Page 9 of Breaking You Open

His voice goes soft as he says that last part.Little Sparrow. Soft and gentle. Unlike him, Aaron used to snarl my name with a contemptuous sneer.Sparrow. A weak, birdlike creature.

I take a deep breath, unable to meet his gaze. “I can’t sleep alone in new places.” It’s true—whenever I try to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, I lie awake into the wee hours, listening to all the sounds the house makes: the faint hum of the radiator, the cars outside, the wind…

Louis looks at me for a long while. Multiple times, I glance up and then down again, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. His shirt.

Please say yes, please say yes…

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I should warn you: I’m a snorer.”

“That’s okay,” I say, nodding in relief.

I crawl under the covers while Louis lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a hairy chest, bulging muscles, and a thick pair of arms covered in tattoos.

My jaw falls open. Oh my god, he’shuge. With the bedcovers drawn up to my chin, I try not to stare, but it proves even more impossible when he unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans off. I glimpse the bulge in the crotch of his plain white boxers, and it looks just as big as the rest of him. Proportional, rather.

I gulp and turn to the side as he climbs into bed next to me. Heat radiates from his side of the bed, and I snuggle a bit closer to steal some of his warmth.

“I’m not going to cuddle you,” he grumbles. “Stay on your side of the bed.”

“Okay,” I whisper, too tired for true disappointment. Aaron didn’t cuddle me either, not for lack of my trying. Most of the time, I ended up as the big spoon, awkwardly trying to hold his larger frame.

I close my eyes and try to relax, but my head is still spinning, and I still can’t fully grasp how I ended up here. The whole night is a bit blurry.

All I know is I got stupidly drunk with a snake of a man called Eric, then Louis saved me and took me home and let me puke my guts out in his toilet with no judgment, and now he’s lying next to me in bed, providing me with the first sliver of safety I’ve had in years.

I awaken slowly, eyelids sticking together with sleep dust and grime. Did I cry in my sleep? Wouldn’t be the first time.

“You’re a restless sleeper,” someone grumbles beside me.

I startle, my heart making a ruckus in my chest.Calm down. It’s just Louis. He brought me here. He took care of me. He looks at me with raised eyebrows now, dark hair in disarray along with his beard.

“Sorry.” I have a vague memory of trying to hold on to him in the night, but I gave up when he repeatedly but gently pushed me away. “Did I talk in my sleep?”

“Mm-hmm,” Louis grunts.

“What did I say?” My throat feels dry as dust, and I reach for the water bottle Louis put at my bedside last night. I take a few gulps, groaning at the feeling that reverberates in my whole body. I feel so bad. Absolutely terrible. I’m for sure not drinking ever again.

Instead of answering my question, Louis just glances at me and makes a wordless, grumbling noise from deep in his chest.

Oh. I said something weird, then. I frown and curl in on myself, sucking on the water bottle with tiny sips. My head is spinning, and an ache builds in my temples, making me want to press my eyes into their sockets.

Louis stretches his huge body over the bed, hairy arms entering my personal space, and I fight between the urges to pull back and snuggle closer. I have no time to decide before he crawls to the edge of the bed, sits upright, and rolls his neck. The sun shining in from the window glitters along his tattooed back, and his muscles ripple under his skin as he gets up and stretches his arms, the wide glory of his body on full display.

My mouth falls open at the sight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone that tall and muscular and with that many tattoos. I wonder what they mean, if anything, but I suspect Louis won’t tell me even if I ask.

He pulls on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt before he sends me a glance. “Drink some more water and try to go back to sleep. You’ll feel better that way.”

I do as he says—drawing the covers up to my chin and trying to defy the revved-up beat of my heart.

I must have dozed off for a few minutes, because when I open my eyes again, I smell food: eggs and…pancakes? My stomach grumbles, and I get to my feet, still feeling very much as if my limbs are disobeying my thoughts. They’re swaying too much, too weak and unsteady even for me.

Louis stands by the kitchen counter, and when he sees me, he doesn’t smile, but he’s not scowling either. His gaze drops to my bare legs, where the length of his shirt reaches all the way to my knees. A flush creeps up my throat, and I contemplate putting on my own clothes, but my shirt and pants might still be wet from last night.

Louis nods toward the sofa table. “Go ahead, kid. You’ll feel better with some food in you.”

My mouth drops open once again at the sight of plates filled with eggs, bacon, pancakes, juice, and coffee. Maybe this is a common Saturday breakfast for him, but somehow, I doubt it.

“Okay…” I sit on the couch, at a loss for what to do.

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