“You going to leave me hanging?” her slightly slurred voice greets me.
I look down at her. Her hair is crazy wild, almost like it is after I’ve made love to her. Reaching out, I smooth it back out of her face. “Never,” I say, and her hazel eyes, although a little glassy, soften at my confession.
“Dance with me, Adams.” She laces her fingers through mine and pulls me to the middle of the dining room floor, joining our friends.
I make a big deal about it, like she’s forcing me to go. We both know better. I’d follow her anywhere. Her knowing grin when I tug her impossibly close tells me exactly that.
I don’t know how much time passes. Could be minutes, could be hours. All I know is that her tight little body is pressed against mine, my hands are resting on the curve of her ass, and her head is on my chest, over my heart.
“We’re going to call it a night,” Tyler says. Glancing over, I catch Reagan covering a yawn.
“The boys were up at six this morning,” she says in explanation.
“My house is your house,” I tell them.
“Us too,” Ridge says, and Kendall looks about as tired as Reagan.
“Can that be me three?” Amelia asks, raising her hand. “I feel old.” She laughs.
“Right? Run after twin boys who are getting into everything,” Reagan tells her.
“Mom life.” Kendall holds her hand out for Dawn and they high-five.
“Everyone’s staying, right?” I ask.
“Which one of you is letting me share your mattress?” Amelia asks.
“Take your pick,” Kent says.
“Whose is closer?” she asks.
“Mine. First door on the left,” Seth tells her.
“Thanks.” She stands on tiptoes and kisses his cheek.
“She kicks,” Kent taunts Seth.
“Hey.” Amelia places her hand on her hip. “That tent was the size of a toddler bed and the seven of us were sleeping in it.”
“Oh my God, it was so damn tiny,” Kendall chimes in.
“We were kids,” Seth counters.
“Y’all were what, twelve and thirteen? You were huge even then,” Amelia says. Then she points to me. “You were like six-foot tall.”
“Not quite.” I chuckle.
“Whatever, I don’t kick.” She sticks her tongue out at us and heads down the hall, a little unsteady on her feet.
“What about you, baby? You ready for bed?”
She peers up at me. “Yes. That bed is calling my name.”
“Make yourselves at home,” I tell our friends, and with my hand on the small of her back, I lead Dawn to the opposite side of the house to my room. She grabs one of my T-shirts to sleep in and disappears behind the bathroom door. I empty out my pockets on the nightstand, and lie back on the bed.
“Tired?” Her soft voice greets me.
Peeling open my eyes, I see her standing by the bed. Her hair is pulled up in a knot on top of her head, and her face is scrubbed free of makeup. “You’re beautiful.”
A blush coats her cheeks. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m buzzed,” I counter.
“You ready for bed?” she asks, shaking her head.
“Yeah, I gotta piss.” I hold out my hand and she takes it, helping me off the bed. I place a kiss on her temple and head to the bathroom to take care of business. I strip out of my clothes and toss them in the hamper, staying in just my boxer briefs. If we didn’t have guests, I’d go for bare. My cock hardens at the thought of her skin against mine and nothing between us. Fuck, being the host sucks sometimes. However, I’m glad to know everyone is here safe and sound. Turning off the light, I walk out of the bathroom.
Dawn is standing with her back to me, but her shoulders are shaking. I’ve seen the sight of that more times than I care to admit over the past couple of months. My feet carry me to her. Gently, I rest a hand on her shoulder. “Dawn.”
Wet eyes peer up at me. “I was plugging in your phone,” she says, holding it up.
“Okay?” I say cautiously. I don’t know what about her plugging in my phone would upset her. There is no one but her in my life.
“The screen lit up,” she explains.
Fuck, did some chick text me? Surely not. It’s been just her for far longer than we’ve been admitting there was something between us.
“I wasn’t looking. I mean, I wasn’t snooping.” She hands me my phone.
“Dawn.” I cup her face with one hand while the other holds my phone, afraid to look. Softly, I wipe under her eyes with my thumb.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice breaking.
Pressing the home screen button on my phone, I see a text message from my mom.
Mom: Happy New Year from Dad and me. We love you.
Fuck. At this point, I’m wishing it would have been some random drunk text from a girl from my past. Tossing my phone on the bed, I wrap my arms around her. I don’t know what else to do or what to say in this moment. She misses them, of course she does. Sure, it will get easier with time, but she doesn’t want or need to hear that. I debate on going to get Kendall but quickly dismiss the idea. I want to be the one she leans on.
“I can’t keep falling apart like this,” she cries into my chest.
“Yes, you can.”
“No.” Her voice is stern. “I have to live. I can’t walk around crying all the damn time.”
“Look at me.” I place my finger under her chin and lift so her eyes connect with mine. “You’re grieving. You lost both of your parents in a tragic accident. There is no time limit on your healing.”
“W-What if I never heal?” she whimpers, her voice soft.
“You will.” I say the words with conviction. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it happens. She just needs time.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know that you’re strong and that you’re a fighter. I know that your heart is broken, and it needs time to accept the loss.”
“I don’t want to accept it.”
“I know, baby, but you have to. If I could bring them back to you, I would.” I mean every word. I would give anything within my power to not see her hurting like this.
“I miss them so much.” Her voice is faint, but I still hear her.
“Climb in bed,” I say, stepping back. She does as I ask. I quickly turn off the light and slide in next to her. “Come here,” I say into the darkness. She wastes no time curling up next to me and burying her face in my chest. “I’ve got you.” I feel her body shake as her sadness breaks loose from her chest. “I’m right here,” I promise. This is not how I saw this night ending, but she’s in my arms all the same. That’s all that matters. She needs this. She needs to let herself mourn her family, because she lost her sister that night as well. I can’t ever imagine a scenario where she would willingly let her sister back into her life after what she did.
“I’m sorry.” Her soft cries are muffled against my chest. She wipes at her tears, and I rub my hand down her back.
“Never be sorry for missing them. Never be sorry for feeling your loss, your pain. Never be afraid to fall apart with me.”
“You’re going to get sick of this,” she says.
“Never. I’m going to be here, no matter what.”
“I’m tired of falling apart.”
“Don’t be. No matter how far you fall, I’m going to be right here to help you pick up the pieces.” My confession only makes her cry harder. I tighten my hold on her and let her cry. That’s all I can do. Be here. Hold her. Love her. One day, I’ll tell her. But right now, when she’s grieving, when I’m trying to comfort her, it’s not the time to tell her. She’ll always wonder if I truly meant the words, or if they were simply to make her feel better. To make her feel less alone.
I mean them.
Which is why I’m going to wait.
I lie awake for hours and hold her, my buzz long since gone. She’s no longer crying, and sleeps peacefully against my chest, but I can’
t seem to do the same. I’ve never felt for someone the way I do her. I’ve never cared enough for a woman to feel her pain deep in the pit of my soul. It breaks me to see her like she was earlier tonight, but at the same time, I know she needs to be able to release her sadness and her anger, and every other emotion she’s going to walk through as she heals. She mumbles something I can’t understand, and I wrap my arm a little tighter, holding her just a little closer. She sighs as if that’s all it takes to make things right in her world, and my chest expands.
Love.
I’ll do everything in my power to love her through this.