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Walker: You want to talk about it?
Iris: Not right now.
Walker: You staying up?
Iris: I'm not sure I have a choice. Why?
Walker: No reason.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock on my door.
I push myself to my feet. Check my makeup in the mirror. It's a travesty and my wrinkled shirt isn't any better. At least my underwear is cute. And it's not like my boyfriend is going to complain I'm skipping pants.
"Just a minute." I move to the bathroom. Wipe away my eye makeup, wash my face, pull a hoodie over my tank top. Then I move back to the door.
"Hey." Walker's voice flows through the wood. "I have something for you."
I pull the door open.
He's standing there in jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. He looks normal. Well, normal hot.
Not like he's here to take all my pain away, to erase my past, to love me despite the devastation I've wrecked.
He holds up the paper bag in his hand. "I'll leave if you want to be alone."
I shake my head and motion come in.
"Fuck, Iris. I like that look."
My cheeks flush. "Thanks."
He steps inside. Presses the door closed behind him. His dark eyes find mine. They're soft. Understanding. "You don't have to talk."
I nod.
He wraps his arms around me. The paper bag brushes my back. It's cold. Hard.
Walker runs his fingers through my hair. "I'm sorry."
"I'll be okay." Eventually.
"You say that a lot."
"It's true."
"Yeah, but—fuck, I know this is weird coming from me—but you don't have to convince me you're strong."
"I'm not."
He pulls back, sets the bag on the counter, pulls out a pint of coffee ice cream. "How do you figure?"
"I give in to temptation too easily."
He motions to the ice cream. "Does that mean you don't want any of this?"
"No, I do."
