Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

“Where’s your room?” Frankie says, finally.

“This way.” My hand shakes as I point to the door to the right of the living room. This house is so small there isn’t even a hallway, just three doors leading to my room, my mom’s, and the single bathroom. The kitchen is tiny, barely larger than one you’d find in long-term hotel suites.

Frankie waits for me to open the door, but then before I can open my mouth to offer her something to drink, she kicks off her shoes and flops down on my bed. Her eyes flutter closed a moment later.

“Tired?” I ask, standing awkwardly at the edge of the bed.

There’s no room to move around in here, but I don’t want to be presumptuous and climb on the bed with her, no matter how much it heats my blood to see her so relaxed in my space.

“Mmm,” she responds, her jaw going slack as she melts into my comforter.

Within seconds, her entire body relaxes and her breathing evens out.

Keeping the reminder that she kissed me back as recently as this morning, I kick my boots off and climb in beside her. The softness of my mattress makes her roll slightly in my direction when I fully settle in, so I use the opportunity to pull her against my chest, much the same way I did in the barn that night.

She doesn’t budge or try to wiggle away. Her breath doesn’t even hitch. She’s out like a light, and I enjoy every second of her against me as she sleeps. It leaves me so relaxed, my eyes drift closed as the exhaustion from the last couple of days settles into my bones.

Even in sleep, I feel the second she wakes up, but she doesn’t give me too long to pretend this is exactly where we both should be. Frankie pushes against my chest, sliding back on the bed until not an inch of our bodies are touching. I miss her weight, the warmth of her body, and the way her slow breaths tickle my neck the instant she’s gone.

Even though I’m terrified of what she’ll say in return, I turn to my side to face her, opening my mouth with my confessions the second her eyes land on mine.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for saying mean things. Sorry for the way I treated you in Utah, the way I treated you when I showed up here. I’m just…” I release a long breath, trying to swallow around the lump forming in my throat. “I’m just sorry. For everything.”

She doesn’t speak, and I can’t tell if the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes are a good thing or if she’s about to rip my world apart.

“I want you,” I continue when she doesn’t speak. My heart is pounding against my rib cage because I know what comes next. I know how vulnerable it makes me, and the knowledge that she can reject me makes me want to snap my mouth closed, but I can’t. I can’t let her leave without knowing it all. “I love you. I love our baby.”

Her slow blink pushes the tears from her lashes, and I watch as they trail down her nose, dripping onto my sheets. She doesn’t speak, and I take mild comfort in the fact that even though she isn’t saying she loves me back, she also isn’t telling me to go to Hell.

“What does this mean for us?” I ask after a long torturous moment of silence.

“There is no us,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and filled with emotion she doesn’t seem to want to share right now.

It guts me. It literally flays me open to hear her say those words, but I knew getting her to trust me, to love me was going to be a long, hard fought battle. I hurt her too many times to expect her to just smile up at me and say those three words right back. Pride fills in the small corners of my broken heart at her resilience. She wouldn’t be the woman I’ve grown to care so much about if she just rolled over and gave me exactly what I wanted.

I turn over on my back when she looks away from me because confessing everything while looking at her leaves me too exposed to get it all out. She doesn’t pull away when my fingers find hers in the space she’s put between us.

“Mrs. Jacobson talked about you for weeks before your arrival. She was so excited for me to meet her only granddaughter. I could see how much she loved you from that very first conversation, but somehow her excitement transformed into her hinting that we’d be a perfect match. Then my dad got on board, and one mention of Frances Young’s impending visit to my mother, and they were relentless about you. According to both of my parents, you were the perfect match for me. As they were counting down the days until you showed up, I began dreading them.”