Page 115 of Tangled Kisses
Her laugh is small, pained. “Fine, sleep.” She tucks deeper into her cocoon.
I climb off the bed and dig through my truck until I find a crumpled pack of aspirin, then bring her a bottle of water. “Here. This will help.”
She mumbles her thanks, takes them, then curls up again, her breaths slowing.
I slide down beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, far enough not to spook her. “Are you still drunk?”
Her lids flutter, fighting the pull of sleep. “Little.”
“Then I’m going to tell you something. Since you probably won’t remember it tomorrow.”
She squints at me, sleepy. “Wait. Do I want to remember it?”
I shrug, chest tight. “No idea. But I need to tell you.”
She yawns, rubbing at her eyes like a child. “Go ahead.”
I draw a shaky breath. The words burn at the back of my throat, begging for release.
“Better hurry up. I’m about to pass out, Griffin.”
Fucking hell. Here goes everything.
“I love you, Reese. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. You’re it for me. My everything. You’re the ending I want—whether you believe in it or not.”
I wait, pulse hammering, praying for her to say something—anything.
But all I hear is her steady breathing.
I glance over. Her eyes are closed, lashes fanned against her cheeks, lips parted in sleep.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath. “A month of working up the balls to tell you that, and you sleep through it.”
The laugh that slips out of me is equal parts exasperation and heartbreak.
I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Doesn’t matter, belleza. I’ll say it again tomorrow. And the day after. And every damn day until you believe me. Because I already walked away from everything else. You’re the only thing I’ll never walk away from.”
The room is still dimwhen I wake, sunlight barely skimming the blinds. Reese is curled on her side, breaths slow and even, and for a moment I just lie there, soaking her in. My girl.
God, please let today be the day she talks to me. Please let her trust me enough to let me in. I can’t fix what I don’t understand.
I slip out of bed as quietly as I can, tug on my jeans, and grab my phone. A coffee run feels like the least I can do for her—and maybe some pancakes too. She’s going to need it.
I yank my phone out the second I’m outside, the screen lighting up with three missed calls from Piper. No voicemail.
“Shit.”
I stab at the call button, pacing the cracked pavement of the parking lot. The line connects, drops. Try again—nothing. Bars vanish, reappear, vanish again. I move closer to the truck, then toward the road, then back again, like some idiot chasing a ghost signal.
“Come on, come on.”
On the fourth try it rings twice before cutting out. No voicemail option. Just dead air.
I’m ready to pitch the damn phone across the lot, but I hammer out a text instead.
Look, something’s wrong with your sister. She’s safe—I’m with her. But she’s distant, shutting me out, and I don’t know if I did something. Please call me as soon as you get this.
The message hangs there, spinning, caught between sending and failing. I shove the phone back in my pocket, teeth grinding.
