Page 20 of I Do With You

Eventually, I’m all cried out but I’m too weak to move, and Ben seems to know that, keeping me tucked in against him, supporting me as I sniffle. I feel melted into him, like we’ve melded through our clothes into one blobby, boneless jumble of a being.

“Sorry,” I tell him, forgetting that I’m not supposed to say that.

He chuckles lowly, seeming to read my mind, his chest vibrating beneath my cheek. “Probably warranted this time since you got snot on my shirt.”

“Oh!” I try to pull away, but he keeps a tight hold on me with his long, strong arms, not letting me move.

“It’s fine, Hope. Just breathe.”

I try to, I swear. But me and oxygen aren’t friends right now, and I’m hiccuping as I try to get air into my lungs. This must be what drowning feels like. I’m suffocating in my panic.

“Tell me three things you hear.”

“What?” I ask, confused by the simple demand.

“Three things you hear. It’s a trick I use when I get nervous,” he shares.

I can’t imagine him ever being nervous. He’s taken everything in stride, steady and sure no matter what I keep throwing at him or getting him involved in.

“Um, the kids outside,” I say, listening carefully. “The refrigerator. And ... your heartbeat.” That last one is the loudest thing I hear but the hardest to say, feeling more intimate than it should be.

“Good,” he praises me. “Two things you smell.”

“French fries. Sandalwood.”

“Yes. Lunch and my cologne,” he says. “One thing you see. Focus on one thing.”

I have to pry my eyes open because they’re gritty and puffy from all the tears. I can’t lift my head to look at Ben, feeling gross and embarrassed from having another meltdown. “Black cotton.” It’s all I cansee when my eyes are locked on his chest, which is rising and falling slowly. I want to press my cheek back there again, taking comfort in the thrum of his heartbeat and ignoring the bonfire I just lit on my life by calling Roy.

But it needed to happen. He deserves that. I do too.

“Good girl.” He lifts my chin with his finger, forcing my eyes up to his. I expect to see pity there, sorrow for the lost girl who doesn’t know what she wants or who she is, but what I find is approval. “You are so fucking strong. That was hard as hell, yet you did it. You should be proud of yourself.”

Stunned, I don’t know what to say. But I think the warm spot blooming in my chest might be a bit of pride. I won’t discuss the heat that’s lower in my belly from Ben calling me agood girland looking at me like that, because I’m not one of those girls who jumps from one guy to another, too scared to be alone. Nope, alone is exactly what I want to be.

Chapter 8

BEN

“Hope, wake up.”

Rousing Sleeping Beauty from her slumber would be easier than waking up Hope. This is seriously a woman who, when she hits the hay, that’s it. Lights out, show’s over, no encores. She turns over, grumbling about five more minutes, which I would give her except the clock’s ticking away the seconds. I’ve been up for a while now—already gotten dressed, run out for doughnuts, and double-checked that the car’s packed for the day.

“Wake up!”I shout-slash-screech, letting a little bit of my trademark growl into it.

Hope shoots straight up in bed, wearing a nightgown of her own this time. It’s a slinky, silky white number I’m sure was intended to be worn on her honeymoon, but as gorgeous as she looks in it, I think I preferred her in the Midnight Destruction T-shirt.

“Ahhh!”she shrieks in a tone that would be very recordable for a good thrash track, her eyes flying open and her hair flying up wildly. She’s adorably messy in the mornings, like she’s been fighting to sleep all night, but I know firsthand that she passes the fuck out and sleeps like the dead once she succumbs, not remembering full conversations.

“Good morning, beautiful. You’ve got ten minutes and we’re out the door.”

“Huh?” she sputters, likely not processing anything I said.

“Ten minutes,” I repeat, sticking to the important part now that she’s somewhat conscious.

“For what?”

I don’t answer, just close the door and wait for curiosity to get her moving. It works, because a few minutes later, she pads down the hall. “Where are we going? Am I dressed okay?” She holds her arms out to the side, letting me take a long look. What I see is much, much more than “okay.” She’s captivating and intriguing.

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