Page 30 of Befriending the Bear
“We should probably figure out sleeping arrangements,” I said eventually, though every part of me wanted to avoid the awkwardness of that conversation.
“You can t-take the bed. I’ll stay on the c-couch.”
“Like hell.” The words came out sharper than intended. “I’m not taking your bed while you sleep on a couch after the day you’ve had.”
He flushed, looking down at his hands. “We could… I mean, if you’re c-comfortable… the bed’s b-b-big enough for two.”
The suggestion hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us seemed ready to address. This offer was a big thing for Calloway, a massive step. Sharing a bed was intimate in a way that went beyond what we’d been building. But the alternative—one of us alone in the dark while the storm continued its quieter assault—seemed worse.
“If you’re sure. I can sleep on top of the covers.”
“D-don’t be ridiculous. It’s c-cold.” He stood abruptly, busying himself with putting dishes in the sink.
Twenty minutes later, we stood on opposite sides of his bed like awkward teenagers. He’d changed into pajamas, and in the lantern light, he looked younger, more vulnerable. I hadn’t brought anything else, and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by stripping down to my boxers like I usually did, so my jeans and sweater would have to do.
“This is w-weird,” he said, then looked mortified. “I m-m-ean?—”
“It’s weird. But weird doesn’t mean wrong.”
That earned me a smile, thankfully.
We climbed into bed with measured movements, maintaining a careful strip of space between us. The sheets were soft, well-worn in that way that spoke of years of washing. They smelled faintly of lavender.
“G-goodnight,” Calloway whispered into the darkness.
“Goodnight.”
I lay there listening to his breathing, to the rain pattering against the windows, to the house settling around us. My leg throbbed from the day’s exertion, but I didn’t dare move to find a more comfortable position. This was already too much, too fast, too intimate.
“Fraser?” His voice was barely audible.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For everything.”
I turned my head to look at him, making out his profile in the dim light. “You don’t have to keep thanking me.”
“I know. But…” He turned too, and suddenly we were facing each other across that careful space. “No one’s done this for me in a long time. Stayed through the hard parts.”
My chest tightened. “Someone should have.”
“Maybe. But they didn’t. You did.”
The weight of that—of being the person who showed up, who stayed—settled over me like a blanket. I wanted to reach across the space between us, to offer comfort that went beyond words. But I kept my hands to myself, respecting the boundaries we hadn’t quite defined.
“Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”
He smiled, barely visible in the darkness, and closed his eyes. Within minutes, his breathing deepened into sleep.
I stayed awake longer, watching over him. The storm continued to wind down outside, reduced to gentle rain and occasional rumbles of distant thunder. Calloway slept peacefully, occasionally shifting closer, maybe subconsciously seeking the warmth of another body.
Somewhere around four, I woke to find the careful space between us had disappeared. Calloway had migrated across the bed in his sleep, his back pressed against my side, seeking comfort even unconsciously.
I should’ve moved away, reestablished the boundary. Instead, I carefully adjusted my position to accommodate him, letting him take whatever comfort he needed. My arm ended up draped over his waist, and he made a soft sound of contentment that nearly undid me.
God, I was in so much danger with this man. It would be all too easy to crave more of this, to push for more of this. But I’d seen what happened when you rushed into a burn without proper prep. Everything went to hell fast. No, I had to take this slow, read the conditions, and make sure I had my escape routes mapped. If I wanted to conquer this particular fire, it was the only way.
But I’d figure that out tomorrow. With Calloway safe in my arms, I couldn’t bring myself to figure out what this meant and how to navigate the shift from friendship to…whatever this was becoming.
