Page 44 of Knotted Laces

He grins, and fuck if I don’t want to kiss him. To taste that smile. To distract myself from the hurt. To…

Give in.

I can’t.

He chuckles, but doesn’t let me go, just tugs at a curl. “You know it’s true.”

I scowl.

He tugs another curl, his smile gentle, his voice soft. “Just like you know as well as I do that someone telling you the truth doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”

Any trace of amusement fades. “I’m really sorry about your injury.”

He touches the back of his knuckles to my cheek, silently acknowledging me. “And I’m really sorry about Tommy.”

“I keep hearing my mom’s voice in my head,” I admit. “The one who took great pleasure in telling me I wasn’t worth anything.”

“I keep thinking about the empty rooms in my house and how they won’t be filled with my kids.” He sighs. “And then I hear Coach telling me to pull my fucking weight.”

“Dammit,” I whisper.

“I know,” he mutters. “We’re a fucking pair, aren’t we?”

“I could really use that whisky now.”

He releases me then snags two mugs from the cabinet, picks up the bottle, and pours generously into both of them. “How about I do you one better? Whisky”—he passes over one of the cups—”andbattling some dragons and orcs?”

I groan softlyand start to peel open my lids.

Then immediately stop when my head all but screams in protest.

Whisky—far too much of it.

For a second, I just lay prone, eyes closed, waiting for the rolling wave of pain to chill the fuck out. When it eventually does, I move slower this time, slitting them open just the slightest bit.

Ugh.That’s not fun.

There’s barely any light in the room, but it still jabs at my eyeballs as I try to gain my bearings. There’s a ceiling above me, something soft—presumably a bed, if I’m using my superior deductive reasoning skills—below me. Ands there’s a faint glimmering of light, as though there’s a lamp on in another room.

I’m hot, I suddenly realize, and my back may be cushioned on something soft, but my side is pressed, crammed really, against something rock-solid.

Heat.Hard.

My eyes fly open again, and I ignore the jab of pain this time when I realize where I am and?—

WhoI’m with.

Cam’s arms are wrapped tightly around me, one beneath my shoulders, the other around my middle, one big, hot palm resting on my hip.

His breathing is slow and steady and ruffling the hair by my ear.

I struggle to keep my breathing steady, especially with every muscle in my body taut, every instinct telling me to get the fuck out.

Right now.

“Athena.”

For a second, I panic, thinking he’s awake, thinking he’s found me here in his bed, and?—

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