The familiar contact should have soothed me.
It did.
That made me angrier with myself.
Reid stepped around me.
He wore loose gray sleep pants and nothing else. A shadow of beard darkened his jaw. The compass tattoo across his ribs moved when he breathed.
He looked at my face once and understood too much.
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
“No.”
I stared into my tea.
His fingers touched my chin, not forcing, simply asking.
I looked at him.
Concern sharpened his eyes.
Not panic. He was learning not to make every bad morning an emergency.
“What else?” he repeated.
There were too many answers.
I was frustrated.
Ashamed.
Afraid.
Tired of needing instructions for my own body.
Tired of being congratulated for crossing a room.
Tired of knowing that a short family lunch could erase an entire Sunday.
The simplest word came out.
“Low.”
Reid took the mug from my hands and set it on the counter.
Then he opened his arms.
I went into them.
There was no dignity in pretending I did not need the thing I needed most.
His chest was warm against my cheek. One arm circled my waist while the other covered the back of my head. He breathed slowly, and without deciding to, I followed.
In.
