“Are you in pain? Talk to me, baby,” he says, his voice soft and low in my ear.
I’m sure he didn’t mean to use that pet name. I’m sure it just slipped out. I don’t care. Right now, it feels so nice to be loved this way. He can call me whatever he wants.
“Yes, but that’s not…” It’s all I can manage. The crying is making my head feel worse. It’s throbbing, and my sinuses are starting to swell, adding to the pressure.
I wipe my tears, trying to stem the flow of them. “I…I haven’t been taken care of like this in so long.”
Miles plants a kiss on the back of my shoulder. “Come here,” he whispers. “Let me hold you.”
He unwinds his arms from me, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and handing it to me, leaning against the headboard again. I scoot back into him, careful not to jostle myself too much, and when I’m close enough, he draws me into him, setting me sideways so my legs are draped over his. I lean against the squishy part of his chest as he wraps his arms around me.
“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable. We’ll find a better position for you.”
I fold my arms over my stomach and melt into him, my body lifting and lowering with every breath he takes, while the world tilts and the pain in my head keeps me distracted from the things happening in my heart. The meds will kick in and I will need to face the music, but until then, all I can do is wait and let myself be held.
At some point, I must drift off, because one minute, I’m squinting at the bathroom doorframe in the dark of my room, and the next, I’m opening my eyes. The world is still; there’sno spinning, but I still have pain. Not as much as I did before, though.
I lift my head. I’m still lightheaded, but my meds seemed to have kicked in.
Miles’s arms have slackened. His breathing is deeper, more even, and his head is leaned against the headboard, his throat exposed to me fully. He definitely fell asleep. His mouth is cracked open, unable to keep his jaw closed in his sleep, and light snoring sounds escape from his throat.
As my eyes adjust to the dark, slivers of moonlight peeking through the edges of the curtains provide some light to study my ex-boyfriend. Up close like this, his beard scruff looks more cleaned up than the other day, and I run a finger along his jawline, just to feel the stubble rough on my skin. He stirs, and I snap my hand back to my chest, but he doesn’t wake up. His head lolls to the side, his face closer to mine now.
A bone-deep wanting sparks in my chest and spreads, like ink in water, until it’s stretched from shoulder to shoulder and woven into my ribs. It spreads through my belly and down my arms, into my fingers. I nudge my forehead against his jaw, nestling into him. I place a hand on his chest, hoping that this will ease the yearning in me to touch him. It doesn’t matter that my entire body is up against his; it doesn’t feel close enough.
I feel safe here, in the quiet dark of my room in Cabo, in the arms of a man I once loved. I know the sun will rise and Miles will wake up and real life will start again, but right now, cocooned in this moment, everything feels right. Nothing is complicated by our history or my impending departure; I am just here, being held. For once, I don’t resist the feelings that bubble up in me. Maybe it’s our old love, come to visit again. Maybe it’s a new appreciation for this man. Whatever it is, it’s impossible to ignore.
I slide my hand up his chest, over the pronounced collarbone, to his neck. He stirs again, waking this time.
“Abby?” he croaks, his hands sliding around my frame to hold me again.
I press my fingers into the back of his neck, closing the space between us to bring his lips to mine. He groans as our lips meet, the way a person does when they’ve taken a bite of something unexpectedly delicious. He tightens his arms around me, drawing me against him as if we could possibly be any closer.
We kiss like we’ve been separated for years, and we have. It doesn’t matter that we kissed like this the other night; he kisses me like he’s missed me. Like he’s been waiting a decade to do this and he won’t get another chance. His mouth moves on mine like he means to worship my lips. There is no urgency, no desperation. There is hunger, but it’s the kind of hunger a man brings to church—a reverent need to pour out devotion—not to take, but to give.
I would never stop if he didn’t, but he does, pressing his forehead to mine.
“That didn’t count,” I say, breathless. I really need to stop kissing him when I know I shouldn’t.
“That didn’t count,” he echoes. “Are you okay? Is your head any better?” His whispered breath is warm against my lips.
“I’m better,” I say. “My medicine kicked in. I still have pain, but I think I can sleep now.”
“Then you should sleep,” he says. “Can you lie down?”
I nod, and before he extracts himself from me, he plants his lips against my forehead. While I readjust in the bed to lie down, he checks the box where room service drops food and takes out a half-melted bag of ice.
“If you need more, I’ll call for some now,” he says.
“It’s like…past midnight,” I say.
“Room service is twenty-four-seven.”
“I’m okay,” I say.
“You better not be just saying you’re okay because you don’t want to make a big deal of it.”
“I promise I’m okay. I just want to sleep,” I say.
