Page 36 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

“Because I needhelp. Because I need to moveforward.”

“Darius.” My fingers curl into his skin, not painfully, but grounding him, keeping him with me. I don’t want him to go back there right now. “No. You are enough, just as you. You’re not some shattered thing that needs reassembling. You’re you, and the you that I’m looking at now is beautiful. You’re magnificent, and you’re kind. Your heart is the most perfect, sweet, and innocent heart I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I didn’t mean you had to move forward. Move in whatever way you want. Maybe even backward because that would probably be more helpful since that’s where it all started. But if you don’t want to go in any direction, then fuck it. Just like the car this morning. Fuck. It. Fuck forcing yourself, fuck getting in, fuck the pain and the panic and all that shit. It’s okay to be exactly the way you are right now if you’re okay with that. Who cares what the world wants and thinks? I can see under your skin, and maybe you don’t like that. Maybe you do. Either way, I’m here. I’mhere, and you’re way the hell more than enough. You are like the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“Sloppy and layered on too thick?”

A dark laugh wants to burst out of me, but instead, a small giggle leaks out. “No, not sloppy. No way, though those are the best kind. And the peanut butter being layered on too thick is awesome. The jam, though, that part needs to be contained a little. You’re the perfect amount of both. On really delicious fresh bread.” I stroke my fingertips over the scars that are still mostly too dark to see, but I can feel all of them as I keep going. He lets me trace the pattern of past pains, hurts, and hopes. “You don’t have to be normal. Fuck normal. Normal never made for a very good sandwich anyway. And you know what? Driving is overrated. Walking is way healthier.”

“I was just being a dick,” he groans. “Maybe ‘fix’ is the wrong word, but fuck me, I’d like to make some adjustments to some things.” A long, still silence before he adds, “We let it happen.”

Acid creeps up my throat as my stomach spins. “What do you mean?”

He catches my hand in his and guides it to his heart. “I don’t know.” But I know he does. His eyes burn through the darkness. “Are you okay? You’re dealing with a lot of shit too.”

“I don’t know. I never really talk about it, either. But maybe we can talk to each other. Swap shit for shit and pain for pain.”

“That’s quite depressing.”

“Maybe we can just swap late-night sandwiches, funny stories, happy memories, and all that instead.”

“I’d like that,” he replies.

“I’d like that too.” I’m still sitting here, holding my hand over Darius’ heart. It’s beating regularly now, not fast or panicked. “I’m exhausted,” I admit, feeling how heavy my eyes are. I barely stifle a yawn, and biting down on it makes my eyes water.

“Me too.”

I get up and reluctantly pull my hands away, missing the warmth and closeness immediately. Normally, I’d think it’s dangerous to feel like that. I’d need to warn myself off and worry about getting too close, about wrecking things. Well, normally, but not tonight.

I pull back the covers, smoothing the sheets below and working them out of their twisted mess. I brush my hand over the bottom one, feeling to see if it’s damp because Darius was sweating and might have soaked through the sheets. But they’re dry, smooth, and cold to the touch.

“Here.” I motion to the bed. “Get in.”

He looks absolutely doubtful. “Are you going to tuck me in?”

“I am. I’m going to tuck you in and stay until you’re asleep, and then I’m going to get Hans, and he’s going to sit in that chairover there while you’re out. He’s probably going to turn on the lamp and read something in another language and pretend like he’s all super annoying and uncaring, but really, I can tell how much he cares. Even if he is genuinely reading something, he’s going to watch you like a hawk.”

Darius actually snorts, but he doesn’t resist my efforts to make him comfortable. He slides his legs into bed and lets me smooth the sheets around his massive form. My god, I’d like to get in there with him. I ache so badly to crawl beneath those sheets and just set my head on his chest and wrap my arms around him.

Darius turns on his side and nestles into the pillows. In a few minutes, his breathing evens out. I stay for fifteen or twenty minutes longer, not touching him but just watching the blankets rustle slightly as he breathes in deeply. Just being close.

It’s too intimate, but I don’t care tonight. I don’t care that it’s too much too soon, and it’s always going to be too much because nothing about this screams contract, and one day, this is going to end, and this isn’t the friend zone. Well, in a way, I guess it’s kind of the friend zone. I would definitely do this for my friends if I still had any close friends left, which I really don’t because I’ve spent years of my life working my ass off to survive.

A few minutes later, I go and get Hans, who is hovering around in the hallway. “He’s okay,” I tell him. “We talked. I think we need to talk more, but not right now. He’s sleeping, and I told him you would be all creepy and sit in the room and watch him sleep.”

“And he didn’t fight you on that?”

“Nope.” I can’t stop a small smile from appearing. “No, I think, secretly, he’s okay with that. You’re like a really creepy, annoying, and way too muscular older brother.”

Hans eyes me up. Tonight, in the light from the hallway, I can see the relief in his eyes. Aww, this big hulking guy who pretends he’s a brute and also pretends, annoyingly enough, not to speakEnglish whenever it’s most maddening or when it suits him has a huge heart under that rough exterior. He won’t let anything happen to Darius.

And that is comforting as fuck.

“You’re okay,” he tells me like he’s surprised. “Considering his asshat brother chose you, I have to say I’m shocked.”

I roll my eyes and roll my shoulders back, easing out the strain that settled in there years ago. “Yeah, me too.”

He walks into the room and closes the door so silently that it’s almost uncanny. I walk down the hall in my bare feet, sticking to the expensive runner that goes on and on forever—seriously, how long can a rug actually be because this one might set a record—until I reach the guest room door.

The bed in there is king-sized because all the beds in this house are apparently king-sized and large enough to fit a small army. My mom and Heather are both sound asleep, each on opposite ends, and the murder psycho cat of hot death is passed out at my sister’s feet, curled into a little cuddly black and white ball of not-so-hateful hate. I can’t believe it.

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