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Cheeks hot, I pull back to look at him, liking the way he lets me move, but not too much, keeping his arms locked around me. His eyes are soft, but guarded.
I'm sure mine are too.
"It changed," I say. It's a question and a statement, and he seems to get that.
"Yeah, it did. I tried to keep my head on straight, but I failed. Big time."
"What do we do?" I whisper.
"What do you want to do?" He pauses, scowling. "Maybe the better question is what are you ready for?"
What am I ready for? It's a valid question, and a question that I don't have an answer to. "I don't know," I admit, dropping my eyes to his shoulders.
His breath escapes him in a long, slow hiss. His arms slide from around me, gripping my hips as he carefully moves me off of him. I settle on the side of the bed, unconsciously mirroring his position. I liked where I was. I wanted more of it. But he's right. We shouldn't be riding that line if we're both unclear about what we're doing.
"Stuff like this used to be simpler," I mutter, pressing my thighs together, lining up my feet so they're perfectly matched. "If I liked someone, I acted on it. My mind and my body were both on the same page."
"And now they're not?"
"No. My body feels like it's on board for anything. It's ready to pounce."
His hand, gripping the bed between us, turns white. "And your mind?" he asks, voice low and pained.
"Confused. Scared. Wanting. All the things, sometimes all at the same time." I rest my palms on my thighs and give him everything. "I think about you a lot. And those thoughts are good...really good. But when we're together, I spend a lot of time worrying about how everything could go wrong. And how this could go so, so bad. And it terrifies me."
"How this could go so so bad?" He pins me in place with the intensity of his gaze. "Or how I could?"
There it is. My fear laid bare. How well do I really know this man? Can I trust myself, can I trust my own judgment? "Tyler was smaller than you. A lot smaller, and he...nearly killed me."
His shoulders sag forward and his head droops, but he doesn't look away. "I would never hurt you, Carino."
I see it in his eyes. The pain my words caused. But I also see his promise.
Promises can be broken.
"In calm, quiet moments like this, I know that. I know it deep in my core. But then I'm reminded that I never thought Tyler would ever hurt me, either. And I was wrong. I was wrong about everything, and I don't trust myself anymore. I can't trust my own instincts."
He nods more to himself, and looks away. There's nearly no space between our thighs but between our minds and our hearts. It's an ocean of sadness and confusion. Where do we go from here? "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I wish I were different. Better, maybe."
Nicks hand, clutching the bed, loosens and curls into a fist between us. Unbidden, my hand rises to cover his. I'm craving a connection. I need it. Like he knows it, his hand rolls under mind and his palm is there, open to me. Our fingers link like we're of one mind and we both sit staring at the place where we're connected.
"We're both fucked up, Bree."
I squeeze his hand tighter. "Yeah, we are. You took on the weight of your grandmother's death. And I just feel...broken most of the time." He doesn't jump in with platitudes or try to convince me I'm wrong. Cara does that, and while I understand where she's coming from, it doesn't help. There's a desperation, a need underneath her words that are a heavy weight on my shoulders.
We sit silent, both feeling the truth of my words. He's starting to realize that he was an innocent kid, and he doesn't need to be taking on the weight of everyone's actions. He was an innocent, and what happened to him scarred him. But it was a long, long time ago. The pain of that day is somewhat dulled by the decades since.
My pain doesn't feel dull. My fear doesn't feel dull. It's a sharp knife pressed into my ribs.
His hand squeezes mine. "I need you in my life, Bree. I didn't think that would happen. The day we met, you were so hurt but so tough, I admired you. I wished you would get better, but you were Cara's sister, so I didn't let myself think about you too much. But spending the last couple of weeks getting to know you made it really fucking clear." He exhales and turns his upper body to face me. "I want you in my life. And if that means we're the best friends either of us ever had, then that's what this will be."
The wave of relief washing over me is evidence of how not ready I am for anything more, despite my raging hormones. "I can't talk to Cara about a lot of things. She is so wrapped up in her need to have me be better, that I don't feel like I can share anything but good stuff. And it's not all good stuff."
"No, it isn't," he murmurs, studying me. "So friends? You come to me when you need to talk about anything. Anything," he repeats, waiting for my nod to continue. "Whatever you're feeling, I can take it, Bree. Believe it."
"I do," I choke out, throat tight. "You've proven that."
He sighs and pulls my hand to his mouth, pressing a quick kiss on the back. "Crawl in there, woman. Pick a side, any side." He winks and lets me go, rising and moving into the bathroom. The door closes softly and I stare at the dark wood for a minute, wishing things could be different. Wishing I could be different.
