Page 174 of Offside Devil

All it would take is one phone call to Peter Morris and Aiden would be out of this house faster than Zane could kick another duffel bag across the room.

If I was a better person, I’d pack my stuff and leave without another word.

But I’m not a better person.

I’m in love with Zane Whitaker.

Which is why, when he sighs and drops his head, I don’t back away; I step closer.

“Don’t leave.” He sounds exhausted. “Aiden loves you and I don’t want you to disappear on him, but…”

His voice trails off, and I don’t want him to finish that sentence. It won’t end well for me.

“Aiden has been in his room all day. I gave him ibuprofen an hour ago, so he’ll need another dose at eleven tonight.” The tears I’ve been holding in all day are rolling down my cheeks. I ignore them. Maybe if I do, Zane won’t notice.

But of course he does.

He watches me back down the hallway with an unreadable expression on his face.

When I close the door to my bedroom, I don’t even delude myself into thinking Zane will come after me.

This thing between us is breaking apart in my hands. All I can do is make it worse.

69

MIRA

Everything is fine.

I wouldn’t be making breakfast for Aiden like it was any other day if things weren’t fine. Which means they must be fine.

As long as I don’t think about all the other dumpster fires raging around me, I can keep on believing they’ll stay fine.

I can’t think about the way Zane walked through the living room this morning, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, without even looking at me.

I can’t think about how long I stood in front of my bedroom door last night, begging myself to have the courage to walk across the hall and talk to him.

Every other man in your life has hurt you and disappointed you, but Zane isn’t those men, I told myself. He’ll take care of you.

My pep talk couldn’t override decades of hard-won experience, so I slouched back to bed and cried myself to sleep.

But I can’t think about that, either.

I swallow down the emotion clawing up my throat and pad down the hall to Aiden’s room. I want him to get as much rest as he can since he’s still sick, but it’s almost nine. He hasn’t slept this late in… ever, as far as I know.

I crack his door open and the air is stale. It’s what I imagine walking into a plague tent must feel like. I inch towards the little lump in the center of the bed, not wanting to wake him up if he needs his sleep.

He’s on his side, the blankets bunched around his shoulders. His mouth is open and there’s a little circle of drool on his pillowcase. But the sleepy mess of blonde hair on his head makes my chest ache.

He and Zane have the exact same head of hair. Whenever I see either of them, I have to fight the urge to run my fingers through it.

I reach out to gently brush his hair to the side, but as soon as my fingers make contact, I jerk my hand back.

He’s on fire.

I press the back of my hand to Aiden’s forehead and I swear I hear a sizzle. He is burning up.

I click on the small lamp next to his bed and his eyelids don’t even flutter. “Aiden?” I pull the blankets down. “Honey, can you hear me?”

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