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TWO
Barrett
My fingers, gripping her arm, gentle almost as soon as I latch onto her. Guilt stings somewhere near the base of my throat. I want to wrap my arms around her, hold her close against me so she isn’t cold. I want to take her to her room and—
NO.
Never again.
You know you can’t. Stop thinking of it.
I lead her through the woods, stopping only to hold back a limb or take her elbow as she moves over a fallen log.
When we reach her porch, she scoops the bags of cookies up and steps up to the door, her hand already holding out the key. I stop at the bottom of her steps and wait.
She unlocks the door first, then turns slowly to me. I watch her gaze drag down my body. I can’t miss noting where it lingers. I grit my teeth and fix my eyes on her face.
Say something to her.
The wind blows her hair around her pink cheeks—and she beats me to it. “Barrett?”
I have to open my mouth to get air past the knot in my throat. “Yes?”
“Is it…the way I look?” Her eyes open wide, as if they’re filling up with tears and she’s trying to keep them from falling.
“What?”
Her eyes glisten. “I think maybe you’re just being moody. Hot and cold. Because of…whatever your reasons are. You might be mad because I fell asleep. But I can’t help thinking—I should ask… Well, I look…different.” She drags air into her lungs, her face a mask of misery. “I guess what I’m saying is, are you bothered by what happened earlier because you aren’t really attracted to me? Because I’m…injured?”
Looking up at her, holding those cookies, clad in my huge coat, I feel my own eyes ache with heat and pressure. I can’t stop my legs from climbing up her stairs, nor my hand gripping her shoulder.
“Look at me.” The words are snarled—much rougher than intended. Her gaze blinks against mine. “That’s what you think?” My heart pounds.
She presses her lips together.
My body feels heavy. My head feels light. Inside my veins, my blood runs hotter.
My finger finds the left side of her mouth: so soft. My jaw twitches as I look into her eyes. “Gwen. You think I care about this?”
Her brows arch: an unsure look.
Despite it all, I know I have to make her sure. I speak softly. “You think this—this little part of you—you think it bothers me? Would bother someone else?”
A tear falls down her round cheek, and my chest aches so much, I look down on instinct, checking for a wound. Of course, there’s nothing visible.
“Open the door, Gwenna.”
She drags her gaze away from mine and turns back to it. I try to inhale, but every part of me is buzzing and I can’t slow down.
My eyes rake over her: the shape of her under my coat. I fist my hands as she pushes the door open.
More than anything in all my life, I long to scoop her up and press her up against me. Standing still— not doing that— It makes my chest ache.
You can’t. It doesn’t matter how you feel.
Gwenna steps inside her living room and turns toward me. Her face flickers with emotion: delicate and fragile. Vulnerable. Because I took what wasn’t mine. I sought comfort from her. From day one, I’ve gotten in too deep with her. Tonight, I did the unforgiveable.
So turn around and go. Your course is set.
