Unwrapping the Best Man

‘Okay, so long as you’re sure... I can stick around if you want.’

‘No, I’m plenty capable of nursing her back to health.’

She gives a soft laugh as she walks to the door. ‘Nurse Jackson. Suits you, boss.’

‘Very funny, Pippa. Goodnight.’

She grins. ‘G’night.’

She lets herself out and I look to the master bedroom, to the door which she has left ajar, and take a breath.

On the upside, having Caitlin here gives me the chance to apologise. Not now, but in the morning. I didn’t fancy my chances when she was merry downstairs, though I fancy my chances even less with her waking up in my bed sporting a hangover from hell.

I should have let Coco take her home.

And then you’d be running from your mistakes all over again. You owe her more than that.

I find a bowl and take it into the bedroom, my feet slow as I near, careful not to make a sound. And though I know she’s in my bed, in my shirt even, nothing prepares me for the sight of her. She’s heaven and hell in one.

Pippa has left a bedside lamp on low and Cait is turned away from it, her body curled up and facing me. Her hair is swept back from her face, the auburn strands bright against the deep grey of my pillow, her tender lips parted as she breathes softly. Her make-up has been cleaned away and only traces of it exist around her eyes, making them appear darker, more tired, strained, and I blame myself for it.

Blame myself for it all.

I want to stroke her cheek, comb my fingers through her hair, tell her I’m sorry. I want to lie down next to her, offer comfort, support, whatever she may need. I could lose myself in the very idea of it. Fool myself into believing this is the norm—Cait in my bed, a life together. It would be so easy to believe in the fantasy of it. Only I won’t.

I dared to believe in a life like that once and was disabused of it, literally laughed out of it even.

I hunch down to place the bowl on top of the towel Pippa’s already laid out and allow myself a second to listen to the gentle rhythm of her breathing.

‘I’m sorry, Cait.’ I say it quietly as I stand, but it’s loud in the silence of the room and her eyelids flicker as they open.

‘Jackson?’ she murmurs.

I crouch back down. ‘Yes.’

‘Lie with me.’

I’m quiet. I want to, but it doesn’t feel right, not when there’s so much left unsaid.

‘Please.’

Her gentle plea breaks me and I climb in behind her, on top of the covers as I spoon her. She reaches for my arm and pulls it across her with all the grace of an elephant and my lips twitch against her hair.

‘Jackson?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who is she?’

I go very still. I know who she means, but I don’t want to talk about her, least of all with Cait, and least of all now.

‘Who was the blonde?’

I close my eyes and empty my head. ‘No one.’

‘Don’t lie to me.’

She turns, forcing my head to lift as she blinks up at me. Her eyes are damp, her hair sticking to her cheeks, and I tell myself it’s the booze, but I know deep down it’s not.