Page 60 of Versions Of Us

“It matters to me,” she says through gritted teeth.

I sigh, combing a hand through my hair as I turn and step toward the kitchenette. “I was in a place. A town. About four hours’ drive from here.”

“And what did you find there that was worth giving up your entire life?” Kristen glares at me, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I told you. It’s complicated.”

She shakes her head, clearly fed up with my lack of transparency and then starts for the stairs. I reach for her wrist. She pauses at my touch, spinning slowly back around. I know I should let her go, but I don’t want to.

“Give me a chance,” I plead softly. “I’ll try to explain.”

And in that moment, I actually believe that I can.

That I’ll be able to get the words out before the panic sets in. Before my chest begins to burn, my lungs collapsing in on themselves as though they’re allergic to air.

My hands instinctively reach behind me to grab at the counter, a desperate effort to keep me from hitting the floor too hard. The colour leaves Kristen’s face as I slide down onto the tiles, the kitchen cabinet behind me bearing the full brunt of my weight. I pull my knees into my chest, burying my head between them, and I try to remember how to breathe.

“Henley?” Kristen is kneeling in front of me now. I’m aware of her hands on my shoulders, her fingers in my hair, although I can only vaguely feel her touch. “What’s happening?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to respond.

“Just breathe,” she encourages.

I’m not sure how many moments pass before the darkness clears.

“I’m sorry,” I say, breathlessly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

She takes my head in her hands, her palms soft as they stroke my face. “Henley, what just happened?” she whispers. “Are you okay?”

No. Not at all.

“Yeah.” My voice comes out raspy as she wipes a tear from the corner of my eye that I didn’t realise I’d shed.

“Does this happen often?” Her hazel eyes are greener in the sunlight that streams through the open window.

“Sometimes,” I admit.

I know how helpless I must look to her right now, how unworthy of her attention. Which is why I’m so confused by what happens next.

Her palm, still resting on my jaw, moves downward to my chest, coming to rest in place over my heart. The warmth of her touch calms me in ways nothing else can.

She leans in, her breath dancing on my cheek. When her lips graze mine, it’s so good it hurts, because I fear the emptiness when she finally pulls away.

But she doesn’t pull away.

She presses her lips to mine, her fingers weaving through my hair as my hands find their way to her hips. I pull her onto my lap and she crushes her body against mine, the kiss becoming deeper and more urgent.

I don’t deserve this. I know that. But I can’t stop myself from taking what isn’t mine. What I’ve longed for all this time. My hand slides to the nape of her neck, my mouth trailing downward greedily, the billowing scent of her shampoo intoxicating.

We’re so lost within each other that we don’t hear the footsteps that climb the staircase into the loft.

“Alex, I got milk like you asked and …” a familiar female voice begins. “Oh.”

Kristen looks up in time to see Mackenzie standing in the doorway, a set of keys in one hand, a carton of milk in the other. She slowly rises to her feet, realisation dawning in her expression as she takes in her surroundings. It doesn’t take a psychic to understand what she must be thinking.

She surveys the loft, the assortment of hair ties on the dresser in the corner, the women’s cardigan draped over one of the dining chairs, before her line of sight finally falls on the far wall, where the only bed in the apartment is situated. Her hand flies to her forehead. “God. I’m such an idiot.”

“Kristen,” I say breathlessly. “This isn’t what you think.”

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