Page 132 of Worth Every Risk

It’s Matt, all gorgeous in his peacoat, popped collar, polished dress shoes. He takes one look at me and his expression falls into something approaching horror. He steps inside and closes the door.

“Jesus, Aries.” His hands are on my shoulders, and he’s stooping down, peering into my face, his dark eyes seeking out mine. “Your clothes. They’re wet. Have you slept at all?”

I shrug, but suddenly Matt’s intent focus isn’t on me at all. It’s beyond me, staring deeper into the house, the concern on his face etching its marks deeper still.

“What happened here?”

I turn, only now noticing the mess I made last night. Everything is broken, pieces of Mum’s stuff strewn all over the floor. The crystals. The oil diffuser. “Me. I did. I—”

He folds me into the embrace I longed for yesterday, and squeezes me tight, like I’m broken too and he can put me back together.

A great rush of emotion surges upwards, scraping at my insides, tearing at my lungs. It’s striving to pour out of me, to spill itself on the floor at his feet. I can’t let it happen. It will destroy me. I can’t… I can’t… it’s too much…

I push against his embrace, loosening it. He draws back but my fingers grab at him, pulling at his shirt, his coat. Anything I can get my hands on. If I can get them off… get all his clothes off…

“Aries—”

But I don’t stop. Can’t stop. If I can have him,fuck him, I can block out everything else. My hands are round his neck, on his face, pulling him towards me. I kiss him hard, but he’s unresponsive, and when I break away, his eyes search mine for an explanation.

“Aries.” He says my name like a plea. “We can just talk—”

“I don’t want to talk. I talked to a hundred people yesterday. I don’t want to talk anymore.” I grab his coat and pull him closer, my breaths coming in rushed gasps.This isn’t me.I don’t know what I’m doing.

His eyes move frantically over me, and although he looks worried, I can see that he’s tempted. If I try a little harder, I can win him over. Drown it all out with kisses and sex and Matt. “Aries—”

“Please.” I kiss him again, his stubble rough against my skin. I try to tug his coat off his shoulders, but there’s a reluctance to his movements, like he doesn’t trust me to know what I want right now. I give up and begin to pull his shirt out of his trousers instead.

“Please,” I repeat, desperate. My fingers fumbling, ineffective. “Please, don’t deny me right now. I need this. I need you.”

His jaw flexes as he looks down at me, and whatever he sees in my face has him pulling me flush against him, one hand cradling the back of my skull against his chest. “I’m here for you, Aries. I’ve got you.”

And then, like he turned on the fucking tap, I cry, great wracking sobs that make my ribcage shudder, causing tears to fall that soak right through his shirt.

He holds me again, warm and tight against him, as I fall apart. And he doesn’t let go until I haven’t a tear left to cry.

Later, Matt carries me up to the bathroom and runs a hot bath. He peels off my wet clothes, easing me out of them as though he’s removing the bandages from a gaping wound, which I suppose he is. I get into the tub, and he sits on the floor beside me, running the warm water from the shower over my back.

I hug my knees up to my chest and tell him about Mum and the sickness and her dying, and how hard it was to hold it together at the wake. I even tell him how I wished that Dad had died instead, and that I’m not even ashamed of wanting it. I tighten my hold on my raised knees, curling over them as I speak. For some reason, keeping myself small makes it all seem a fraction more manageable. Like I can contain all the grieving, angry parts of me.

Matt washes my hair, massages my scalp, rinses the soap, and I’m reminded of how I put bubbles on his chin that first night in his house. How reserved he was, and it occurs to me that back then, I could never have imagined this current scenario playing out.

“Do you think you’ll forgive him? Your dad?” Matt asks as his fingers move through my hair, teasing apart the strands. His voice is hesitant, as though he might take my answer and make it mean something else in his mind.

“Maybe. But we’ll never have a relationship. And I wouldn’t want one with him anyway—he was a terrible parent.”

Matt’s gaze slides off me, brows drawn together. “Hmm.”

I watch him for a few moments, and my heart aches. “You’re not a bad father.” His eyes snap to mine, the movement as quick as a shot. “I know you think you are, but you aren’t. Not even close.”

He turns off the shower, fixes the shower head back in place, and sits back on his heels. “Thank you. I’m trying my best.” His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, and he leans over the tub, drawing spirals on my bare shoulder with a fingertip.

“Why did you come here this morning?”

“I wasn’t going to. I know you asked for time—”

“So why did you come?”

He starts to roll his eyes, smiling as his lids sink. “If I told you it was my intuition, would you believe me?”

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