I hated the thought that I made her uncomfortable. But I also knew it didn’t make sense.
We were together almost all the time. She’d passed out on the plane. She’d fallen asleep many times during our movie nights. Her head on my shoulder, legs curled beneath her on the couch or her feet resting on my thighs.
“No, Bear.” She dropped her head to her chest. “Because of me.”She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Because of your insomnia?” I asked, knowing that she’d struggled with it since losing Derek. But she hadn’t mentioned it in a while, and she’d seemed more well-rested overall.
She nodded. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter how exhausted I am, my mind will not stop spinning. It’s not every night, and it’s definitely gotten a lot better. But I never know when it will strike. And the idea that itmighthappen—that I might wake you up—stresses me out.”
Wake me up? As if I cared about that.
She suddenly seemed so small. So fragile. I hated it.
I moved before I could think, crossing the room in a few strides and pulling her into my arms. Her cheek was pressed to my chest. Her head rested beneath my chin. Despite our height and size difference, we just…fit.
Shefit. In my life. My world. My heart.
Slowly, she lifted her arms so they were wrapped around me. The ocean breeze whispered through the trees like a lovers’ secret. And for a moment, everything felt right in the world.
“Thank you,” she said, surprising me.
“For what?”
“That was a really good hug.” She patted my chest, her hand stilling over my heart. “You always give the best hugs. Somehow, you always seem to know exactly what I need.”
She lowered her hand and took a few steps back. When she sighed, the sound filled the bungalow with such sadness. “I miss that—you know. Physical touch.”
Was she saying what I thought she was? That she missed sex?
It wasn’t a topic we’d ever broached before, but of course she’d miss sex, intimacy, connection. It was a huge part of any relationship, and she and Derek had been together for nearly a decade.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what would make her feel better or worse. But if she missed physical touch, then I was more than happy to hold her.
I opened my arms once more, beckoning her in. “Come ’ere.”
She stepped into my embrace, and I held her close, resting my chin on the top of her head. Inhaling her scent. Closing my eyes as I soaked in the feeling of her body next to mine.
This wasn’t about getting out of the friend zone or wooing her. This was about comforting Bryn and being there for her.
“I miss him too,” I admitted.
She nodded against my chest. “I know.I know,” she said again, more softly this time.
We stayed there, holding each other. It wasn’t the first time we’d clung to each other, but unlike other times in the past, the sadness didn’t feel quite so heavy. If anything, it felt peaceful. As if we’d found our solace in each other.
“Part of me will always miss him,” she whispered. “But I’m tired of feeling…stuck. I have to find a way forward.”
I nodded. I knew the feeling well, and I hated that she felt that way too. But I was encouraged by the fact that she wanted to find a path forward. Because we both knew there was no going back. No matter how much we might wish to change the past, Derek was gone.
“We will.” I rubbed her back, wanting to reassure her. “We will find a way forward.” I was certain of it. I had to cling to that notion, or I’d spiral into a grief so consuming that I feared I’d never surface again, just like I had when he’d first died. Hockey and Bryn had been the things to get me through it.
Bryn clutched my shirt, and when she peered up at me, the sight of her glassy eyes and pink cheeks, those dark, wet lashes, was nearly my undoing. There was something about seeing her like that. I hated that she was hurting, but I was glad she’d let me in.
The fact that she was letting me in on a moment of vulnerability stirred something deep inside me—a protective instinct. A sense of pride. Of gratitude.
“Together?” she asked.
“Together,” I vowed.
