“Like me?” I say, standing as tall as I can on my five feet and three inches, looking into his eyes.
He makes a face of disgust laced with disbelief. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sara. I know my brother. He can’t help wanting to savepeople. Even people who drown more often than they can be saved."
He says it like a slur, as his words could burn me, but they don’t. I know better than to let someone drag me into their own misery, their own incapability to see the beauty even when it’s dark as a shed all around them.
“Well, you’re right, I don’t need any saving. I guess he must like me for an entirely different reason you’d be incapable of understanding.” I fix him with an unwavering stare.
He tilts his head. “Understatement.”
I want to throw something at him. Instead, I grab the dish towel and mop up the water, making as much noise as possible.
He’s still standing there, lurking my every move like a werewolf waiting for the full moon to bloom and cast a spell over my disappearance, but to his audacious surprise, I’m still here inhiskitchen.
“Are you going home now?” he asks tensely, and I wish he would evaporate.
“It’s late,” I say, not looking at him. “I’ll sleep here.” My gaze goes to Joe on the couch.
“You’re one yard away.” He points to the door.
“And you’re on a none-of-your-business yard away.” I say without amusement.
His face tightens with tension, and he pushes off the counter with what feels like a pulse of anger. Jaw tightening and eyes piercing, like a calculated beast approaching closer, he hisses,
“Don’t let him talk you into anything. You might not be good enough for him, but he’s not as good as you think he is.”
I want to say that he’s wrong, but it’s like my lips are sown shut.
So, I watch him walk back into his bedroom. Relief drowning my every sense that he is no longer in my space.
When I finally go back to the living room, Joe’s still asleep, mouth slightly open, arms folded across his chest. I kneel by the couch and touch his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. I lay back next to him, fitting into his chest, and inhale his scent, knowing that there’s no other place I’d rather be.
For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a shadow. I feel real. I feel wanted.
Four
Joe
Morning light spills through the curtains in my bedroom, the first sensation that envelops me is her warmth, a soft heat radiating from her body as I cradle her against me, inch by inch closer. Her weight feels delicate yet reassuring in my arms, a reminder of last night as I carried her from the couch to my bed. I don’t want to move. I pretend I’m still asleep to hold on to her. I wouldn’t mind having her every day in my bed, in my life.
She calms the chaotic thoughts in my mind. With her close, the world outside fades, leaving only the intimacy of this moment and my silent promise to keep her safe.
When she shifts, her lips brush the top of my chest. She’s so fucking beautiful, with her long dark brown wavy hair cascading on the pillow, thick lashes kissing her high cheekbones, slightly parted luscious lips that make my brain crazy. She’s a distraction lately, and I’m losing control. I can be a gentleman, but I’m also a man, and I want to take all of her, put her broken pieces back together. Be the only one for her. I thought waiting would be wise. Maybeit would give her time to be certain itwasme shewantedfor her first time.
When I saw her that day with her bag on the floor on the pavement, the empty look in her eyes as if life had evaded her, the sadness etched in her face, I just wanted to become the lightinher dark days.
I’ve seen her walk our street so many times. Our momshad chatted over the years when they crossed paths, and I hadheardenough gossipaboutthe horrible car accident her brother had been in.
Most people pitied her, but I knew that’s not what she needed. I knew what grief felt like. Especially when my father died,thoughthat grief belonged in the blessing catalog. He was not a good man. Nonetheless, the pain of never making someone proud plagued me, and while I was fucking up every aspect of my life, I didn’t want to mess things up with her.
“Morning,” she whispers, shifting in my arms, bringing me back from my thoughts to her almond dark brown eyes. They’re much softer in the morning, loosened from the regular bullets she emits.
“Morning, beautiful.” I softly kiss her.
“We landed in your bed?” A smug smile tugs at her lips, looking around.
I press my next words into her ear. “Yes, where you belong.”
“Will you ever tire of this?” Her eyes twinkle.
