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“Good night.”
Paige is back in her room with the door closed, so I retreat to my bed. Guess talking and groveling can wait until morning. I won’t be able to sleep. I’m going to lie awake all night staring at the ceiling and thinking of Paige. Wondering how I can apologize and make this mess up to her. Make everything up to her. If I had trusted my gut and stayed home with Paige instead of going to the club—trusted my gut and never let Troy stay here—none of this would’ve happened.
I want to stay home with her. Or go out with her. Take her on a date to the ocean. Kiss her. Always be around to protect her and fight on her behalf. She’s so strong for others, despite going through some terrible shit. I want to be the one who is strong for her.
This whole situation is delicate. I can no longer ignore what I’m feeling for Paige, but Amber is breaking down more every day. We’re one week from the anniversary. One week. We’re almost through this, and I’m looking forward to life settling down and for Amber to feel stable, because it’s harder and harder to keep my distance from Paige. Honestly, I don’t know if I want to.
Why have I been so adamant about fighting against relationships?
I have a typical sob story—got my heart broken by a high school sweetheart. But that was so long ago, I barely remember now. I bet my reluctance in the past and my no-attachments policy stems from having to take care of either my mom or Amber most of my life. Focusing on their needs instead of mine. Feeling trapped. When I don’t have a relationship to worry about, I don’t have to worry about my needs getting dismissed.
I don’t have to worry about failing someone.
I roll onto my side, feeling like a hidden door inside me suddenly unlocked. I’ve failed Amber all these years and often felt run over and useless in my few past relationships. Not sure what that means for me and Paige, but my gut tells me a relationship with her would be different. Exciting. Free. Passionate. Deeply caring. Whatever my fears, I’m tired of no attachments. I’m choosing not to run this time, and I’ll face whatever these fears are. The chance to experience something meaningful with Paige is worth more than cowering in a corner.
There’s only one roadblock besides Amber: I don’t know what Paige wants. So far, she seems to only want sex.
Karma is a bitch.
My door creaks open. Amber’s been sneaking into my room since she was little whenever she has a bad dream, though I can’t understand how she had a bad dream this fast. She should be passed out from the sleeping pill.
“Amber?” I say. “I guess you can sleep in here. Just don’t kick me like you—”
My voice stalls. I click on a lamp. Paige closes the door softly and waits for my response. I should tell her to go back to her bed. That’s what’s best. We’ll talk in the morning. Amber can’t get triggered right now. Sleep apart. Stay apart. Don’t touch. Keep it platonic. For now.
Her eyes are puffy from crying. She’s small and hunched and looks like the sun hasn’t touched her in years. Right now, no part of me has the strength to tell her no.
“Lock the door,” I say.
The lock clicks. Then she crawls across the mattress toward me. I lift the covers and she settles in beside me. After studying my face like I might change my mind, she raises my arm so she can rest against my chest. Her phone balances on my stomach. Pressing my palm into her shoulder, I squeeze her small body closer.
I hope I’m not hallucinating. She can probably feel my heart racing. This is the longest we’ve ever touched, and her warmth seeps into my side like hot cocoa on a cold winter day. It’s as if I wasn’t about to murder someone half an hour ago. The rest of the world no longer matters. My entire world is Paige.
When we’ve both had enough time to soften into the moment, I open my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
I smile. “I’ll beat up anyone you want.”
“Yup.” There’s one person in particular I’m thinking of. One day, I’ll learn her ex’s name.
She nuzzles against one of my pecs and grips my shirt. I let my cheek fall against her head. She smells like coconut shampoo, which is the same way my hair smells since we use the same bottle. It makes me more stupidly happy that I should be about something so trivial.
We both smell the same. Two coconuts together.
My breathing slows, becoming full and deep. God, this feels good. “Is your arm okay?”
Knowing she got injured feels like someone punched me in the gut. I told her she’d be safe here and look what happened. Why am I so bad at protecting the women I care about? “I’m sorry.”
