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I knocked him away, advancing further into his bedroom. His room seemed larger than Rachel’s without all the clutter, and there was more space to pace in. “Why don’t they tell me things? Why don’t they talk things through with me? Why is it that I have to find everything out like they’re slapping me in the face with it?”
And it’d been with everything, the major life events thrown at me as if they were a baseball and they assumed I’d have a mitt. There was no time to recover from the blow before a new ball hit, cracking me piece by piece. All the while, I’d been shoving everything down, except now there was nodeeperfor things to go. My filing cabinet was full.
Reed’s expression crumpled as he stepped forward. “Ava.”
But it was a question that had always been in the back of my mind, looping around on the lowest volume setting possible. Barely perceptible, but there. “Why doesn’t anyone care how I feel?”
I turned to his desk then, trying to hide my face as I struggled to keep my composure. I couldn’t cry, not in front of him. After yesterday, I’d told myself I’d never be vulnerable with him again. And yet as I faced his desk, I realized that the magazines on the surfaceweren’tmagazines at all—they were comic books. The ones I’d bought for him. One was even laying open, as if he’d been reading it.
And it was like someone threw a boulder at my glass window of self-control.
“I care,” he said as he took one more step closer, planting himself before me. There was something so cautious about his movements, like he was trying not to scare me. He reached up and smoothed my hair from my face, his warm palm coasting along my skin and lingering there. “I don’t know why they are acting this way, but I care about how you feel.”
And maybe that was it. Just someone saying they cared. JustReedsaying he cared. Because these words contradicted the painful indifference he portrayed in the car yesterday, once more gifting me nighttime Reed Manning when I needed him most. Either way, his words triggered the waterworks again, and there was no holding back this time.
He wrapped his arms around me as I cried, and all the times I’d wrapped my arms around myself had nothing on this. He eased us onto the edge of his bed, granting my shaking knees the relief from nearly giving out. Reed held me as if I were about to shatter into a million pieces, as if holding me tightly was the only way to keep me whole.
Later, I’d be embarrassed for crying into him, his T-shirt absorbing my tears, but at that moment, there wasn’t anything other than the cracking inside me, so intense that it should’ve been audible.
Five of Reed’s fingers smoothed their way up my spine, the thin material of the sleep shirt only marginally numbing the sensation. I melted against him, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent from the freshly washed shirt and the scent ofhim, like jasmine and apple.
“You’re not alone,” he insisted softly. His other hand came up to coast down the back of my head, smoothing down my hair. “I’m right here with you.”
It was hard to imagine that once before, we’d been close like this, but under vastly different circumstances. I’d wanted to be close again, but I hadn’t imagined it being likethis. I hadn’t imagined letting myself fall apart in his arms, hadn’t expected him to cradle all the pieces. But here we were, my heart breaking and Reed Manning acting as the duct tape holding me together.
I clung to him tightly, letting his hand continue the circles against my back, crying until I had nothing left in me.
Crying sessions always left me feeling drained, and when sleep slowly receded Saturday morning, it wasn’t anything different. My head had a leftover pulse from the crying headache, and I didn’t open my puffy eyes, swollen after a night of rest. I remained motionless under the covers, basking in the warmth of a dreamless sleep and the comfort of the sheets for a moment longer. Just a moment.
And it truly was only a moment, because as I laid there, awareness slowly playing peekaboo, I realized I was more than warm. I washot, like someone had slid a furnace underneath my covers during the night. Like I was lying beside the sun.
Like I was lying beside a person.
My eyes flew open and found Reed Manning’s face probably six inches from my own, his dark lashes fanning across the tops of his cheekbones, breathing evenly through his nose. Asleep.
I froze. I was underneath his heavy duvet cover, but he was lying on top of it, a thin tie-blanket covering his lower half. We both shared one of his extra-long pillows, and his arm was thrown around my waist, holding me in place.
The window beyond his bed let the sunshine in, hinting that it was not, in fact, nighttime. Confirming that Ihadfallen asleep in his bed. In his arms.
There was panic, for sure, but as I stared at him, something in me quieted. The pain and betrayal from last night felt numb now, distant, and listening to Reed’s soft inhales and exhales only seemed to lull me further. Each breath in said “it’s all okay” and each exhale out said “don’t worry.”
You’re not alone, he’d said last night, pressing me to him. Now that the tears and crushing weight of emotion had subsided, the words took on a whole new meaning, basking over me like a ray of sunshine.I’m right here with you.
I reached out and eased a thin lock of his golden hair behind his ear, one of the few longer pieces, careful not to touch his skin though my finger desperately wanted to. My mind, sluggish with sleep, put up warning sign after warning sign, but I still basked in it. Just for one more moment.
There was no point in listing the reasons dating Reed was not a good idea, but in this moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’s ever done this before. Woken up with someone else in his arms. That thought was what had me pulling away.
As gingerly as I could, I drew Reed’s arm off of my waist, laying it in the space between us.Don’t wake up, I thought to him desperately.Please do not wake up. I couldn’t even imagine what kind of conversationthatwould be. Even though I wanted to see those brown eyes, I was too terrified of what emotion might be turning over inside them when he realized we’d both fallen asleep. And besides, this was daytime Reed now—he could very well kick me out of his bed. It was better that I sneak out on my own.
The cool air swept across me as I emerged from the roasting blankets, and in my wrinkled pajamas, I padded my way to his closed bedroom door. One last glance proved that he was still asleep, blissfully unaware, perfectly at peace. Thank God.
Without wasting another second, I cracked his door open and escaped into the hallway.
And came face-to-face with Mrs. Manning.
Her hazel eyes widened at the sight of me, and I watched her absorb everything at once. Me, Ava Jenson, emerging from her son’s bedroom in the wee hours of the morning. Hair rumpled. Dressed in my pajamas. My wrinkled pajamas.
“Good morning,” she said, as if the situation necessitated a nonchalant greeting. As if I wasn’t about to pass out at her feet. “Um—is Reed in there?”
