Page 82 of The Assist
I nod. Then twist to face him. “Yeah. It’s just sometimes, love is messy. But it’s still love.”
His eyes hold mine. “Yeah. It is.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DYLAN
Mia’s curled into my side like she belongs there, her legs tangled with mine, the edge of my duvet pulled up to her chin. She’s quiet, but not in that closed-off way she sometimes gets when she’s stuck in her own head. This is something softer. Quieter. Like her defences are down for once, and I get to see the real her; the version behind the tough sarcasm and all that stubborn self-control.
I can feel her phone still tucked between us, pressed to her chest. She hasn’t moved since she read whatever message came through. But her breathing’s steady, her cheek warm against my arm.
“You gonna tell me what that was?” I murmur.
She hums, her eyes still closed. “Just my mum. My dad, he asked about me.”
I don’t say anything. I just shift a little, so I can see her face better, and let my fingers drift lazily through her hair.
“That good or bad?” I ask.
“Both,” she says, a faint smile ghosting her lips. “He said he was proud.”
There’s a crack in her voice that punches straight through me. I press a kiss to her forehead, it’s gentle and warm. Miasinks deeper into me. We lie there a while longer as the clock ticks softly. The world’s gone still.
And for once, I don’t feel like I’m racing to catch up or faking something I can’t quite feel. I don’t want to be anywhere else.
It’s terrifying.
And perfect.
Eventually, Mia shifts. Sits up a little and pushes her hair back, blinking at me like she forgot where she is.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” I say, smirking. “If anything, I was thinking about how to trap you here forever.”
“Trap me, huh?”
“Yeah. Tie you to the radiator. Stockholm Syndrome you into staying.”
“That’s dark, Diesel.” Her brow furrows as she side-eyes me.
“You love it.”
She laughs, and God, it’s a sound I want to bottle. A sound I’ll never tire of hearing. But then her eyes drift around the room, and that edge of reality creeps back in. Her shoulders go tight again.
I know what she’s thinking. I’ve been thinking it too.
She climbs out of bed, stretching her arms overhead, she’s all bare legs, oversized shirt, and bare feet on my hardwood floor, and I swear I forget how to breathe for a second.
“I should probably head home,” she says.
“Why?”
She glances at me. “Because it’s nearly midnight, and I have work in the morning, and technically I’m not supposed to be here.”
I sit up on the couch. “You meanwith me.”
She gives me a look that says,don’t make this harder than it already is.
