Stay with me tonight.
I said yes without a second thought. Because the truth is, I don’t know how to look at Tucker and not want to take all of his pain into my hands like something I can sand down and smooth over. I want to be there for him. I want to build something around him strong enough that it can’t touch him anymore. I want to take whatever demons he’s buried so deep and lock them behind an unbreakable door.
I don’t even know what it is, or how I can help.
All I can do is be here.
I look to where he lies next to me on the bed. He has one hand flung over his head, and the other resting on his chest with fingers slightly curled as if his body is still holding on. Even asleep, he looks like he’s carrying something heavy.
I don’t move right away.
I just watch him—the rise and fall of his chest.
Sometime in the middle of the night, staring between him and the ceiling, I remember a conversation with Lily. The way her voice turned serious when she told me about him opening up.If he does, it means he cares. It’s clear from what I witnessed last night that he doesn’t let people see that part of him.
Not even when he’s so deep into it.
Helet mesee it.
He didn’t try to hide it or make a joke to cover anything up. He came to me and asked for comfort. He trusted I wouldn’t run. He trusted I would be there.
My hand moves on its own, reaching across the small space between us to brush his hair back from his forehead. I move gently, afraid to wake him too fast. Afraid that the second he opens his eyes, he’ll remember everything and shut down again.
His eyelids flutter open, and he exhales, stretching his arms over his head. His gaze finds mine immediately, unfocused for a moment before it sharpens with recognition. He stares at me like he’s making sure I’m real.
I smile softly. “Hi.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, slowly sitting up against the headboard. “Hi.”
Neither of us move.
We just sit there, staring at each other.
Then Tucker’s eyes trail my body, down to the shirt I’m wearing and back up. We left the loft in such a blur that I didn’t even grab anything. So once he was asleep, I grabbed one of his shirts from the dresser.
The corner of his lip twists in what feels like relief.
“You stayed.”
“I stayed,” I whisper back.
Something that resembles a memory flashes through his eyes, forcing his jaw to harden. He looks down at his lap, and I know the memory of last night is crashing back in.
“I’m sorry about—” he starts.
I cut him off when I lean forward, tipping his chin up with the back of my finger. “Don’t.”
“Scottie.”
“No,” I say again, firmer this time. I adjust myself so I’m sitting closer to him—thighs brushing together. I move to cup his face between my palms. His eyes close for a moment, inhaling and exhaling before meeting mine again. “You don’t apologize for being human. Not with me.”
“I wasn’t…” His voice catches but he clears his throat. “I wasn’t okay.”
“But you are now,” I whisper.
His head tips to the side, leaning into my touch. He reaches up, circling one hand around my wrist, almost holding me there and anchoring himself. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I want to be here.”
