Page 47 of Sixty Days Of Summer

As I try to zone out, I feel a hand on my arm—her touch unmistakable. I snap my eyes open and meet the worry in her gaze. My eyes roam over her face, taking in every detail before settling on her lips. Without a second thought, I grab her face and pull her in, slamming my lips against hers. The kiss is raw, desperate, and intense. She meets my urgency with equal fire, and I feel it burning through me.

I’ve never felt this intense desire for anyone before, and at this moment, I crave her more than ever. Amid the chaos in my head, I long for her to calm me and help me find my breath. I don’t care about it being right or wrong. I just need her light to push back the darkness threatening to consume me.

“I fucking want you,” I whisper against her lips. “I fucking need you.”

She nods, and then gently intertwines her fingers with mine. Without a word, she guides me down the hall. We head straight out of the studio and towards the town car parked in the lot. Everything’s a blur, but I’m focused on one thing and one thing only—her.

Chapter 16

Scarlet

As I lead Ace to my hotel room, I can’t get over what just happened during the interview. After years of navigating Theo’s demons, I’ve learned to recognize when someone’s hiding more than they’re willing to show. I saw it in Ace today—the raw pain in his eyes, the way he flinched at those prying questions. Those wounds run deep, and for that jerk to drag them out just for the sake of ratings felt beyond cruel.

I feel for Ace deeply, and with each passing day, I know I’m falling more in love with him. All I want is to take away his pain. But I can see he doesn’t need sex to fix things, even if he thinks it’s the answer. What he really needs is something moremeaningful—something he might not even realize yet. It’s the same with Theo, who always thinks that the solution is sex when, in reality, it’s anything but.

As soon as I open my hotel room door, I grab his hand and pull him inside. He looks broken—a stark contrast to the lively Ace I know, the one who’d chase after anything on two legs just to get his fix. It’s like something inside him has shut down, leaving behind a shell of the man he usually is. The spark that once lit up his eyes has faded, and that confident swagger, the armor he’s built around himself, is completely gone.

I toss my bag aside and lead him over to the bed. He releases my hand and pulls his shirt over his head. My breath catches as I take in the stunning ink that stretches across his chest and abs. He’s beautiful in every sense of the word. It takes everything in me to not reach out and touch him. But I remind myself of the promise I made—not to let myself be his plaything again. Besides, after tonight, things will probably go back to how they were—just another person to fuck and forget.

When he goes to unbutton his jeans, I stop him before things escalate any further. “Ace,” I say, my voice firm. “We’re not having sex.”

He looks up at me, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. I make my way to the bed, kneel on it and extend my arm towards him. “Come lay with me,” I beckon gently.

As he steps closer, I shift to the middle of the bed, maintaining steady eye contact. If I could read his mind right now, I’m sure he would be wondering what the hell I’m doing. “Lay down,” I say gently.

“Why would I lay down if we’re not gonna fuck? Jesus, Scar, why the hell did you bring me in here?” His voice is desperate, like he’s clinging to the only way he knows to keep the demons at bay, to feel some semblance of control.

“Just humor me, Ace,” I say, my tone gentle but firm.

He shoots me a glare before sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers threading through his hair. The tension in his expression is unmistakable—the battle raging inside him, torn between staying and bolting out the door.

I lean forward, pressing my chest against his back and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I place a soft kiss on his shoulder, and I feel him tense beneath my touch. His head turns, eyes searching mine. “Just lay down with me, Ace. Please.”

He lets out a long sigh and kicks off his shoes. I move back across the bed, as he lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling as if trying to figure out why he’s here. I lay down beside him, turning my back to him before reaching for his hand. With a gentle touch, I guide it around my waist, adjusting his position so that he’s spooning me. His body is tense, uncertain, and clearly not used to this kind of closeness. I press myself against him, feeling the warmth of his chest against my back. Despite the tension between us, it’s comforting. I can sense his mind racing, but I hold on to the hope that this simple act of intimacy might offer him a moment of peace, a brief escape from the chaos swirling in his head.

I push aside the distraction of his bare chest and concentrate on what I can give him—something real: a gentle touch, warmth, and comfort. Fucking away his feelings won’t help him escape his pain; he needs to feel human, grounded, and safe, even if it’s just for a little while.

After what feels like an eternity, doubt starts to creep in. But then, I notice it—his breathing shifts, slowing down, becoming more even. His arm tightens around my waist, and I feel the faint brush of his face against my neck.

Slowly, his body begins to relax, the tension melting away bit by bit. I’ve seen Theo find this kind of solace with Nate countless times before, and I can only hope Ace is finding that same peacenow, drawing comfort from our closeness in a way that words or actions couldn’t offer.

Once he’s finally calm and relaxed, I ask the question that’s been eating at me since the interview.

“That thing Kit mentioned this morning—it was about your mother, wasn’t it?” I ask softly.

His body tenses up and I brace myself, expecting him to snap or shut down, to tell me to mind my own fucking business. Instead, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. I wait, hoping he’ll open up, but he stays silent, his grip on me tightening just a little, like he's holding on to me and his secrets at the same time.

“Did something happen, Ace? You can tell me, you know,” I say gently, trying to ease him into sharing more.

“Scar, I don’t want to talk about it,” he murmurs against my neck, his breath warm on my skin. He presses a soft kiss there, and a shiver runs through me, but I stay still, resisting the pull to respond. “This shit has fucked me up my whole life. You don’t need to know about it.”

Before I can say anything else, his phone rings, cutting through the stillness. He doesn’t even flinch. Rather than reaching for his phone, he leans in, seeking solace in the quiet comfort we've built, as if this moment with me holds more significance than anything waiting on the other end of that call.

I let it go, deciding not to question him any further. If he’s not ready to confront the wounds of his past, I won’t force him. Instead, I stay close, wrapped in his embrace, my heart quietly aching for what he’s going through. With each steady breath, the tension in his muscles melts away. Soon, his breath deepens into a soft, steady rhythm, and I know he’s finally drifted off to sleep, finding peace at last.

This man has no idea how deeply I care for him, how much it hurts to see him like this. But for now, my only goal is to give him what he needs—comfort, closeness, a safe place to fall apart if that’s what he needs. And as I lie here, cradled in his arms, I’m just grateful for the chance to be here for him, to be someone he can lean on, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.

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