For Her (The Girl I Loved Duet 1)

I don’t hate that thought as much as I should.

“I’m honestly not sure,” I say. “My bag got caught on the door and now I’m here. On the ground. My ankle…” I wince as I try to flex it and can’t. “Not in good shape.”

“Here, let me help you.” Peter crouches down and gently helps me into a sitting position.

It’s not easy, but I don’t even notice because Peter’s hands are on me. I’ve avoided that for the last three weeks but now that he’s touching me, it’s like something broke open, and even though I’m in pain, I want him to touch me more.

He leans down toward my ankle. “Can I look?”

“Yeah.”

Rolling up my pant leg so he can see it, he touches my skin gently. But even that’s too much and I hiss with the pain. “It’s swelling already,” he says. “You need to get this checked.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I say.

“Amber, you could have a fracture.”

I roll my eyes. “I think I would know if it were broken. An ace bandage and some ice and I’ll be good as new.”

“And if you’re not, I couldn’t live with myself, I’m taking you to the clinic.”

Old anger, harsh and immediate and spurred on by my pain flies up through my chest. “I thought we already figured out what happens when you decide what’s best for me in regards to my health.”

I wish I could take back the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth, but I can’t. We both freeze, and the concern that was in Peter’s face fades to coldness and resignation. He clears his throat. “I suppose we have. But I don’t think you can walk right now, and the only way I’m helping you up is if you let me take you to the ER or at least an urgent care.”

“I can call somebody else,” I say, but there’s no conviction behind it.

Peter turns to me, and suddenly his hands cup my face. “Amber, please,” he says, and he places his forehead against mine, just like he always used to. “Let me help you. Let me take care of you.”

I close my eyes, emotion welling up in place of the anger. And I have been angry for a long time. At him, at a lot of things. And the idea that someone wants to, is capable of, taking care of me hits me with a weight that I don’t expect. I’ve never felt the desire to let go so strongly as I do now.

There are two directions I can choose right now. I can tell Peter to leave, call my assistant, and whatever it is that’s still between us will stop right here. This will be the end of it. Or I can let him help me, let this thing grow, even though it could ruin us both.

I wish that I could say that I hadn’t already chosen.

“Okay,” I breathe.

His lips warm my temple, and I lean into the kiss, leaving my eyes closed. “Thank you,” he says.

“There’s an urgent care not far from here,” I tell him. “I can have my assistant send me the address.”

He chuckles, “I’m sure I can find it on my phone just as fast.” Then he slips his arm under my knees and lifts me off the ground like he’s lifting nothing but air. “Whoa.”

There’s another low laugh, but this time I’m pressed against his chest and I feel it vibrate through my skin. He’s so, so warm, and I find myself relaxing as he carries me to his car. He lowers me into the front seat and we’re face to face again. “Peter,” I say, and he looks at me. I’m flooded with memories of this. I’ll never forget his eyes, green and brown and flecks of gold. “I don’t know what this is.” I know I’m not being clear, but I’m hoping that he gets it. There’s too much to say.

“Neither do I,” he says.

8

Amber

Pride and Prejudice Opening Night

The sound of the auditorium filling always brings tingling nerves to the surface. I close my eyes and breathe, swallowing the nerves and embracing the excitement. It’s been a long couple of months, but I’m ready. Two weekends of shows, and then Christmas vacation. It will be perfect.

Especially since I know that I’ll spend a lot of Christmas vacation with Peter.

Speaking of Peter, I look across the stage. He’s pacing back and forth in the other wing, and I see him running his hands through his hair. He’s nervous. But then again, so was I the first time I did this.

I cross behind the curtain and grab his hand, pulling him into the deeper shadows by the fly rail. “Breathe,” I tell him.

“I’m going to throw up,” he says. “I can’t do this.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve done this perfectly every day this week. The only difference is that now there are people watching.”