Or has he?
His hand grazes my back as he helps me off the counter, making sure I take things slow so I don’t feel any more pain than I’ve already experienced tonight. When I showed up on his front porch, all I was hoping for was a place to crash. But this? Seeing this side of him and feeling taken care of? It’s been…nice, almost. Off-putting, and confusing as hell, but nice, nonetheless. Don’t get me wrong. I know he’s a fighter. I’m sure he’s experienced what I’m feeling firsthand. But part of me wants to ask if he’s done this before. Taken care of someone. Bandaged their wounds. Handed them a bag of frozen peas. Spoken gently. Jealousy unfurls deep inside of me, though I refuse to acknowledge why.
What is wrong with me? This changes nothing. So, he’s proven he has a heart. Again. What’s the big deal? It doesn’t matter. Not to me.
As I step over the threshold and into his room, Jagger flicks off the bathroom light and begins leading me to the bed.Hisbed. My heels dig into the ground.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
What’s wrong? He’s Jagger Harden, asshole extraordinaire, and he’s offering me his bed. That’s what’s wrong.
I lick my bottom lip, careful of the split edge as I glance down at the plush pillows and dark sheets. They look so comfortable, I could cry. “I can…I can sleep on the couch or…”
“Not gonna let you sleep on the couch, Violet.”
I peek up at him. “Okay, well, do you have a guest bedroom, or…?”
“Not gonna let you sleep there, either.”
“Jagger, I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”
“Rather have you here than anywhere else.” He lifts the edge of his dark comforter, then waits.
Unsure what else to do, and way more exhausted than I care to admit, I gingerly slip beneath the sheets, only cringing when I move a bit too quickly for my own good. Once I’m settled, Jagger brushes his hand against my forehead, careful not to jostle the bag of frozen vegetables resting on me.
Confident I’m not going anywhere, he steps toward the door. “‘Night, Violet.”
He flicks off the light, and my stomach lurches as the room becomes blanketed in darkness. There’s nothing but a glimmer of light from the hallway, and I have a feeling it’s about to disappear, too, if I don’t say something.
“Hey, Jag?” I call out.
“Yeah?”
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.
“Will you…”Dammit, I’m doing it. “Will you stay with me?” I ask.
What little light gleams in from the hallway shines in his wide eyes, highlighting his surprise. He isn’t the only one. I’m shocked as hell, too. This is Jagger Harden. I’m in Jagger Harden’s bed. And, not only am I in his bed, I just asked him to climb into it with me all because I’m afraid of the dark. Because I’m too exhausted to battle my demons tonight and for some reason I can’t explain, whenever he’s nearby, I don’t have to.
“You want me to stay?” he questions.
Addingstupidto the long list of emotions wreaking havoc on me, I cave, confessing, “Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”
Silence. Hell, it’s so loud, I’m about to take it back and maybe even climb out of his bed altogether and hightail it to my car out of pure embarrassment, but then footsteps scuff against the floor.
It’s all I get as a concession as he moves straight for the massive, king-sized bed in the middle of his room. Slowly, he lifts the comforter on the opposite side, slipping beneath the sheets. It’s mechanical, almost. His movements. But the mattress dips nonetheless until he’s lying next to me. Part of me wonders if I’m imagining it. The heat radiating off him despite the space still between us. Part of me doesn’t care even if I am imagining it because it means I’m not alone. Not tonight. And it’s more than enough.
With a quiet, almost tense sigh, he rasps, “You good?”
I hesitate, taking a few seconds to pay attention to my body and whether or not I’mgood. The meds. The peas. The clean shirt. The sore muscles. The tender nose. The bruised ribs. The soft mattress. The warm body beside me. Am I good? “Yeah,” I whisper, surprising myself with my own candor. “You?”
“I’m good, Little Thief.”
“Okay.” With the peas gently resting on my face, I let my eyelids flutter closed. “Goodnight.”
“‘Night, Violet.”
23
