Page 117 of The Wrong Play

His hold on me never faltered as he moved through the house, his footsteps steady, purposeful, as if he had already made up his mind that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. When we reached his room, he didn’t hesitate. He walked straight to the bed and gently laid me down, his movementscareful, as if I were something precious, something fragile. The warmth of his arms disappeared as he straightened, and I instantly missed it, missedhim, though I would never admit it out loud.

“You stay put,” he said, pointing a finger at me like I was some kind of unruly child who might bolt the second he turned his back.

I sighed, my body already sinking into the comfort of his bed. “Not like I’m going anywhere.”

He gave me a look like he didn’t quite believe me, but after a second, he turned and walked out of the room without another word.

I let out a slow breath, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the usual panic to settle in. Waiting for Callum’s voice to fill my head.

But he was unusually silent.

I found myself curling into the soft, warm blankets and letting my body sink deeper into his bed, letting the exhaustion take over before I could come up with a good enough excuse to push him away. By the time he returned, I was somewhere between sleep and consciousness, my body unwilling to fully let go, but the scent of peppermint and something warm pulled me back from the edge.

“Up,” he ordered, his voice softer than usual, but still carrying the same stubborn determination.

I cracked an eye open to find him standing beside the bed, holding a mug in his hand, one brow raised expectantly.

I groaned. “Jace…”

Ignoring me completely, he sat on the edge of the bed, slipping one arm beneath my neck to help me sit up, his touch careful but unyielding, like he had already decided there was no room for argument.

“I made you tea,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

I blinked at him. “Youmademe tea?”

His mouth twitched slightly, as if he were fighting a smirk. “I do have culinary skills greater than just heating up corn dogs, Riley-girl.”

I eyed him suspiciously before hesitantly taking the mug from his hands, feeling the warmth seep into my fingers. “What kind?”

“Something for pain and nausea,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just admitted to looking up remedies for my symptoms. “I did my research.”

Of course he did.

I took a small sip, the warmth spreading through my chest, the taste surprisingly pleasant. “It’s not bad.”

His smirk widened. “That’s the highest praise I’ve ever received. I might frame that.”

I rolled my eyes but kept drinking, ignoring the way he watched me like I might disappear if he looked away.

Then, without warning, he reached for my legs.

I stiffened immediately. “What are you doing?”

His hands curled around my calves, his thumbs pressing gently into the sore muscles.

“You get leg cramps sometimes, right?”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Because, yeah. I did.

A side effect of the exhaustion. Something I had just accepted, something I had never expectedanyoneto notice.

But Jace had.

His fingers moved slowly, carefully, kneading the tension out of my muscles, his touch strong but soothing, and despite myself, I felt my body relax against the pressure.

I wanted to tell him to stop.

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