Page 69 of The Rules
The room was dim, quiet, safe. Kath was curled on the couch, a blanket pulled over, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion after the harrowing events of the evening.
"So, do I get a pillow or do I have to suffer?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Without looking, Kath tossed him a pillow from the couch.
"Try not to cry," she replied.
It was easy with him. It was warm.
Then his voice shifted—softer, quieter. Like he was peeling something open without asking.
"Hey," he said. "I meant what I said earlier."
Kath's stomach tightened.
"You don't have to do everything alone, Kath," Joshua continued carefully.
He wasn’t just talking about tonight. He was talking about all of it. The weight she carried, the burdens she shouldered alone. Kath didn't know how to respond, so she simply nodded, afraid that anything more might break her.
And Joshua understood. He didn't push further, but he wouldn't let it go. He softened the moment again, easing the tension.
"If you wake up in the middle of the night panicking, I'll be here," he said.
"I'm not dramatic," she muttered, but even she didn't believe it.
"You did kind of throw yourself into my arms earlier," Joshua pointed out with a grin.
Kath flushed and rolled her eyes, turning away from him.
"Goodnight, Joshua," she muttered.
And then, he said her name in a way that made her heart skip a beat.
"Goodnight, Katherine," his voice low and easy.
And damn it, she liked the way it sounded.
Chapter 18
Benjamin
Ben sank into his couch, the whiskey burning down his throat, but it did nothing to take the edge off. He was already two drinks in, yet the tension coiled tighter with every passing moment.
It wasn't lust. It was something worse. Joshua was still with her. At her apartment. In her space. The thought gnawed at him, an incessant itch he couldn't scratch. Not because Katherine wanted him there, but because she didn't stop him.
And the part that wrecked him? She had called him first.
She said she needed him. And he had believed her, letting everything else go just to reach her. He had cleared his schedule, gotten in the damn car, his sole focus on getting to her as quickly as possible. And Joshua? He didn't even know what was happening, yet somehow, he was the one who got to stay.
Ben laughed bitterly to himself, the sound hollow and mirthless. It wasn't funny. It was pathetic.
"You're not her boyfriend, Sinclair," he muttered, the words sharp and biting. "You're not even her fucking friend."
Ben didn’t want to think about it. And yet, he was.
Not because of jealousy—he wasn’t the possessive type.
He didn’tdoneed, or longing, or late-night spirals over someone who wasn’t his.
