He covers it with his own, his thumb brushing gently over my skin. He’s dressed now, gray sweats hanging low on his hips.
I don’t have the heart to tell him I felt a knot of regret before I got sick. That it’s not his fault someone else ruined me before he got the chance. I’m relieved and grateful we stopped when we did.
When I move to get up, his hand tightens around mine. “Stay with me,” he says softly, eyes searching mine.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He peels back the covers and we both crawl beneath them. I curl into him and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest.
The last thing I hear before sleep pulls me under is his soft murmur against my hair.
“Good night, Sadie.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
WESLEY
Ididn’tevendrinklast night and yet I feel just as shitty as if I did.
The sunrise is just beginning to peek above the horizon, and I soak it in. Quiet moments of peace in my mind are rare lately.
I rub my hand along my scruff before taking a sip of hot coffee from my thermos. There’s a hint of sweet vanilla and I can’t fight the small smile that pulls at the corner of my mouth, knowing Sadie picked the flavored coffee grounds last time she went shopping. I actually like it, but I won’t say anything. What’s the point? She thinks I don’t notice, anyway.
There is not a reality in existence where I wouldn’t notice her.
Last night, she was loud and clear when she was grinding all over Nate Keller.
She’s moving on.
Message received.
I wish she just would’ve let me fucking explain. I wish a lot of things were different.
I’m still pissed at Emmett for telling her before I got the chance. I really had meant to tell her that morning when I found out it was Samira’s family that requested me, but when I handed her the roundup sheet, she was so fucking beautiful—I saw an opportunity to be with her and I took it.
If I’d have known she was going to come see us off, I would’ve told her sooner.
I wasn’t hiding anything from her. Not intentionally.
How could she think me being with her was a mistake?
All I want is to tell her the truth. To be able to tell her that I love her too.
She caught me off guard when she confessed it, breathless and raw, while I was buried inside her. And I got scared.
How could I not?
From the very beginning, she said this was just a summer fling. No feelings. And like a fucking idiot, I agreed, knowing even then I wanted more.
What would I even be fighting for? A few more weeks of fucking in secret before she leaves forever?
Her going back home was always the plan.
Maybe she was right, and ending it now was better than letting it go on any longer than it should’ve.
She’s leaving and I’m staying. That’s how this was always going to end.
I’m not going to California. What a fucking joke that would be.
