Page 17 of With You Forever

Because he already knows he won’t.

The next morning, Seth wakes to the bright blast of March sunlight. He swears. It’s too fucking early to be morning. He stayed awake for hours last night, Lacey sleeping on the pillow beside him, his mind a storm of thoughts, irrational, panicked until late into the midnight hour.

With a groan, he stretches his arms out, reaching for Lacey’s warm body, but all he finds is an empty bed. He sits up, scanning the room, his heart pounding in his chest.

Goddamnit. Where is she? She should be in bed, resting.

“Lacey?” He scrambles out of bed, the beat of his heart unsteady, and he kneads his chest like he can kick it back into the right gear. “Lace?” After checking the bathroom, he rushes into the living room. “Lacey?”

“Seth?” Lacey turns, her green eyes wide and concerned at the way he’s blasted into the living room. “What is it?”

Lacey’s at the coffeepot, already dressed for the day in a tweed blazer, high-waisted jeans, and a furry pink bandeau top. Her blond hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her beautiful face placid and calm. Like last night never happened. Lacey letting him see her vulnerable ain’t happening for more than twelve hours.

But Seth knows better. The dark circles under her eyes tell him she didn’t get much sleep either.

He strides toward her, lifting a brow. “You oughta be in bed.”

She frowns, her nose wrinkling in that adorable way. “Ugh. Don’t be all ... Seth about this.” A shake of her head as she pours him a cup of coffee and slides it his way. “I feel fine. Just a little sore. Besides, the doctor said—”

Crossing his arms, Seth leans back against the cabinets. “The doctor don’t clear you. I clear you. And you ain’t workin’. Not yet.”

She huffs. Her eyes flash in disagreement. “You’re overcompensating,” she sniffs. “From LA.”

He scowls at the reminder. An image of her collapsing in his arms at Colin Cane’s party instantly has his heart palpitating hard. Even a year later, he’s an overprotective son of a bitch after her mugging. Nothing touches Lacey and he’ll damn sure make sure of it.

He takes a step closer to her. “Don’t make me put you over my shoulder, princess.”

Lacey’s lips quirk in amusement. “I have a full day of clients, Seth. I can’t just stop.” Chin up, she reaches out, palming his cheek. The look on her face—a distraught desperation—has him relenting. She lowers her voice. “I have to work, okay? I have to do normal stuff or I’ll go crazy. Please.” A tight smile appears on her face. “Besides, like you said, we don’t know anything yet.”

Protection, pride, twists his heart. He understands. Christ, how can he not? This is Lacey’s way of coping. Keeping busy or distracting herself so she doesn’t think about the what-ifs. And she should do that. Even if all he wants to do is keep her home and close to him. But he can’t be afraid, and he sure as shit can’t let on to Lacey that he’s afraid.

“Fuck,” Seth breathes, taking her hand to draw her into him. He wraps an arm around her neck, kisses her temple. “You’re right. I’m sorry. All this, it’s just—”

“A lot.”

“Yeah.”

Then, trying to create some attempt at normalcy, he gives her a crooked grin. “Before you go, what do you say we finally pair down this list and get these invites in the mail?” He spins her wedding planner toward him and opens it to the guest list.

A wary look crosses Lacey’s face. “Maybe tonight?”

“We got that gig at the Bluebird. Damn.” He tears a hand through his hair. “I’ll cancel.”

“No. We’ll get to it.” She grabs her bag, and Seth grabs her arm.

“What about breakfast?”

Her smile, stretched thin, doesn’t reach her eyes. “Grabbed a granola bar.”

She tries to turn away again, to move, but Seth holds her tight. He searches her face, his stomach a slow roll of worry. “Lace. Don’t shut down on me.”

She swallows. “I won’t. I’m fine, Seth. I’ll be fine.”

Fine. Fuck.

If he hates one word in the English language, it’sfine.

With one last kiss, Lacey turns on the toe of her high-heeled shoe and struts out the front door.

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