Page 54 of So Bad It Must Be Good

He cleared his throat. “I’m . . .”

She waited for the end of that sentence, but it never came. And she supposed if she were the rock, the caregiver, then she had to take a stab at the possible ending herself. Even if she was wrong. She’d always been so afraid of being wrong, maybe now it was time to be afraid of not doing anything. “Scared?”

He was silent for a long, drawn-out minute, and she held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t walk away, offended or hurt she’d put that on him.

“Yes, that,” he said gruffly.

“I think that’s more than natural.”

“But so is everyone else. Someone has to be brave. Someone has to say it’ll be okay.” Still, his arms tightened around her, strong and hurting.

“Why does it have to be you?”

“I don’t know. It just always has been.”

“How about this?” She pulled slightly back so she could look him in the eye. So she could give him something. Something. “For them, you can be what you always have been, but here, with me, you can be scared or unsure or whatever it is you need. And I’ll be the strong and sure one.”

He stared at her as though she’d spoken a foreign language. Some string of words he couldn’t make sense of.

Maybe it didn’t make any sense, but she was going to cling to the idea anyway. She reached up and rubbed her palm across his jaw, not just reveling in the rough texture of his beard, but also in the way he leaned into the touch.

He exhaled, then pressed his mouth to hers. Gentle and sweet, as though seeking something soft and comforting, not the rough, desperate kisses of last night. Nothing fun or purely sex. Gentle.

“I don’t want to have to think about it,” he said against her mouth.

“Then we won’t.” She cupped his face and kissed him, just as soft and gentle as the previous one, not letting herself hold anything back out of fear or nerves. She gave him all of the empathy and comfort and warmth and care and didn’t let herself worry if it was too much or too soon.

* * *

Kayla was like a salve to a wound after his shit day. Nothing had unwound him after Mom crying all over him this morning, or Dad making it steadfastly known if the stents didn’t work, he was done. No amount of fixing door hinges or unclogging drains or patching up roofs had given him a second of satisfaction or solace.

Kayla wrapping her arms around him, Kayla understanding, and her sweet mouth under his, it gave him acres of solace.

It still hurt like a bitch, all in all, but it was different. Not that wild, howling beast inside of him swirling and desperate to do something.

She’d tamed it. With her words, with her kiss. He felt utterly, happily reined in. Her hands cupping his cheeks, her soft body pressed against his. It was like some magic thing he’d been missing all these years.

Or she was.

“Kay.” He didn’t know what to say. There was this aching beat inside of him that only ever existed with her. She was this glorious wonderful light, and yet it hurt to look directly at that.

“Not very many people shorten my name,” she murmured, touching the collar of his shirt, half her fingertip on the fabric and half tracing along his skin.

“Who constitutes ‘not very many’?” he returned, because there was this stupid, immature need inside of him to be something special to her the way she was something special to him.

Her dark blue gaze met his and at the very least she looked just as serious as he felt. “Well, just Dinah really.”

“Does that make it weird?”

She chuckled, her fingertips still moving back and forth across his shirt and skin. “You don’t exactly sound like Dinah, Liam. I think I can work out the difference.”

“I can think of a few ways to make sure of that,” he returned, and though he’d been convinced he wouldn’t feel much like company or even sex when he’d been on his way over here, now it was all he wanted. All he needed.

Except, shit. “I didn’t bring over the condoms. I wasn’t really thinking and—”

“I bought some for my place.” She smiled up at him. “They’re in my bedroom. Which is the first door on the left, if you were wanting to lead.”

“You are . . .” Perfect, maybe.

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