Page 14 of Third Wheel

“I…” he started to say, then stopped. Hesitated. Looked over her head at Kincaid. Her head turned with the change in his focus.

Kincaid met her gaze with compassionate eyes, which was almost worse than Zach’s concern. With Zach, she could tell herself that he knew her well enough to be concerned. They had a long-time connection. He was a caring guy, of course—like all her friends and family. He was going to worry about her.

Her only connection to Kincaid was through Zach, and they’d been kept pretty separate in his life. So, while he wasn’t a total stranger, it wasn’t like they had a relationship that madehim invested in her wellbeing. Her stomach turned over in embarrassment that he had to spend his time worrying about her because of the terrible choices she’d made.

“Zach and I want to know how you’re holding up,” Kincaid said gently.

He wasn’t the first to ask, obviously, but it was the first time Amy hesitated before answering. It was the first time she tripped over the ‘I’m not great, but I’ll get there’ lie that had been her standard for the whole day.

She was so far beyond ‘not great,’ and something about Kincaid’s penetrating gaze made her feel like he would immediately know that she was lying and that he would be disappointed in her.

She shrugged instead of actually answering, dropping her gaze to her lap where Zach was holding her hand.

The silence between the two men was deafening, and she got the feeling there was a nonverbal conversation happening over her head. Would they be insulted if she just said she was tired and retreated to her room?

She was about to make the attempt, in the nicest way possible, when Zach spoke again, about a second before she would have opened her mouth.

“Do you want a scene tonight?”

Amy froze. That was the very last thing she’d expected him to say.

Okay, well, no, not quite. The last thing would have been an invitation to get naked and get in bed with him, but asking if she wanted a scene was ranked nearly as high on the list.

A scene.

He was asking if she wanted a scene.

The kind of scene they’d always done at the club.

But they weren’t at the club.

Her mouth opened, but she didn’t actually know what she wanted to say, so nothing came out.

“I…” That was all she had.

Flight, fight, or freeze, and she froze. Again. Like she always did. Her brain felt like it was buzzing with energy, but no comprehensible thoughts were actually emerging.

“Amy.” Kincaid’s deep voice cut through the buzzing, calling her back to the moment.

She turned her head again, looking into his dark eyes. They were so serious, so caring, as though he really saw her, which was utterly terrifying in its own way.

“May I touch you? Not sexually, but I would like to touch you.”

Numbly, Amy nodded. She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she didn’t mind being touched. Touch was comfort.

And God, did she need to be comforted today.

Kincaid’s arm lifted, then she felt his hand curve around the back of her neck, almost as if he was going to draw her toward him to kiss, but instead, his fingers slid up and pressed into the soft points just under her skull. It felt really, really good. Not in a sexual way. In a massage way.

She sighed out a long breath of air, letting her head drop, her eyes closing as he pressed his fingers in, kneading softly and releasing the tension from the little muscles there. Her shoulders slumped. Zach squeezed her fingers.

“Zach thinks you need a scene,” Kincaid said gently but firmly as he continued to rub her neck. “I don’t know you as well as he does, but I agree with him. We want to make you feel better.”

God, she wanted to feel better. The awful block of emotion sitting in the pit of her chest, which she’d been successfully ignoring all day, pulsed, as if it realized it was being threatened. It would feel good to let it all go, wouldn’t it?

This was what Jeremy hadn’t understood. That it wasn’t about sex. It was about release. It was about getting all the things she held inside of heroutof her. And right now, she had more emotions clawing at her insides than normal, trying to trip their way through her skin, through her tears, and out into the world, yet she felt like she couldn’t let them.

It wasn’t like crying was productive. It never helped a situation. But she knew she held the tears in for too long, and it got to a point where the lack of crying did start to harm her. All those ugly emotions would come out in bursts of anger or meanness if she held them back for too long, and that wasn’t the kind of person she wanted to be.

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