Page 72 of Catch You

I nod, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Honestly,” he says, blowing out a breath, “it could have gone either way at that point.”

I move to push myself from his body, but his arms lock, keeping me in place.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here, Harlow. I’ve never … I’ve never done this before.”

“And what isthis, exactly?”

“I have no idea. All I know is that when I’m with you …” He pauses, glancing over my shoulder, giving himself a moment to process his thoughts. “When I’m with you, everything goes quiet. My memories drift away. The only other time I find that kind of peace is when I’m working. I didn’t think it existed elsewhere.”

A giant lump forms in my throat and tears pool in my eyes faster than I can control. When he looks back at me, two have dropped and are making their way down my cheeks.

“Fuck. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I whisper. “I just … I get it.” I wipe at my cheeks, embarrassed. “I spent a lot of years trying to drown stuff out. Years that I’m not proud of.”

Corey rolls me over so I’m on my back. He brushes his thumbs across my cheeks to clear the fresh tears.

“Let me help.” His lips find mine and, just like he described, everything falls from my head as I focus on him and the things he does to my body.

“I can go homeif you’d prefer,” he whispers when I’m just on the verge of drifting off an hour or so later. “I don’t want to keep you awake again.”

“You’re not going anywhere. I can handle nightmares. I have enough of my own.”

He falls silent but thankfully, he doesn’t move. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath my cheek. His arm is wrapped tightly around me, and his hand is locked on my hip.

I feel safe. Secure. And, I hate to say it, hopeful.

In just a short time, Corey has given me something I never thought I’d find.

Peace.

Clearly, we both still have a lot to deal with. But suddenly, everything feels that little bit more possible.

“Will you tell me about them one day?” he asks, shocking the hell out of me.

My knee-jerk reaction is to say no. I don’t talk about my parents. I barely even mention them to Brooke and my aunt, but never to anyone who doesn’t already know the story. It’s always been too painful to drudge it all back up again.

“One day,” I whisper. “How about you. Fancy talking about it?”

“One day,” he repeats. I might hate that he’s keeping things hidden, but I can’t exactly argue because I’m doing the same.

I drift off in his arms and don’t surface again until my name being called stirs me back to life.

I crack my eyes open to find the sun streaming in through the crack in the curtains and glance at the clock.

Shit, it’s late.

I look at Corey, who’s still sleeping soundly beside me. He’s on his back with his arm thrown over his head, the covers so low that it exposes his toned and inked chest and stomach.

I lose myself following the lines of his tattoos, so I don’t hear the footsteps heading for my bedroom door.

Before I know what’s happening, it flies open, and Brooke comes marching in.

“Harlow, why are your clothes all over the living room flo … oh, fuck.” Her eyes go so wide, I half expect them to pop out. “Is that the Brit?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, “and he’s sleeping.”

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