When Stars Collide (Light in the Dark 2)

The words are on the tip of my tongue, to ask her if she’s okay again, to prod into her inner thoughts and figure out what the fuck she’s thinking so I can fix it, but I know I can’t, and I have to let her figure it out on her own. I can’t understand why she’s so against this, against us. We’re right together, we always have been, and we’ve always fought what we wanted because Cade would never approve. But fuck Cade, he has no right to tell us that we can’t be together—and believe me, he’s warned me away from his sister too many times to count—but I’m sick and tired of trying to feel something with someone else when I only want Thea. I can’t do it anymore. I hope she sees that soon, that we’re good together—but I think she knows, and maybe that’s what’s scaring her, the reality that this could really be our forever.

I rub my hands up her arms and she shivers at my touch. Her hazel eyes look golden from the illumination of the sun shining through the window.

I cup her cheek and lean my forehead against hers. I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. I just want her to know that I’m here.

After a moment, she steps out of my embrace. “Jaws,” she says softly after a moment. “I want to watch Jaws.”

I smile widely. “Our favorite.” She nods. “You go put it on and I’ll pop the popcorn.”

She smiles, and her eyes light up with humor. “Don’t add so much butter this time. You nearly made me sick the last time you made it.”

“The more butter, the more delicious,” I reason.

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling nevertheless. She disappears into the family room, and I shamelessly ogle her ass—she has a nice ass, okay?

I pop the popcorn and pour it into a large orange mixing bowl before adding the butter. I do use less than I did the last time but it’s probably still too much for Thea.

Thea already sits on the large, black leather couch, covered in her favorite flannel blanket. She hits play when I sit down and I lift the bowl so she can stretch her legs out in my lap. We watch a lot of movies and TV shows together—Netflix is our kryptonite—so we have our routine down. I set the popcorn bowl on her knees so we can each reach for it with ease.

I’m glad that she’s willing to do something normal with me—that she’s not locking herself in her room and thinking of a million and one reasons why this won’t work.

An ache builds in my chest. One full of worry.

What if I can’t convince her that this is real? What if in three months she still wants a divorce?

I swallow thickly and my eyes bounce to her where she lays on the couch.

I don’t want to lose her, but I also know I’ll never break my promise, because I’ll do anything to make that girl happy even if it kills me in the process.

I lie awake in the dark, my thoughts going round and round in a circle. I can feel panic rising in my chest like a suffocating wave. I know there’s no chance of sleep finding me when I’m like this.

I throw back the covers and shove my feet into my slippers, stalking from my room and downstairs.

I jolt when I get to the bottom of the stairs and turn into the family room.

Xander sits on the couch, reading a book by the glow of one low light.

He hears me and looks up. His dark hair is a wild mess around his head, like he’d been tossing and turning in his bed before coming down here to find solace like I’d planned to do.

“Hi,” I say softly.

He looks me up and down, noting my loose t-shirt, shorts, and ratty slippers.

“Nice slippers.”

I shake my head. “Hey, they’re cute,” I growl.

He chuckles. “They’re falling apart.”

This is true, but I refuse to part with the shark-shaped slippers—ones Xander got me for my sixteenth birthday. It might seem like a stupid gift to some, but I’d cherished the nod to our love of Jaws.

When I don’t say anything, he adds, “I’m glad you still have them, though.”

I look down at them, falling apart and barely held together, the shark on my left foot missing a tooth so that it has an awkward smile. “They’re my favorite.” I shrug. “I can’t abandon them.” He puts a bookmark in his book and closes it. “What are you reading?” I ask.

He chuckles. “The Great Gatsby.”

“Again?” I laugh and creep closer to him. “Haven’t you read that like a million times now?”