Page 82 of Break Your Fall

Now I have to lead.

There’s confusion and hurt in her damp eyes as they search mine, and my panic rises as she now feels rejected by me, but both of us are too afraid to come out on the other side.

Her mouth moves first, her voice breaking off. “I thought—”

My mouth forms her name but I don’t actually hear it come out over the thumping in my ears as she leans back, away from me now.

“Reyna. . .” I try again, my voice tight, barely there as I watch her fight through the regret and shame that I’m partially to blame for causing.

“I thought you wanted—” She breaks off again, her eyes widening in alarm as my brain and body scramble to fix this.

“I do,” blurts from my mouth as she springs off the couch, stumbling over my legs to get around me, and I’m springing up a second after with desperation for her to understand what happened to me, catching her before she can make it to the door.

“I do,” I blurt out again as she spins in my arms. “God, Reyna, I want you so fucking badly.”

She twists her hands in my shirt as she sways and I steady her with my hands back on her arms. “I want you, too.”

“While you’re wasted,” I state with a strain in my voice, trying not to completely collapse head over heels into her drunken promises. “For a night. But what about tomorrow? Will you wake up and want me then? Because I’ll wake up and still want you. I’ll never stop wanting you.”

I’ll never stop wanting to make her feel good, but I can’t like this.

Reyna’s grip tightens on my shirt as her eyes brim with more tears. “I wanna be with someone who loves me. I wanna know what that feels like.”

I wrap my hands around hers and squeeze as I breathe, “So do I.”

Her tears fall at my words, faster and heavier, a shame shining in her eyes, and I touch her face again, wiping away the trails as I try to wipe out what she’s thinking. “I’m not rejectingyou. I’m rejectingthis. I can’t have you like this, and I don’t want you to have me like this. We both deserve better.”

She’s nodding, pulling in deep breaths to try to calm herself, but the longer she holds my stare, the harder she cries. “I’m so sorry,” she blubbers, and I pull her against me, hold her while she sobs into my chest. “I’m sorry. I just mess everything up.”

“No, you don’t,” I assure her right away, shaking my head against hers, moving my mouth to her ear. “You make everything better.” I pull back so she’ll look at me again. “Reyna, you’re about to gain everything you’ve always wanted.”

“I really want him,” she agrees through a sniff. “My dad. And my sister,” she adds through a congested laugh that makes me smile.

“I know you do.” I tuck her hair behind her ear, let the pad of my thumb trace down her earlobe. “Everything is gonna work out, I promise. Please trust that.”

She wipes her face, studying me as her breathing steadies. “And I want you, too.”

I avert my eyes to the floor, my head shaking when she adds, “I want us.”

My head snaps up, my conflicted stare holding the certainty in hers, and I pull her in, those words a natural tug to have her closer. I press my lips to her forehead and hold them there, my eyes squeezing shut as I attempt to breathe. Iambeing robbed. The alcohol in Reyna’s system is stealing the complete euphoria I should feel from finally hearing her say what I’ve only heard in my fantasies.

“Then tell me again tomorrow,” I say against her skin, then pull back, hold her eyes with mine. “When tonight’s out of your system.”

Our stares are unwavering for a long, tense moment of stretching silence until the effects of the alcohol cause Reyna to sway again, her gaze falling, roaming between us.

“I need to … lay down or. . .”

I steady her and guide her to the back bedroom. I turn the covers down on the bed, then sit her on the edge where she kicks off her sandals—except they cling to her feet, causing her to kick harder and groan in irritation as the sandals still cling. I laugh despite myself and bend to take them off for her, telling my stare to stay on her pink-painted toenails when her thighs spread apart in her haphazard effort to help me by pulling her feet back.

“I feel sick,” she mutters, taking deep breaths as I haul ass to the bathroom to grab the trash can.

I hold the can under her face with one hand and gather her hair into the other as we wait for the inevitable.

When nothing comes up, Reyna waves off the can and breathes, “False alarm.”

“Okay, I’m putting it here,” I say as I place the trash can right beside the bed, then push to my feet. “I’m gonna get you some water and something to eat. I’ll hurry.”

Hurryis an understatement. I race through the kitchen, filling a glass with water and grabbing whatever easy foods I can find—a pack of salty crackers and a banana—not wanting to leave her alone for too long in case she pukes in her sleep.

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