Page 54 of Sweet Obsession
“Let’s sleep side by side tonight,” he murmured.
“No,” I whispered. “I can’t—”
He let me go. Gently. Like it pained him.
I turned. Walked to the bed. Lay on the far edge like it was a cliff. A warning. Because if I let myself believe this was anything more than survival, I wouldn’t survive it.
And I think he knew that.
The storm outside resumed. At first, it was only the wind, howling low against the windows, rattling them like an old ghost.
Then the rain came. Sheets of it, hammering against the glass. And thunder.
Deep, shaking thunder that rattled the chandelier above the bed and sent vibrations through the floorboards.
I wasn’t a child anymore. But the storm didn’t care. It cracked open the vault I’d sealed shut. flashing me back to a night when thunder drowned out my screams and my mother died behind a locked door.
I tucked my knees tighter to my chest, pressing my forehead against them. Another loud crack split the sky, and I jumped too sharp, too obvious.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Pathetic.
A rustle of movement. I froze, instinct sharpening.
Footsteps. Soft but certain.
I didn’t lift my head, but I heard the slow approach.
Something warm settled over my shoulders.
I jerked slightly, looking up, startled and found him.
Misha. Standing over me.
He had dropped his heavy black jacket over my shoulders.
He said nothing. Didn’t ask. Didn’t mock.
He just turned and walked back to the bed, the faintest limp in his step, almost invisible. He hated when I noticed. But storms peeled us both raw.
I laid there, stunned, wrapped in the heat of his jacket. It smelled like leather and something darker, sharper, like smoke and rain and metal.
I buried my face in the thick collar, breathing him in without meaning to.
Outside, the storm raged on. But inside, something had shifted.
Subtle. Silent. But real.
For once, the cold in my chest softened.
Just a little. And it had nothing to do with the fire.
I don’t know how long I sat there, wrapped in his jacket, pretending I wasn’t clinging to the last shred of warmth he’d offered.
By the time the storm finally eased, pale morning light was bleeding through the heavy curtains.
The house was too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.
I stood slowly, stretching aching limbs, and made my way to the en suite bathroom attached to our shared room.
