Page 148 of Bad Blood

“I know.” But I am, and there’s no going back.

It takes a couple of seconds for Liam to ask, but I figured it would come out eventually. “Is she okay?”

I pull the phone from my ear and listen to the spray of the shower. “I don’t know.”

“Seeing the news took me back to that night, all the cops, finding Mom and Dad. That’s a lot for anyone. Make sure she’s okay.”

“I will,” I say before I hang up. I don’t want to get into it. I don’t want to think about it. But now that Liam mentioned it, it hits me like a ton of bricks. My reaction to the cop lights, the officers—everything last night—a flood of memories fills my mind.

And I want her to know all of it.

I go to the top stair, the sound of the shower still echoing from the bathroom. I glance around the corner, walk down the hall, and stop outside the door, watching. It’s only open a crack, but it’s enough.

The streaming water flows over Brighton’s crumpled form, fully dressed, head buried against her forearm as her body shakes.

I barge into the bathroom and yank open the steam-covered door as she lifts her head and lets out a heart-wrenching sob. I drop onto my hands and knees as I pull her into my arms. She burrows against my chest, her body trembling against me. Her tiny hands grab fistfuls of my soaked T-shirt as she buries her face against me.

“I got you,” I say as I wipe the sopping strands of hair from her face.

“Dax.” My name on her lips is a plea forced from circumstance, and I want to do everything I can to take her pain. But I don’t know how. She traces a finger along the droplets of water cascading down my neck and turns, climbing into my lap to face me. Her eyes search my face, falling to my mouth before they close, and she drops her forehead against mine.

Knowing what I’m about to do will set things into motion and that we won’t be able to come back from it only causes a moment of hesitation. But it’s long enough for the decision to be taken out of my hands.

Our eyes meet, and in that second, words become unnecessary. Brighton’s upper lip grazes against mine, soft and tentative at first. A question more than an answer. Her lips are warm and plush, and the world tilts, everything else fading away until there’s nothing but the two of us.

The tension between us over the past few weeks culminates in a rush of fumbling hands as her lips crash into mine in a frantic, almost desperate tangle—exploring, tasting, claiming. Her fingers thread through my hair, pulling me closer as she deepens the kiss, becoming more confident, more insistent.

She presses my back into the tile, each touch igniting sparks along my skin. She arches into me, and every one of my nerve endings alights with sensation. Her hands grip my shirt, pulling me closer as if trying to merge our bodies into one. Time seems to stretch and blur, the pressure of her mouth on mine igniting a spark that spreads through me like wildfire.

Her mouth stays on mine as if she is trying to pour every unspoken emotion, every hidden longing, into this single moment. It’s messy and imperfect, lips and teeth colliding in a rush, leaving me breathless and dizzy with need.

When she finally pulls away, her breaths are ragged, and the world around us slowly comes back into focus. Her lips are swollen, skin flushed. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, giving me a look of hunger and awe. The air around us crackles with strain as we sit there, caught in the aftershock of what we’ve done. Everything feels different as if that single kiss has forever altered the foundation of what we’re building.

I stand and pull her with me, sweeping her up into my arms. She pushes the shower lever off as I shove through the door and carry her down the hall, leaving puddles of water in our wake. I stop at the door to a room where an enormous bed dominates one wall, covered by a thick, white comforter and an assortment of neutral-colored pillows. I set her on the mattress and plop onto it next to her, all thoughts of spilling my guts to her replaced with the longing to taste her again.

She covers her eyes with her hand, her cheeks turning my favorite shade of red.

And.

It.

Is.

Everything.

“I need to change out of this.”

“I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll close my eyes,” I lie, not wanting to take my eyes off her.

She throws her legs over the side of the bed. “That is not an option.” She points toward the door. “Get a towel. You’re soaked.”

I lean onto my elbow and catch another glimpse of her before I turn my head, indicating I’m gonna look away. I stare at her nightstand and take inventory of her things. Book. Water. “I’m not looking.” ChapStick. Pen. Napkin.

I lean onto my elbow to confirm.

Grin.

Turn to face her.

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