“Thrilled.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sorry to ruin your fun. I’ll go back to bed.”
She starts to shift again. I move closer and lift her, carrying her to the bedroom.
She keeps hold of my hand.
“Can you stay?” she asks.
“Sisk...”
“Just until I fall asleep.”
I let out a dry laugh. “I thought you hated me.”
Her eyes drop to her leg. “I do.”
The words land exactly where she intends them to. She traces a finger over the blanket. “I hate that I’m hurt.”
My jaw tightens.
“I hate that every time I look at this thing, I remember what happened.”
I look away.
“I hate that I might never dance again. I hate needing help. I hate not knowing who I am if ballet is gone.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “And I hate that every time I look at you, you look even more miserable than I feel.”
My throat closes.
“You didn't want this to happen any more than I did.”
Silence.
“So I guess what I really hate is that we're both paying for it.”
Scotch shifts, crowding the space like he’s already decided which side is his by right. I nudge him aside and sit on the edge of the bed. There’s barely room.
Her breathing changes. I reach up without thinking and push a strand of hair off her face. My knuckles brush her cheek.
She looks at me and her fingers curl into my sleeve.
“Jax,” she whispers.
I should move. I can’t.
She leans in so slow it’s as if she’s giving me time to stop her. Her lips touch mine, soft and tentative. I kiss her back fora second before I pull away, my forehead resting against hers. “Sleep,” I beg. “Please.”
Her grip loosens. “Okay.”
I stay exactly where I am, staring at the wall, counting seconds like they’re the only thing keeping the monster quiet. Because if I let myself want more—I won’t be able to stop.
* * *
“Shhh.” I feel a touch on my stomach and my eyes snap open. Sisk’s fucking hand’s on me. “You’re okay,” she whispers gently.
My brain’s scrambled. The room’s wrong. The weight of her next to me is all wrong.
