Page 107 of Almost Ours

We all drink the tea, and slowly Abi and Brooke leave with promises they’ll be back tomorrow. Emma tells me she’s going to set up their spare room, Cam goes to bed and Oscar hovers, moving from space to space like he’s full of rage and doesn’t know what to do with it.

When I yawn, both he and Josh notice.

“You should go to bed,” Oscar firmly mutters. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll help you.” Josh clambers to his feet, glancing at Oscar as he reaches for the edge of the blanket. “You okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Oscar grunts.

I’m in half a mind to tell them both to stop discussing me like I’m not in the room, but Josh is peeling the blanket carefully away from my legs and holding one hand out towards me.

I look at it, then place mine in his and let him pull me to my feet, our fingers slipping together naturally as I find my balance. The room tilts slightly when I stand, and Josh’s grip tightens, his other hand coming to my waist as he steps closer until my shoulder brushes his chest.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

“I’m fine,” I grumble, even though I’ve said it so many times tonight the words are starting to lose all meaning.

He ignores me and bends to pick up the pyjamas from the sofa, tucking the fluffy socks on top before looking across at Oscar. “Which room?”

Oscar points down the hallway without moving from where he’s standing. “Second door on the left.”

Josh nods once and starts leading me that way, keeping our hands linked as we move. I glance back over my shoulder and find Oscar watching us, his expression unreadable but his posture stiff, arms folded so tightly across his chest that the muscles in his forearms are pulled taut.

Emma comes back and squeezes past, heading straight for Oscar and wrapping one hand around the back of his neck, holding him until some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

The last thing I see of them is Oscar’s head bowing, like he’s in pain, and Emma leaning up to kiss his cheek. But I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

The spare room is small but warm, with a double bed pushed against one wall and a chest of drawers opposite. There’s a lamp glowing softly beside the bed, and somebody has pulled the duvet back neatly. Josh lets go of my hand to put the pyjamas and socks down on the end of the bed, then turns back to me and takes me in again.

Whatever he sees makes his whole expression soften.

I don’t think I have anything left in me. My arms hang uselessly at my sides, every muscle aching, my head heavy enough that keeping it upright feels like work, and when I try to reach for the hem of his borrowed hoodie my fingers fumble against it twice before I give up.

“Come here,” he murmurs, stepping closer, green eyes blazing. “Let me help you.”

I look at him, too tired to even pretend I’m offended by the suggestion. “I can get changed by myself.”

“I know you can.” His hands hover near my waist. “You don’t have to prove that to me. But you look exhausted and I want to help.”

“I am exhausted.”

“Okay,” He whispers. “So then let me help.” He slides his fingers under the hem of his hoodie that I’m in, making my breath hitch. “Can I?”

My eyes drop to his hands and then back to his face. There isn’t anything suggestive in the way he’s looking at me, no trace of the flirting or tension that usually seems to exist between us whether we acknowledge it or not. He just looks worried, painfully gentle, and after everything that happened tonight there is something about him asking instead of assuming that makes my throat tighten all over again.

I nod.

Josh moves slowly enough that I could stop him if I wanted to, gathering the fabric in both hands before lifting it a few inches. “Arms up for me, Rubes. Nice and easy.”

I do what he says, although one shoulder protests and my face twists before I can hide it.

“Alright,” he mutters, stopping instantly. “Don’t force it. Which side hurts?”

“Right.”

“Okay.” He lowers the hoodie again and studies it for a second, working out how to get it off without making me lift that arm too high. “We’ll do the left first. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” His fingers find the cuff and gently guide my left hand through, then he eases the fabric over my head before carefully working it down my right arm rather than pulling. When the hoodie finally comes free he drops it onto the chair beside us before looking back at me. “Better?”

“A bit.”