Page 28 of Fixing to Be Mine

A beat passes, and another follows it. Finally, her shoulders drop an inch, and she swallows hard.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice raw. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t apologize. I wasn’t asleep.” I shift closer.

She lets out a hollow laugh, then rubs her eyes.

I want to pull her into my arms and ask her what the hell she dreamed about that tore through her like this, but I don’t. I sit there, close enough that she knows I’m not leaving.

“It was a nightmare,” she whispers, and her voice cracks.

“I figured,” I say, watching her through the dim light, noticing her hair’s stuck to her cheek and her hands are still clenched like she’s bracing for something that already happened.

My jaw tightens, but I stay still.

She speaks so quietly that I almost don’t hear it. “No one’s ever really loved me, Colt. Not without needing something in return. Every person who has ever said they loved me has hurt me the worst.”

That’s the moment that undoes me.

I move without thinking, pulling her into my chest. Her body hesitates for half a heartbeat, then sinks into mine like we were built to hold one another. My hand finds her back, and I hug her tight. Her breathing slows, ragged at first, then calmer. Each inhale is like a piece of her is coming back.

“I don’t know what happened to you,” I mutter. “But I’m so fucking sorry it did.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t have to. She stays in my arms, and if she’ll let me, I’ll show her what it feels like to be loved for being who she is.

The silence surrounds us, and I eventually pull away.

“Will you stay with me?” she asks.

My chest tightens by how easy it is to say yes.

“If that’s what you want,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please,” she says, trying to adjust the blankets that are in a heap.

I shift my body enough to lie back, one arm tucked behind her, the other across her waist. She moves closer to me like it’s the only place she’s ever meant to be, her breath evening out. She doesn’t ask for anything else as she snuggles into me like I’m the only thing holding her together. Maybe I am. I keep hersteady in my arms, the blanket over us both, careful not to let the moment slip.

I lie there, memorizing the way it sounds when she lets her guard down.

If she asked me to stay like this forever, I would, and I don’t know what the hell that means yet.

But I want to find out.

The light’sdifferent when I wake up. It’s soft and golden, slipping in through the sheer curtains like it knows not to wake her too harshly. The house is quiet, except for the faint rustle of sheets as I shift my arm beneath her. She’s still here, but so am I.

Her hair’s a mess, her cheek pressed to my chest, and I swear she fits like she was carved to be next to me. I keep still, not wanting to break whatever spell this is. I don’t even know what time it is, and I don’t care. Holding her sets my soul alive.

She stirs a little, her breath shifting against my skin, and then she freezes as she peels herself off me.

I keep my eyes closed, trying my best not to start smiling. She shifts carefully, trying not to wake me as she slips out of bed. The sheet slides off her legs, and I open one eye in time to see her walking toward the hallway, still in my shirt. Bare legs. Messy hair. Absolutely beautiful.

The morning light catches her at the right angle, and it’s all I can do not to groan like a man who’s about to be ruined by a woman he doesn’t know.

When she’s gone, I lie there, soaking it in. Then I swing my legs off the bed and scrub a hand over my face, wondering whenthe hell I started liking this feeling. This whole her-being-here thing isn’t just comfortable; it’sright.

I move slow through the kitchen, letting the rhythm of it settle my thoughts. The coffee maker gurgles softly, filling the room with that rich aroma that always reminds me of home. I grab her the pale blue mug she reached for yesterday—and set it gently beside mine.

There’s a comfort in the ritual. Mornings have always been mine, but today, it feels like it belongs to us.

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