Page 47 of The Grief We Hold

Maybe those autonomous actions are the truth.

“Let me go get that shower.” He stands and goes to his dresser. He rummages in the drawer for a second, then pulls out a long-sleeve Henley. “Here. Put this on. It’s gonna be uncomfortable sleeping in those jeans.”

I watch as he tugs his hair up into a messy bun on top of his head before grabbing some pajamas from the drawer. Plaid pants and a T-shirt.

He doesn’t look back at me as he disappears into the bathroom.

I wait until I hear the whoosh of water before getting to my feet. The floor is cool to the touch as I strip quickly, getting fully naked except for my panties before slipping the Henley over my head, even though I have pajamas in my bag. The sleeves swamp my hands, and I fold up the edges. The hem skims just above my knees.

Wraith wore a shirt just like this the day he lugged the dresser up the stairs, and it hugged his body perfectly. It looks like a dress on me.

The water turns off with a shuddering thud through the old pipes, and I make quick work of folding my clothes.

By the time he gets back into the bedroom, I’m buried beneath the covers, a fraction from the edge of the bed.

“You try sleeping any farther away from me, you’ll end up on the floor.” There’s humor in his tone.

“Sorry. Just trying to be respectful of your space.”

Wraith looks too good in his pajamas. The pants sit low on his hips, the T-shirt reveals thick biceps and black-and-gray ink covering every available surface. In the half-light, I can’t tell what they all are, and Lord knows I don’t want him to catch me staring.

He clicks off the lamp, and I jostle a little as he climbs into the bed beside me. I was right to stay close to the edge. Wraith is a big man who is used to taking up space and feeling comfortable.

The comforter and sheets lift and settle.

And then a strange silence blankets the two of us.

The distant hum of music filters into the room from the bar. The chatter and laughter of people still awake occasionally reaches us.

But between the two of us, it’s deathly quiet.

I worry about breathing too loud, about coughing, or making any of the myriad other noises you can make while asleep.

A wild hum vibrates through me as I realize I’m in bed with a new man after so many years with my husband. It’s an excited, arousing energy that has my heart beating faster than it should, given I’m meant to be sleeping.

“Are you gonna toss and turn over there all night, Blue?” Wraith’s voice cuts through the silence.

I realize I’ve shifted to my side, facing him. “I’m sorry. This is just…”

There’s the whispered rustle of sheets as he turns to face me. “Just what?”

“It’s a lot. Confusing. Tempting.”

“You’re safe here.”

“I’m lying in a biker’s bed, in a motorcycle club’s clubhouse. My son is nowhere near me. And I’m here to stay safe from some unknown threat I had no clue about until you showed up to get me.”

Wraith humphs, or makes some similar kind of grunting noise. “I meant in this bed. With me. In these four walls within this clubhouse. You’re safehere. The rest is open for discussion.”

The pragmatic way in which he says it makes me smile.

His hand reaches across the bed and takes mine. “You can’t sleep?” His calluses abrade my skin, reminding me that this is a hardworking man. His thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“I feel unsettled.”

“You need me to go? Plenty of places I can lay my head tonight if you want this bed to yourself.”

“No.” The word comes out too fast, too firm. “No, you don’t need to. I guess I’m trying to make sense of it all. You, me, this. I’m here, but I don’t know why I’m here, which I know doesn’t make any sense.”

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