He lets out a short, amused chuckle, then his expression softens. “You really don’t half-ass anything, do you?”
We sit in silence for a moment, the only sound Beck’s slow, uneven breathing and the murmur of the voices on the television.
“Do you know what you’re doing here?” he asks, glancing down at her.
“Not a clue,” I confess, pulling a throw blanket higher over her shoulder.
Biting his lower lip, he thinks for a moment before saying, “You haven’t shared much about your past with me—or anyone—but I know something went down that makes you keep everyone at arm’s length. It wouldn’t kill you to let people in and confide in someone.”
“Trust me, I know.” Pointing to my chest, I say, “Therapist, remember?”
He ignores my attempt at humour. “So, talk to me.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Picking up the remote, I turn off the TV. “I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time. To be honest, it’s not something I ever thought I would want again.” Swallowing the emotion growing in my throat, I continue. “She makes me want to reevaluate everything, and that’s terrifying.”
“She’s a great person. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“She’s amazing,” I agree, smiling down at her before meeting his gaze. “Trust me when I say I have lived through the worst thing. I won’t survive that again.”
He doesn’t press for more information and for that I’m grateful.
“Here’s my advice. You can pursue a relationship with her and see where it goes. Alternatively, you can spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been while being holed up in this empty house with only me visiting. I’m amazing company, but I think she’s worth the risk.”
Before I can think of a response, he says, “On that note, I’m leaving. I can’t give you anymore advice today, or I will have to charge you.”
“Thanks for coming over,” I say, meaning it. He may act like a clown most of the time, but he has a big heart, and I know he genuinely cares about my happiness. He’s a good friend to all of us.
Slapping his hands on his lap, he nods his head once, then rises to his feet. “Is she staying here tonight?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’ll take her up to the spare bed when you go. Can you lock the door behind you?”
“Sure thing.”
Carefully slipping out from underneath her, I stand and scoop her up bridal style and walk towards the stairs.
Nuzzling into my neck, she mumbles, “What are you doing?”
“Shhh. You fell asleep. I’m taking you up to bed.” It’s still early, but I’m exhausted from the stress of the past twenty-four hours, and she clearly is as well.
“Okay,” she whispers.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I don’t even consider taking her to the spare bedroom despite what I told Carson. Not because she’s sick—she’s already feeling much better—but because I want her close for at least one more night.
Carson is right about so many things. The more time I spend with her makes me realize I was a fool to push her away. She makes me feel happier than I have felt in years. I love how enthusiastic she is when she talks about the things that bring her joy. How she wasn’t afraid to tackle renovating her tiny home. Her love of good music and true-crime documentaries. How important her found family is to her.
I also see the hurt in her eyes—even though she thinks she is hiding it—when she talks about her relationship with Braden and her parents. She doesn’t trust easily. I hear it in her voice every time she questions why I’m helping her. Like she doesn’t believe she deserves it. But I think she is learning that she can count on me. At least I hope she is.
There are things we need to talk about sometime soon if we decide to explore whatever is going on between us. Things she needs to know about my past and how it affects the man I am now. Last night scared the shit out of me. I know why, but shedoesn’t. Sure, she is picking up bits and pieces, but I know that the only way we could have a healthy relationship is to enter it with complete honesty. Even the hard parts that I have trouble putting into words.
“Do you want to change into something more comfortable to sleep in? I can give you a T-shirt or something?” I ask as I set her carefully on the floor.
“Yeah, that would be great. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you,” she says with a yawn. “When did Carson leave? I never got to say goodbye.”
“Not too long ago,” I say, walking into my closet and grabbing her a soft T-shirt. When I return, I find her on the side of the bed. She has removed the scarf from her hair and is loosely braiding it over her shoulder. Looking up at me, she stands to take the shirt from my outstretched hand.
“That’s perfect,” she says, gesturing towards the en suite. “I’ll just go change.”
Retreating into the closet, I strip down and grab sleep pants to change into.
