Page 57 of Curvy Cabin Fever
Morgan lets me go without hesitation, without disappointment, without any of the things I’m used to seeing on people’s faces when I pull away. He just lets me step back, his hands falling away slowly, his eyes holding mine like I haven’t just confessed something I’ve never said aloud before.
“You wanna sit with me for a while?” he questions, nodding toward the worn couch near the fire.
There’s no pressure or expectation, just an offer. And somehow, that makes it harder to say no.
“Yeah,” I respond, my voice rough. “Yeah, okay.”
Morgan doesn’t look like he’s won something or like this is a victory. He just nods—like he’s glad I’m still here at all.
We settle on the couch; the fire sends a soft glow across the room, making the world outside feel distant, less sharp somehow. I sit on the edge, elbows on my knees, hands steepled in front of me. Morgan drops beside me, giving me space but staying close enough that I feel the heat radiating from him.
We don’t talk for a while. There’s no need, since sometimes silence says enough. But eventually, I glance over, finding him watching the fire.
I wonder how long he’s felt like this, how long he’s been waiting for me to catch up.
“How did you know?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Morgan glances over at me, one brow lifting slightly.
“That it was me,” I clarify, my voice quieter now. “That I was the one you…wanted.”
He gives me a secret smile, like he knows exactly what I’m trying to ask without saying it. “I didn’t,” he replies simply. “Not at first.”
That surprises me. “You didn’t?”
He shakes his head. “I just knew there was something about you I couldn’t stay away from.” His eyes meet mine again, holding steady. “And eventually, I stopped trying.”
It’s a simple thing, but it knocks the air from my lungs all the same. Because he’s right. There’s been something between us for years—years of quiet glances, of standing too close, of words unspoken because neither of us were ready.
But now I’ve kissed him. Now I’ve admitted the thing that’s been clawing at my insides for longer than I’ll ever say out loud.
And maybe I’m not ready to fall all the way yet, but I stayed tonight. I didn’t run. And that feels like something.
20
RHETT
Ihear Aria’s laugh, and it completely guts me.
It’s a little breathy sound drifting from the kitchen—but it hits me with the force of a bullet. I’m sitting motionless on the living room couch, nursing a coffee that has long gone cold, and every single part of my being seems wired to the sound of her voice. Something primal within me recognizes her presence before my conscious mind fully registers it.
She’s laughing with Morgan.
My Morgan.
He makes her feel good. Safe. Beautiful. Everything I’ve failed to do. Because he’s a better person than me. I’m the one who cruelly called her those unforgivable words in a moment of blind rage.
My stomach churns violently, and I set the mug down with too much force. It clinks loudly against the wooden surface and yet draws absolutely no one’s attention, which somehow makes the situation feel infinitely worse. I’ve gradually become nothing more than background noise in this house. The guy who couldn’t handle his own complicated emotions, so he lashed out destructively instead.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
None of it was.
My feelings have become a tangled mess. I can’t seem to unravel them no matter how hard I try.
Aria distracts me by moving into the living room, gracefully curling up in the armchair with a book open in her lap, avoiding my gaze. She tucks her legs beneath her, exposing one shoulder where her sweater has slipped. Damien’s sweater, I think. Or Morgan’s.
Definitely not mine.
