Page 106 of Halo

Until you realize I'm not worth any of this.

I curl into his chest, and he keeps rocking me while I cry. My sobs slowly soften into exhausted breaths, and somewhere between the warmth of his arms and the steady rhythm of his heart, I drift off.

Chapter 25

Nick

Jesus. I'm getting old.

My limbs lie heavy against the mattress, every muscle aching with exhaustion. My lips are bruised, partially numb from my evening with Leah, but fuck, that woman and her body … I'll gladly break every bone to experience her—her touch, her smell, her taste, her everything—all over again.

My eyes are still closed when an abrupt snort sounds directly in my ear. Squinting into the darkness, shapes around me sharpen until a creature's face emerges inches from mine.

No, not just any creature.

Angus.

He's standing over me, his muscular legs planted firmly like a bull ready to charge.

I startle, sitting up on my elbow. “Hey, boy …” Possessed by post-coital bliss or sheer stupidity, I reach out to pet him. His sharp growl quickly sobers me up, and I jerk back.

Little shit.

Keeping an eye on him—or at least the shadowy figure of him—my hand slips over to the other half of the bed, searching for Leah … except all I find is a chaos of cold, empty sheets.

I don't exactly know what happened last night. I don't know if I said something wrong or if I did something to physically hurt her, but Leah became quite distraught. I stayed wrapped around her for most of the night because she asked me to—as if there was any chance I wouldn't—and kept her close long after she fell asleep. At some point, exhaustion finally pulled me under.

I pause, listening for signs of her, for a footstep, a soft breath, maybe even the creak of a cabinet door.

I'm met with only silence.

Where is she?

Stumbling out of bed, I slip on my jeans before checking the bathroom.

Angus flops off the mattress. Staring at me, he gives a brief grumble before moseying out of the room and down the hallway.

I follow, stepping softly.

“Leah?” I whisper, not wanting to wake her if she fell asleep somewhere else. “Leah, where are—?” My words dissolve when I find her curled up on her couch in the fetal position, using my sweater as a blanket. “Darlin’ …” I take a knee, combing my fingers through her hair—her damp, sweaty hair.

She stirs. Her swollen eyes meeting mine as she forces a smile on her tear-stained cheeks. “Hey,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Did I wake you up?”

“Not at all.” I sigh, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” she lies, hugging her mid-section.

“Did I—” I tenderly stroke her arm—“did I hurt you?”

She sniffles, shaking her head. “No. I’m fine. I-I just need a minute.”

“Tell me what's wrong, baby."

Her breath catches, fingers bunching in the fabric over her stomach as her face pinches with another wave of pain. She squeezes her eyes shut and waits for it to pass, but when they open again, fresh tears spill down her cheeks.

“C’mon,” I demand. “We're going to the ER.”

“No.” She shakes her head, resting a hand on mine. “It's … a flair-up. From my endo,” she reluctantly admits, the words broken between shallow breaths. “I just need … a minute.”