I stayed quiet, giving him the space to choose what to share.
“After my mom died, closing my eyes felt like giving someone permission to take everything from me again. So I stayed awake. I kept watch. And even now...” he let out a bitter laugh “Even now, some nights I swear I still hear the floorboards creak, like it’s happening all over again. And then when Jax went after you, it was like that fear, that same helplessness, slammed back into me. I couldn’t stop it, just like I couldn’t stop it with my mom. Some nights, that’s all I can think about.”
The crack in his armor nearly broke me.
I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “I get it. Losing someone you love, feeling powerless… I can feel why it keeps you awake,” I lifted his hand to my cheek, pressing it gently. “Nathan, look at me. I’m here. I’m okay. I’m safe. You don’t have to carry that fear alone.”
For a moment, he just stared at me, like he was trying to figure out what to do with the comfort. Then, slowly, he let out abreath and leaned back against the couch, his hand still holding mine.
His grip on my hand was tight, almost like he didn’t trust that I’d stay if he let go.
I squeezed back gently. “Come back to bed with me.”
Nathan gave a short huff of a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “You know I won’t sleep.”
“Maybe not,” I said, shifting closer until our shoulders touched, “but at least you won’t be awake alone.”
His eyes flicked toward me, the faintest softening in them, like he wanted to believe that was enough. Like maybe it could be.
I tugged on his hand, coaxing. “Please.”
For a heartbeat, he stayed put, knuckles white where his fists rested against his knees. But then, slowly, he let me pull him up. His body was warm and solid beside mine, but there was a heaviness to the way he moved, like he was carrying too much, even now.
Back in the bedroom, I climbed onto the mattress first, waiting until he slipped in beside me. He lay stiff at first, hands clasped over his chest, staring at the ceiling as though the dark could betray him.
I rolled toward him, pressing close, and laid my head against his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat thrummed beneath my ear. “You don’t have to close your eyes,” I whispered. “Just breathe with me.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. His chest rose and fell too quickly, too shallow. So I slowed mine, exaggerating the rhythm. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. After a while, his body began to match mine, the tension easing out of his shoulders bit by bit.
His hand found my back, sliding up until his fingers tangled lightly in my hair. “You’re dangerous, Cupcake,” he murmured, voice roughened with exhaustion.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you make me want things I shouldn’t.” His thumb brushed the back of my neck, a soft, unconscious gesture that made my chest ache. “Things my dad would probably say he knew I’d find with you.”
I tilted my head, confused. “Your dad?”
Nathan gave a short, humorless huff and shook his head. “Ignore me. I’m tired. Talking nonsense.”
But when he pulled me closer, burying his face against my hair, the heaviness in his hold told a different story.
I didn’t need answers, not tonight. All I needed was his heartbeat steady beneath my ear and his arms wound tight around me like I was the only thing keeping him here. But even as his hold anchored me, I couldn’t shake the whisper of a truth he wasn’t ready to share. And I knew, sooner or later, it would find us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
NATHAN
I COULD GETused to this.
No restless churn in my chest, no sharp sting behind my eyes from another night of broken sleep, just the quiet hum of morning. For a moment, I didn’t move. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the woman curled into me.
Elise.
It wasn’t just the way she looked in my bed, though God, that was something. The dark material of my shirt had risen and stopped just below her ass, her hair spilled across the pillow, a dark, tangled halo that smelled faintly of mangoes.
I let myself look at her without the burden of words or performance. She didn’t belong here in the way my sterile penthouse usually demanded things belong. Elise was softness in the middle of my sharp edges. She didn’t blend in, didn’tdisappear into the background like the muted grays of my furniture. She illuminated it.
She looked at ease here. At home.
