And another.
I bury my face in the side of his neck because there is nowhere else to put a heartbreak this large.
Drew’s hand slides up the back of my head.
Into my hair.
Then down again.
Long stroke.
Then another.
His other hand moves slow circles between my shoulder blades.
Not sexual.
Not even close.
Just there.
Warm.
Steady.
“Hey,” he murmurs near my temple.
That does me in worse.
Because he says it like he’s already here inside the storm with me and has no intention of leaving until it passes or kills us both.
“It hurts,” I choke out.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
The protest is weak.
Childish.
Immediate.
His hand never stops moving.
“I know enough.”
The fire pops softly.
Rain rattles against the tall windows.
The house keeps holding us in its warm yellow light while I fall apart in his arms like I’ve never fallen apart in anyone’s life before.
My words come ugly and messy between sobs.
“I loved him.”
That one feels like glass coming out.
