Page 5 of Off-Limits

Mia's eyes flash with something like triumph, but it's gone just as quickly as it appeared. She turns on her heel without another word and heads down the stairs, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.

I watch her go, my gaze lingering on the way her cutoff shorts hug her curves, and the soft sway of her hips beneath that faded band tee. It's a struggle to keep my thoughts from wandering too far down that path, but I force myself to focus on something—anything—else.

As she disappears into the living room, I hear the rustle of blankets being pulled from the back of the couch, followed by thesoft thud of pillows being arranged. She's really doing this, then. She's really going to sleep down there instead of sharing a bed with me.

A part of me wants to go after her, to try and convince her to change her mind. But another part knows that it's better this way—safer, at least—for both of us. Because if she were in that bed next to me tonight... I don't know if I'd be able to keep my hands off her.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought as I make my way into the guest room and close the door behind me. The room is dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside casting long shadows across the floor. I lean against the closed door for a moment, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself.

But it's no use. My mind is racing, filled with images of Mia—of her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes sparkle when she's excited about something. And God help me, but I can't stop thinking about how good she would feel in my arms, her body pressed against mine as we finally give in to this thing between us.

I groan aloud, pushing away from the door and running a hand through my hair again. This is going to be torture—lying awake all night, listening for any sound of her stirring downstairs. Knowing that she's just down the hall, but completely out of reach. God, I hate this. Hate it so fucking much, and it's frustrating that I can't change it.

With a heavy sigh, I cross the room and flop down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as I try to will my thoughts into some semblance of order. But it's no use. No matter how hard I try, all I can think about is Mia.

I wonder if she's still awake, too—if she's lying on that couch downstairs, her mind just as consumed by thoughts of us as mine is. Does she want this as badly as I do? Or am I completely alone in this?

The questions swirl through my head like a storm, each one more torturous than the last. I try to distract myself with other thoughts, with memories of deployments overseas, or the humdrum of everyday life at the office, but it's no use. My mind always finds its way back to her.

Eventually, exhausted and frustrated, I roll onto my side and close my eyes, letting sleep pull me under despite the turmoil in my head. But even as I drift off, I know that tonight is going to be one of the longest of my life and that tomorrow morning will bring with it a whole new set of challenges.

???

The sound of soft sniffles reaches my ears before I even open my eyes, pulling me from the fitful sleep I've managed to find. My head feels groggy, and my body aches like it always does when I've spent half the night tossing and turning.

I blink awake, rubbing at the grit in my eyes as I take stock of my surroundings. The guest room is bathed in the soft, warm light of morning, the sun streaming in through the open curtains. It takes me a moment to remember where I am—why I'm not waking up in my own bed, surrounded by familiar things.

Then it all comes rushing back—Mia, her late-night arrival, our tense conversation, and her decision to sleep on the couch instead of sharing a room with me. I still can't believe we talked about why we never ended up together when we were younger. That was a weird conversation.

The thought of her sends a pang of unease through me, and I throw off the covers, eager to find out if she's okay. She has to be. If she's not, I don't know what I'd do.

The sound of crying has stopped now, but there's still an air of tension in the house that sets my nerves on edge.

I pad quietly down the hall, my bare feet silent against the carpet. As I reach the top of the stairs, I can see Mia sitting at the kitchen table, her head bowed over a steaming cup of coffee. Her shoulders are shaking slightly, and even from here, I can tell she's been crying.

My heart aches for her, but I hesitate before descending the rest of the stairs. Should I go to her? Would she want me to comfort her right now, or would my presence just make things more awkward between us?

Before I can decide what to do, Mia looks up, her eyes meeting mine across the distance. She starts slightly, wiping at her cheeks as if trying to hide the evidence of her tears.

"Jake," she says softly, her voice hoarse from crying. "You're awake."

I nod, taking a tentative step down towards her. "Are you okay?" I ask, keeping my tone gentle.

She shakes her head, letting out a shaky laugh that's more like a sob. "Not really," she admits, looking down at the table again. "Just thinking about... everything."

I know what she means—everything being her breakup and the suddenness of it all—but I don't press for details. Instead, I descend the rest of the stairs and cross the kitchen to stand beside her chair. I have to be careful, no matter what I do.

"Want to talk about it?" I ask, keeping my voice soft.

Mia looks up at me again, her eyes red and puffy from crying. There's a moment of hesitation before she sighs, resignation in the sound. "What's the point? It won't change anything."

She's right, of course. Talking about it won't magically fix things or bring her ex back. But maybe, given the proper opportunity, it'll help her process what happened and start to heal. That's something I can help her with.

I pull out a chair opposite hers and sit down, giving her my full attention. "Talking can still help," I say quietly. "Sometimes, just getting it all out there in the open makes things feel more... manageable."

After all, isn't that a big part of what therapists do? They provide a listening ear for people to talk about their problems. Sure, they do more than that, but it's still one of the most important aspects of the job.

Mia considers this for a moment before sighing again, her shoulders slumping as she gives in. "Fine," she murmurs. "But you have to promise not to judge me for being stupid about him."

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