Page 114 of Bad at Love

So, I dig through the kitchen drawer and pull out the pad and pen, write a quick note to tell him I’m here, then I fold it in half stick it into the crack of the first post and the railing of the stairs,this way when he walks up them to go to his room, he’ll see it. It’s sticking out toward the stairs, so there is no way he’ll miss it.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I turn toward my room, but then look at his. Maybe he’s in there? Maybe he got rid of his car or it’s in the shop? Maybe he is here…

I go that way, carefully opening his door. Disappointment settles in my gut when I see his bed empty and—not made. Fuck, that’s not good. If I hadn’t seen the bathroom door wide open, I’d think he was in there because he always makes his bed, but… I guess maybe he’s struggling as much as I am. That shouldn’t give me some relief, but it does. I hate that I hurt him by leaving, but I’m here now and I want to make things better. Him being upset means he isn’t over this. That’s good. I can fix this now.

I get undressed down to my boxer briefs and I climb into his bed. Hopefully when he gets home, he’ll be happy to see me here waiting for him.

I don’t go on the side I normally sleep on, I take up his side. His scent envelopes me and pulls me into a deep sleep.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Gabriel

The alarm goes off on my cell, but like I have done over the last week, I snooze it. I’ve just fallen back into a nice sleep when it goes off again, and I groan, shutting it off completely. I roll over, feeling the bed for the t-shirt that I lost during the night. When my hand lands on it, I pull it to me, covering the lower half of my face with it bunched up so I can breathe it in. Sleep takes me again, and it’s peaceful because Storm is here with me.

I wake up some time later, rested and unable to sleep anymore, but that doesn’t mean I want to get up. I shift, trying to get more comfortable, but this bed doesn’t feel as good without Storm here with me. Eventually, it’s my bladder that causes me to get up, but I take the t-shirt with me, pretty sure I’ll never wash it or the sheets on that bed, which is so damn pathetic.

When I’m finished, I take the t-shirt and go to my bedroom to gather clothes for a shower. I need to try my best to get back into a routine. I can’t let this situation with Storm ruin my life, as much as it feels like it will. I still have to go to work, meaning I need to shower in the mornings, along with eating breakfast. Though I don’t have work today, it’s a good day to start.

I open the door to my room and step in, going over to my dresser to pull open the drawer to decide what I want to wear. Storm’s t-shirt is tucked under my arm. I’m going to turn into Linus fromPeanuts, only with a shirt instead of a blanket. It’s not big, so I’ll be able to fold it up and put it in my bag to take to work with me. No one has to know but me.

I pull out a pair of underwear and then socks, putting them on top of the dresser to bend down and go for a shirt when I hear something behind me that has me pausing.

Is that… snoring?

A lick of fear runs up my spine, and I carefully turn around to look at my bed. Holy crap—someone is in my bed. My heart jumps as I jolt back, banging my hip on the dresser. I bite my lip to stifle the groan.

Who the hell would be in my bed?

It can’t possibly be…

Storm?

With hope blossoming in my chest, I take a careful step forward, then another and another until I’m at the end of my bed, looking down at a sleeping Storm.

It’s impossible to describe the emotion swirling in my chest over seeing him here.

He’s hugging my pillow, face buried in it. The blankets are pulled up over him to his shoulders and he’s mostly on his stomach. What is he doing here? How long has he been here? How did he get here?

I didn’t come into my room last night, I went right to his. Has he been here the whole time? I move to the side of the bed—my side—where he’s asleep.

“Storm?” He stirs, then takes a heavy breath and seems to go back to sleep. So I repeat his name. “Storm.”

He lifts his head, then looks over his shoulder. Confusion is clear on his face but only for a few seconds before he turns over.

“Gabriel?”

“Storm, what are you doing here? How long—” I snap my mouth shut, the look of devastation on his face is enough to have my chest aching and the words get stuck in my throat.

He tosses the blankets off him, and I can’t help but drag my gaze down his body. Over his wide chest and firm stomach. He’s in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs… sleeping in my bed.

Storm gets to his feet, and then he’s standing in front of me.

“Gabriel…” he breathes out, just inches from me. My heart picks up, pounding an erratic rhythm.

I knew I missed him, but I didn’t realize how much until right this very moment, now that he’s standing in front of me so close that I can smell him.

“Storm…” I respond.

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