Page 33 of A Love That Broke Us
“Stop… making me laugh,” I groan through a breathy chuckle. “Some ibuprofen would be great.”
I close my eyes for a moment, the tension and bright light making my head throb even more. He’s back two minutes later with the pills and a glass of water.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Will you turn off this light?”
“Sure. Get some sleep. I got this. I’ll start with the kitchen. I can’t screw that up too badly. There’s only so many places this stuff can go.”
My eyes crack open,and I blink the sleep away. I don’t even remember closing them.
I’m in bed now—ourbed. The soft light from my nightstand glows across the room. I must’ve been really out. Jensen moved me here, and I didn’t even notice.
He moves about the room quietly, pulling something from a box, then sliding open a drawer. I smile to myself, gratitude swelling in my chest.My stuff is going to end up in the weirdest places.
My gaze lands on the dresser, and a weak laugh slips from my lips. “Oh my God. What did you do?”
He turns around, a wicked grin stretched across his face. “What do you think of our new decorations?”
I have these heinous dolls from all over the world—souvenirs my grandma used to bring back every time she traveled. They’re ugly as sin and creepy as hell, but I cherish them. I usually keep them boxed up, but once a year, I’ll get them out just to look at them. I would’ve preferred that not be today. And definitely not around Jensen. Looks like he found the box and lined them all up on our dresser.
“Okay, but seriously. We gotta talk about these,” he teases. “Should I be concerned?”
I shake my head, laughing, and he joins in. Every time I look at the dolls and imagine him finding the box, I laugh harder. I wish I could’ve seen his face. I’m laughing so hard, tears sting my eyes—until suddenly, without warning, the laughter turns to crying. Real tears. My chest tightens. My throat burns. And before I can stop it, I’m sobbing. My face contorts into what’s probably the worst cry face imaginable, and I’m instantly mortified. But I can’t help it. That ache—the one that misses my grandma—punches me in the gut. And it hurts.
And then I think of my mom, and I can’t breathe.
No. No. No.I’ve never cried in front of Jensen before. This is new. He hasn’t seen this side of me, and I’m not ready for that.
“Babe!” Jensen rushes to my side. “God, babe. It was a joke. I’m so sorry.”
He pulls me into a hug, and I sob like a baby in his arms. “Hey,” he says softly, kissing the top of my head, patient as ever.
Who cries the first day they move in with someone?
Eventually, my tears slow, and the room falls painfully quiet—just the sound of my quick, uneven breaths.
“Are you wishing you hadn’t asked me to move in?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“It’ll take a lot more than a few tears to scare me away.” He pulls back, his hands cupping my face. “You wanna talk about the dolls?” His lips twitch into a smile.
“They were from my grandma.”
His brows furrow. “Well, hey, I’ve never been a doll guy, but we can leave them up if you want.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “You’re so sweet. And I love you for that—but no. They’re so creepy. But I love them at the same time. It just made me sad for a minute.” I blow out a breath, still a little shaken. “I’m sorry. That was… different.”
“Hey.” His hand finds mine. “Don’t be sorry.” A soft smile touches his lips. “I’m just glad they can go back in the box… How you feeling? Aside from the doll fiasco?”
“Notgreat,” I say, my voice thick, nose too stuffed to breathe properly. “Turns out crying’s not great for a head cold.”
His lips press to my forehead in a lingering kiss, and I close my eyes, sinking into the safety of him. It’s the kind of tender moment where sometimes, what he doesn’t say says more than anything he ever could.
“Can I show you what I did with all your stuff?”
My eyes go wide. “Oh boy. I’m not gonna lie—I’m a little worried.”
“Nah, babe. You’re gonna be impressed. I paid attention when we were boxing up your stuff.” He stands, making his way over to the new dresser. “You get all six of these drawers. I just took the three on the left.”
He pulls one open. “Underwear’s in here.” He glances back at me. “And don’t worry, I kept it in that little cube box thing you had it in.” He closes it and opens the next. “Socks. In the cubes, and color coded. Just like before.”
