer and pretend it had never existed.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
My fingers closed around her wrist before she could let it clatter away like pocket change. Her hand hovered between us, ring glinting in the lamp glow.
“I know why.” The words dragged out of a place I didn’t visit often. I curled her hand into my chest. “You’re mourning a life that doesn’t exist anymore.”
Her eyes snapped to mine.
Every shield she had went down. All the jokes, the deflections, the breezy bravado. Gone. What was left was a woman who looked like someone had yanked the floor out from under her and told her to make it look pretty.
Her throat worked. “I built my entire life around a lie,” she whispered. “Not because I wanted Greg the way you’re supposed to want your future husband, but because it was aplan. A direction. A way to be useful. To fix something for someone.” Her mouth twisted. “Turns out you can’t build your life on a lie and expect it not to collapse. I feel so stupid.”
