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“I know the risks,” I interrupted. “Please. If you saw Lili this week, you wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever is necessary.”

He picked up the papers again and gave me the slightest nod. “Hopefully, it’s enough because I don’t know what else I can do.”

“It has to be because she needs you.”

His eyes met mine, and his voice lowered. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

I think maybe I did. I had an attachment to Lili, and I had to admit, I had an attachment to Brett, too. I must have been quiet for a moment too long.

“I should go.” He wiped his palms on his thighs. “Thanks for everything.” He released a breath. “And I’m sorry about what happened… the condom. And the next morning. Fuck, baby, I’m sorry about all of it.”

“Brett,” I softly said.

I shouldn’t ask him to stay. I couldn’t make the excuse he’d been drinking. He’d barely sipped his whiskey. But I didn’t want him to leave.

“I’m sorry, too. I want to explain.” I swallowed around the insecurity welling in my throat. “I…I can’t—” I wanted to tell him I couldn’t be the woman he wanted. The one who laughed, played pool, and spent the night getting the best sex of her life in a rented room of an MC. But those weren’t the right words.

For a night, I was that woman.

“Friday night was… It was everything. I loved being in your bed and sleeping next to you. You make me feel things I’d forgotten, like how to laugh with friends.” I glanced down at my hands because I couldn’t look in his eyes. He was too intense, too beautiful. He made me want to forget my grief and ride away with him on the back of his Harley.

He pulled my hand into his. “Was it the MC? Was it the condom breaking? Was it the kiss in the parking lot?”

“It was after, when I got home.” I could feel tears begin to burn in my eyes. “I’m not ready, Brett. I’m never going to be ready. I’m not going to be happy—ever. When Matti died, I died with her. When I’m with you, I forget to grieve, that I’m supposed to be miserable. When I’m with you—” I exhaled a steadying breath. “When I’m with you, I forget who I’m supposed to be. I don’t want to go out. I don’t want to meet friends or play pool. I don’t want to laugh.” I closed my eyes. “What kind of mother forgets to grieve her child?”

He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Baby.”

The softly spoken word shattered something inside me. He shifted and pulled me closer.

“Don’t tell me I’m wrong to feel this way,” I said.

“I wouldn’t.” He ran his palm along the pleats of my spine. See, this was what I couldn't do. His hands felt so good. He made me feel safe.

“I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you,” he said. “I’m not pushing for anything you’re not ready for. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

I inched back and stared into his eyes. Did I want him to go? No. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to lock him in a box, keep him for myself, a secret, so no one would know I was a horrible mother.

“I’m scared, Brett. I’m afraid what I have to give won’t be enough.”

“I’m not asking for anything more than time with you. Just you. If you want me to stay, tell me you want me to stay.”

I wrapped my fingers around the back of his neck and brought his mouth to mine. With the first heated touch of his lips, I was lost. He opened his mouth and glided his tongue along mine. He ripped the scrunchy from my hair, scored his fingertips along my scalp, angled my head, and kissed me with a searing passion to make the days apart melt away. “I want you to stay.”

With my fingers linked with his, I slid off the couch. He stood, and holding hands, I led him up the stairs to my bedroom. In the hallway, the closed door on the right, with a glittering unicorn sticker, hid a whimsical room with a pink canopy bed, stuffed animals suspended from a wall hammock in the corner of the room, and memories too painful to face. Brett slowed his steps. He didn’t have to ask. His fingers tightened on mine.

“My room is at the end of the hall,” I whispered. My bedroom door was open. I released his hand as we stepped into the room. Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains draped in front of the double French doors leading to the deck stretching the rear of the house.

After the accident, I’d changed everything. I’d scrubbed every trace of Jeff from our bedroom. This was my space. New furniture, new bed, mine. My sanctuary. The soft gray colors were soothing and warm.

I approached my bed and turned on the bedside lamp.

Brett stalked closer, his eyes focused on me. I’d loved his long hair, loved the way the strands had slipped between my fingers, but I loved this, too. Nothing hid the tattoos on his neck or the stubble along his jaw.

God, I ached for this man. I’d tried to convince myself that I hadn’t felt this hollowness without him. I’d been lying to myself. “I missed you.”

His palm curved around my neck. “I missed you, too.” As he lowered his mouth, he tipped my face. The slow, drugging kiss sparked a match inside me. He made me burn.

A low moan built in my chest and crawled up my throat. I wound my arms around his shoulders and kissed him back. I kissed him with a hunger I couldn’t contain. Yet, nothing was rushed, rather building in intensity. I slicked my tongue against his.