Wrath (Sinful Secrets 4)

Maybe I should take a Xanax right now. Let it hit me in the early morning hours, and we’ll both sleep.

I open the drawer and peer down at the pile of them. Part of me doesn’t want to take one. I have this desire to be totally present now that he’s here. I blow a breath out, running my fingertips over the pills.

The bathroom door opens, and I jump a mile. Ezra looks as shocked as I do—wide-eyed, with his mussed hair hanging over his brows. He frowns at me. Then he frowns down at the drawer. I can see the moment that he realizes. His eyes widen fractionally more and his face takes on a just-slapped sort of look. His eyes come to mine.

“Josh?” His brows bend in confusion.

“Yes?” My heart is racing; I can feel it pound behind my sore eyes.

His mouth does this…thing. A nervous thing. Another frown at the drawer, and then he looks at me. “Are you okay?”

Of all the things he could have asked. It makes my eyes throb with fresh tears.

I can’t speak, can’t even swallow. He steps toward me. He stops short of hugging me, but we’re chest to chest. His head tilts a little, and he’s looking at my face—really looking.

“I can’t read you as well as you read me.” His voice is low and rough from sleep. His brows bunch up again, and then his finger comes to my eye, brushing lightly underneath.

“Have you been crying, Josh?”

He looks pained at the prospect. I close my eyes, suck a breath in. I put a hand over my face, so if a tear leaks out, he won’t see it.

Then his arms are wrapping around me. He hugs me tight and rests his face against my shoulder. “Hey, Josh Miller. It’s okay.” His hand rubs a circle on my back. I wrap my arms around him, too, because he’s Ezra and he feels so fucking good against me. Then we’re standing in my bathroom locked together. I lean back against the counter, and I feel his lips brush my throat.

“Talk to me. Please.” He hugs tighter. “I can listen, and I’d never judge you. You can trust me.” He leans back a little, looking up at my face. “We both want the rise of Miller.” He gives me this soft and goofy little smile that melts my heart. And makes my eyes ache again.

“What’s got you crying, Millsy?”

I shut my eyes. Shake my head.

“You want me to let go?” His voice is husky.

I shake my head again. He hugs me tighter. Then he shifts his grip on my back, and I’m surprised as he lifts me up, tossing me partway over his shoulder and carrying me to my bed.

He lays me out as carefully as he can. Then he smiles down at me—gently, maybe sadly. “My Miller,” he whispers. “Is that okay?” His face sobers, and he looks worried. “Is this too much? Too soon?”

I shake my head. A choked laugh comes from my throat. “You’re a year late, angel.”

He crawls over me, straddling my hips, and he smooths my hair back off my forehead. “You’re so perfect, Miller.” He strokes my hair. “I don’t like to see you upset. If you’re sad, I wanna make you happy.”

His face is so soft. “What makes Miller happy?”

I blink up at him, tears blurring his face. You do. I don’t say it. I rasp, “What time is it?”

He looks around, and then he stretches to grab his phone from my nightstand. I watch, admiring the view as he looks down at it. “Fuck, it’s 1:14 in the morning. I guess I crashed. Or we did?” His brows rumple.

“Both of us. I got up a little earlier and—” I shake my head, purse my lips.

“What?” He’s leaning over me on both arms, looking so damn perfect that it makes my chest clench.

I shake my head and look away from him. “Just thinking.”

“Do you wanna tell me?”

I can’t help smiling at the way he asks. “I don’t want to.” I laugh. “But I will.”

“Why will you?” He asks it slowly. When I look up, he’s thoughtful. Maybe a little nervous.

“I’ll tell you because you’re Ezra and I’m Josh. Like peanut butter and jelly. Or…I don’t know—popcorn and butter.”

“Go on.” He smirks, and it takes this pressure off my chest to see it.

“Waffles and syrup. Eggs and bacon?”

“Fuck.” He shakes his head. “Making me hungry.”

“Are you?”

He nods. "I didn’t eat after the game. Wanted to try to find you.” He frowns down at me. “You have a headache?”

“Sort of. Why?”

His hand strokes through my hair again. “Your eyes seem like that.”

“Puffy and tired?”

“I guess so.” His eyes flicker up, away from my face, and then drop back down to meet mine again. “Is this okay?” His shoulders tighten and he rocks back slightly, so he’s on his haunches, still straddling me. “Is this how we were?”