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Sloane
I tiptoe across the hardwood floor, silently cursing every squeak and creak of the boards under my feet. My dad isn’t the heaviest sleeper, and the walls are practically made of paper. I think it’s just one more way for him to keep tabs on me even while he’s hibernating next door.
Having my own apartment off the main house makes living at home more tolerable, but I always feel a twinge of guilt that he’s all alone in that big space. Mom has been gone for a long time, but he still hasn’t moved on.
I guess I haven’t either.
Letting go is something I haven’t quite mastered yet.
And it hurts my heart to think that one day I’ll be leaving my dad, too, but I don’t have time or desire to unpack that right now.
Case in point…the one thing I can’t seem to let slip through my damn fingers once and for all.
Thump, thump, thump.
My heart is off to the races, and slowing it down now is impossible. Tiny hairs on my arms stand at attention as I grasp the brass doorknob and twist it, pulling open the door.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Max, the only man I’ve ever loved and the one I swear time and time again to finally forget, leans against my railing. I don’t think he could look sexier if he tried, even at three o’clock in the morning. Stubble peppers the lower half of his face, his thick, dark hair is pointed in a million different directions like he’s been tossing and turning for hours, raking his fingers through it. I bite down hard on my lower lip, fighting off the images of his naked, muscular body sliding against the sheets, his long legs tangled around them. God, I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall watching that beautiful sight…
“Why is that my problem?” I snap, a hand on my hip.
“Maybe because I really needed some Raisinets tonight and you wouldn’t take the bait to invite me over.”
“So you took it upon yourself to stop by.”
“I texted you first.”
“I didn’t respond. I could have been out. Or working. Or still pissed off.”
“But you’re here. And you answered the door.”
“I’m still pissed off.”
“I’m still trying to make it up to you.”
I fold my arms over my way-too-skimpy pajamas, shivering from the gust of cold air that assaults me.
“If you’re gonna debate for a while longer, you should probably put this on.” He shrugs off his leather jacket and hands it to me. I stare at his outstretched hand and roll my eyes, holding open the door. “Come in,” I murmur, backing inside the small foyer as he moves toward me. I breathe deeply when he comes into my space, the spicy scent of his cologne filling the air and infusing my senses with everything that is him—the smoldering bad boy, leather-jacket-wearing older brother of my best friend who could always make my knees quiver with only a quick smile.
Even when he was throwing worms at me when we were kids.
I should have known back then I was doomed.
Why am I doing this to myself again? I’ve done it twice already, and I know how it ends!
I should tell him to go. Now. And to never ever come back.
But the expression on his face makes me swallow those words. There’s a heaviness surrounding him, stronger than anything I’ve felt before. It’s as powerful as the electricity crackling between us. Both of those forces seem to be battling against each other, though, and the flicker of emotion in Max’s heated gaze dies out seconds after he steps inside the apartment. In the end, the somberness he carries extinguishes the spark between us, leaving me raw and exposed.
I don’t like it one bit. And I don’t understand why that doom and gloom always seems to prevail.
Why can’t I win? Just once, dammit! What the hell keeps holding him back? And why won’t he talk to me about it?
But that’s Max. Quick with a sarcastic quip or a joke, but nothing of substance ever tumbles from those perfectly bitable lips. It’s something I’ve come to accept.
Kind of.
But at this point, I don’t even know what I’m accepting. For a couple of months, he’d come over, beaten down, quiet, brooding, almost like he just needed to be with someone who wouldn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. Someone who would play Overwatch and Fortnite with him and always had Raisinets in the house. Someone who was all too willing to give him everything he wanted but wouldn’t ask for anything in return.
