Page 103 of Tell Me When It's Over

Closing my eyes, I lean against the door and don’t move until I hear his tires pull away. It takes one minute and fourteen seconds. Blowing out a breath, I drop my things on the table in hallway before staring at the stairs.

There are two options.

Go to my room and give Kyler space.

Or confront him.

The first choice is smarter.

The second one will put me at rest—let me fall asleep a little easier without obsessing. He’s here, after all. He came home.

That’s something.

So, when I knock on his door, I’m surprised when I hear the very quiet, “Come in.”

It’s only a little after ten o’clock and he’s lying in the dark, probably in his usual sweatpants and tee that he tends to sleep in unless it’s too hot. Taking a deep breath, I inhale for three and exhale for three before getting it out in the open. Maybe then we can both move forward.

“Are you going to leave again?” I ask him.

There’s a small pause that feels like it stretches an eternity as my heart thumps loudly, rattling my ribcage. Then, from the bed before me, there’s a quiet, “No.”

“Are we going to talk about it?”

He rasps, “No.”

There’s thick tension permeating the air, but it hasn’t suffocated us yet. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

I wait for the inevitable “no” to follow the hesitant silence, but it never does. After waiting a few long heartbeats, I walk into the room, toward the lump under the thin sheet he sleeps beneath.

Even though it’s dark, I see his eyes moving in my direction, feeling them piercing my face until my skin tingles. To my surprise, he says, “Okay.”

I toe out of my shoes and slide into his bed, keeping plenty of distance between us. We don’t touch or talk, only breathe until another eternity passes.

I turn onto my side, back facing him, and whisper, “I think I may break up with Chase.”

No answer.

No sound.

Is he even breathing?

Then there’s a tug on my hand as nimble fingers wrap around mine, then a palm, and I swallow down my words. He pulls me closer to him, both of us facing each other now, his mouth dangerously close to mine, and stays there.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak.

Throat bobbing, I press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. I do that. I become that person, and I don’t think about the consequences when his breath hitches or when he moves enough where our lips line up like he’s daring me to do it again.

And I want to.

I crave it.

Both of us breathe hard, making it the only sound in the dark room. His hand tightens around my palm, his nose caressing mine, his lips so close I can practically taste them.

I close the distance, kissing him lightly, slowly, unsure, but wanting. Neither of us moves to deepen it, we just breathe into each other like we’re giving one another life. As if, in this moment, the faintest touch of our lips is all there is.

Nobody else matters.

---