I crashed it into a ditch last night because we hit black ice and my stupid ankle hurt too much for me to react fast enough.
“Oh no,” I whisper, shoving my legs into my corduroy pants, not caring when I’m too rough with my foot and it jostles painfully. I throw open the door, tugging a striped oversized wool sweater over my head as I rush down the hall.
“Oliver,” I say, leaning over him. “We have to get up.” For a split second, I wonder if things will be weird between us after last night. If he’ll look at me differently now that he’s seen all my damage.
“We have to call a cab or a ride share,” I say. “I’ll cover the whole cost to Rochester.” His eyes stay closed, his face registering nothing. I put my hands on his shoulders. “Oliver.”
His hand pulls me down, and I fall onto his lap.
After last night—after I told him things I’ve never told anyone, after I fell apart in his arms—he should be running. Putting distance between us. But instead, his arms tighten around me like he’s trying to hold me together.
“Shh,” he says. “Sleep.”
I struggle against him, but his hold on me doesn’t budge. It’s like …
It’s like he wants me here, with him.
For someone starved of touch and connection, it’s a literal dream come true. Being in Oliver’s arms makes my heart feel like it’s finally come in from the cold and is curled up around a fire with a cup of hot cocoa. I can’t help sighing when he rests his cheek against mine.
“You like that?” he murmurs in my ear.
“Of course not,” I say. I feel him smile against me.
I don’t remember the last time I was held as much as Oliver has held me in the last three days.
I’m afraid of how addicted I already am to his touch. How will I go back to my normal life after I’ve had Oliver’s armsaround me? His lips on mine? His righteous anger stoked on my behalf?
The longer I stay here, though, the harder it will all be. My needs aren’t more important than his.
It’s not like physical touch is a need.
It is. It’s totally a need.
But do I need this more than he needs to get home?
No.
“Oliver, we need to call the rental agency and find a ride into town.”
“Already done,” he mutters. “I called the rental agency when you were in the shower, and I arranged for a friend to come get us.”
I sit up. “You have a friend in Walnut Creek, Ohio?”
“No, I have a friend who’s staying in Cleveland for the holidays. She’ll be here in a couple of hours, and she’s bringing you crutches.” He pulls me back against him, and I’m too shocked to fight.
He called the rental agency. He arranged a ride. And crutches.
Without me asking.
I didn’t have to do a single thing.
He took care of it all.
Took care ofme.
“Now shush,” he says, stroking my hair until my eyes can’t stay open. “We’re sleeping.”
I shush.
