Page 50 of Lighting the Lamp
I still feel him everywhere, and I’m not ready for what that means. I should stay and talk to him or at least say something, but I stand, careful not to jostle the mattress, and grab his hoodie draped over the chair in the corner. I pull it over my head with hands that won’t stop shaking before turning toward the door, every part of me buzzing like a live wire. I make it three steps, my fingers inches from the doorknob, when he says it again.
“Alise.”
I stop, spinning around on my heels and attempting to look anywhere but at him. I fail miserably. My eyes lock on him lying on his back, the sheets low on his hips. His hair’s a mess, andsomehow, even half-wrecked and barely awake, he looks at me like he sees everything.
“Where are you going?” he asks quietly.
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry I woke you. I-I just needed to—” I stutter, motioning over my shoulder toward the door.
“To leave?” he says, and there’s no accusation in it. Just quiet understanding.
My mouth opens and then shuts again. I’m unable to form a complete sentence. The silence stretches between us, thick and fragile.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep in here,” I whisper, voice thin. “I didn’t even remember getting into bed. I just woke up and?—”
“Panicked.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, but he says it like he knows the feeling personally. I nod. My throat is tight, and I’m unable to convince my hand to stop curling and uncurling into a fist. This is Beau. My best friend. The one who has always been there for me. The man I’ve been in love with since I was a kid. The man who told me I was the best little sister instead of kissing me. None of this is happening. I’ve finally broken from all the stress. That’s all this is. I just need to go back to sleep and wake up. That’s all. I clench my eyes tightly shut and begin counting backward from ten, but Beau’s voice cuts through my musings.
“I kissed you. That wasn’t a dream.”
No. No, it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t because I can still taste him. I can still feel the warmth of his mouth pressed against mine, the way he kissed me like it mattered. Like I mattered. But the question running through my mind is why, but I’m too afraid to ask. Unsure if I want him to answer or not, so I settle for the safer thing to say.
“No,” I breathe. “It wasn’t.”
He shifts slowly, pushing himself upright with a soft grunt of pain, one hand braced behind him on the mattress. His musclesflex as he moves, skin pale and marked with bruised tension, but his eyes stay soft.
“You can go if you need to, but you don’t have to.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist like it’s trying to wring out my heart. My pulse feels too loud as my heart hammers in my chest. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, voice barely audible. “Whatever this is with you.”
“I don’t either,” he says, lips twitching in a faint, sad smile. “But I know I don’t want to pretend last night didn’t happen.”
The truth of that hits too hard, causing me to flinch before I can stop myself. Of course, he sees it because Beau sees everything.
“But if you’re not ready,” he says, gentler now, “I’ll wait.”
I stand there as if I’ve forgotten how to move. It’s as if every part of me is a contradiction. I want to bolt. I want to crawl back under the covers and snuggle into his side. I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Regardless of those things, I still move slowly toward the bed, stopping just short of climbing in. The silence between us stretches long enough to become something else entirely. Beau leans cautiously toward me like he’s afraid one wrong move will send me running again. He scoots forward on the bed, lifting his hand toward my face, fingertips brushing against my cheek almost reverently, and my whole body goes still.
“I don’t want to push,” he says, voice rough. “But I’d really like to kiss you again.”
My heart stutters as my lips part without thinking. My breath catches in my throat because I want that, too. Even with all the confusion and my heart crawling up my throat, I want to remember what it felt like when his mouth was on mine. I shift slightly toward him, my knees brushing the edge of the bed. Beau leans in close enough to close the space between us, his breath warm against my mouth, the scent of him curling aroundmy senses. My eyes flutter shut as I feel the soft pressure of his lips before he comes back again, pressing his lips firmly to mine, but then the bedroom door slams open.
“Okay, Uncle Beau, I brought muffins. Mona woke me up and said to come save the day or something?” Darius’s voice barrels in like a goddamn freight train, all booming cheer and unaware teenage chaos.
My eyes fly open in panic. I jerk back, forgetting I’m kneeling on a mattress. My balance gives way immediately.
“Shit!”
My hands scramble for something, anything, but I go tumbling forward, smacking directly into Beau’s bare chest with a stunnedoof. One of my knees wedges between his thighs. The other lands awkwardly across his stomach. My face is inches from his collarbone, and I plant my hands flat on either side of his ribs. He grunts in surprise, arms instinctively wrapping around me to keep me from rolling off the bed completely.
That’s the exact moment Darius’s brain catches up with his eyes. His gaze sweeps the scene in one long, slow-motion pass: rumpled sheets, a very shirtless and sleep-rumpled Beau flat on his back with me fully sprawled on top of him in his T-shirt, my legs tangled in his, one strap of my bra visible under the collar. My face is flushed scarlet, and Beau’s eyes widen in startled disbelief. His hand twitches like he might reach for the sheet to cover himself, to cover the monitor strapped to his chest, but there’s no time. The flash of panic in his eyes is so brief Darius probably misses it, but I don’t. I see it. I feel it. Even now, when we’re both humiliated out of our minds, he’s still trying to shield everyone from the truth stamped against his skin.
Darius blinks once before his expression shifts in real time. His brows lift in slow horror, mouth parting like the punchline of a poor joke just landed squarely in his lap.
“Oh—oh, shit!”
He spins on his heel so fast he nearly drops the paper bag in his hand and smacks the doorframe with his shoulder.
