Page 61 of The Trust We Broke
Mytemporaryapartment.
And the belt buckle jingler must be Grudge.
My lashes part slowly, the dim room spinning, for a moment, until I blink away the blurriness. There’s a dull throb behind my right temple, and my joints ache as I move, especially my ankle and knee.
But it’s the shape of him that lowers to sit on the edge of the bed near me.
He’s shirtless, just the line of dark denim that rides low on his hips as he reaches for my hip and squeezes gently. “Hey, Bug,” he says softly. “Time to wake up for a little minute.”
“Concussion, right?” I ask, my voice a rasp.
“Let me help you sit so you can take some more painkillers.” He slides his hands beneath my arms and takes my weight, guiding me up to the headboard.
The world spins for a moment, but, thankfully, there’s no nausea or any of the other symptoms Greer told Grudge to watch for.
His hands are careful, deliberate, as he hands me a glass of water and the pills. “Know you don’t like taking them,” he says softly. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”
He’s right. I don’t like taking them. Every time I take a pill, I feel like I’m going to choke on it. Vitamins, painkillers, even my contraceptive pill, which…
Shit!
We didn’t use protection. Not that I can do anything about that, now. That’s a conversation for tomorrow.
The way he stretched me and filled me.
The way our bodies said things neither of us is brave enough to say out loud.
How he held me like I was everything to him.
His hand comes up and brushes a curl from my cheek, fingers trailing lightly along my skin. The warmth of his touch ignites something low in my belly. It’s something more terrifying than pure lust, something more dangerous than nostalgia.
It’s want and need and blistering confusion.
Grudge hasn’t asked why I’ve slept so much. I haven’t told him.
He probably assumes it’s the accident.
The truth is, it’s the sum of everything.
For the first time in weeks, I feel…safe. His presence insulates me from the rest of the world. This apartment physically keeps everyone away.
Here, tonight, I can just be.
In someone else’s sheets, I can pretend everything is okay in my world. Maybe it’s wrong to let Grudge play that role without his consent. But even as my body aches, my soul is settled.
“Take them,” he says, tipping his chin to the pills in my hand.
“We should talk,” I force myself to say.
“It’s late.” His words are quiet, but he doesn’t pull away. His knuckles stroke over my temple, down to my jaw. His fingers are soft when he takes the pills from my palm and offers them to my lips.
I open them, and he pops the pills inside, his finger brushing over my lip deliberately.
“Drink, Bug,” he says, lifting the wrist of the hand holding the water.
I do as he says, chasing the pills with cool liquid that eases my dry mouth. I shake my head, trying to force the pills to the back of my throat.
Grudge watches me the whole time, like I might choke before I swallow.
