“What—” I extend my hand, my fingers shaking.
The need to touch him, to convince myself that he’s all right, is fighting with the fear of hurting him. The dim light illuminates his face, which is all messed up. His right eye is swollen and bruised. His eyebrow is busted, and blood that trickled down the side of his face has already dried. There is another bruise on his chin, and the left side of his lip is all puffy.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Now
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
The same words that broke something inside of me five years ago do the same today.
His voice is small, utterly tortured.
I skim my finger over his cheek. I can feel the bristles that have grown there overnight, scratching at my skin.
“I can’t go home right now.”
I close my eyes for a second as I struggle to push back the memories of the past.
“C’mere.” Sliding my hand to his neck, I pull him to me.
Matthew doesn’t need more prompting. He closes the distance between us, our bodies flush against each other as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, squeezing me for dear life.
I wrap my arms around him tightly and just hold him, not saying anything.
I’m not sure how long we stay like this, just holding each other, not knowing where one begins and the other ends.
His chest shakes, and my stomach rolls with unease. Matthew sucks in a shaky breath, moving back just enough so I can see his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, his lips pressed into a tight line, those brown irises swallowing me whole.
It was always those eyes that were my downfall.
I slide my hands down his arms, my fingers wrapping around his as I wordlessly pull him into my house and down the hallway.
I don’t think about the implications.
I don’t think about the rules or the consequences.
Nothing ever matters.
Not when Matthew is involved.
He holds my gaze when we come to a stop inside my bedroom. The only light comes from the lamp on my nightstand, casting a soft glow over the room.
Slipping my fingers from his, I grab the hem of his shirt and raise it over his head before working the button of his jeans and pushing them down and leaving him only in his boxer briefs.
Then I help him into bed, or at least I try to, but when I attempt to step back, he grabs my hand, pulling me down onto him and wrapping himself around me like a vine.
His leg is between mine, his arms clutch around me, my head resting on his chest, tucked just under his chin.
The warmth of his skin surrounds me. He must have taken a shower before coming over because the scent of pine clings to his skin.
I rest my hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my palm. My tongue darts out, sliding over my lips as I debate on what to do, when he croaks out, “I messed up.”
The words are whispered softly. So softly I can barely hear them.
“What happened?”
He chuckles, but there is no humor in it. “I fucked up. I froze completely on the job. There was a collision and I… I just froze. Stood there like a fucking idiot.”
