Chapter 28 #2
I feel his cock jerk. He’s been hard this whole time, and it makes me feel a little guilty. But he’s assured me it’s fine, that this is what he wants. To just be here with me.
His thumb brushes past again, and a flutter stirs deep in my stomach. Then his hand slides over mine, weaving our fingers together before softly curling them closed.
I give his hand a squeeze. God, he’s given me so much.
He’s sacrificed his entire life for me these past few weeks, not to mention the five months before. He’s been showing up every single day, doing the work to be the best version of himself, while I drowned my feelings at the bottom of a glass, just like my dad.
Jensen was in rehab. In therapy. In the gym.
Getting stronger in every way, and I was avoiding all of it.
Venting to Leo and calling it therapy. Confiding in friends and asking them what to do instead of figuring out my own shit.
He’s been doing everything in his control to make all this possible, and all I’ve done is show up.
I know it’s because I’ve got my own demons to face—and that I’ve been avoiding them while trying to rekindle what I have with Jensen. It feels counterproductive to dig into the hurt while I’m trying to hold space for love and forgiveness. I need therapy. I know I do. I’m just… not ready yet.
I’m not going to berate myself for it. I’ve learned to give myself grace. I am where I am, and I can live with that because I can’t change the past. I can only change right now, going forward. The future. But I owe him something. I can give more.
I shift slightly in his arms, my voice barely above a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”
He doesn’t move. Just smooths his thumb over mine. “Yeah, babe. Anything.”
I close my eyes briefly, the question heavy on my tongue. I just have to be brave enough to let it out…
“Will you tell me something about rehab?”
He stills. Even his breathing stops, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve upset him. If maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it. But then I remember, he asked me why I never ask about anything, that night he called about the edibles.
Finally, he takes a deep breath, his exhale warm against my head. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know… Will you tell me about your first day there?”
It’s quiet for a moment before he lets out a low hum. “The first day? I hardly remember it. Matt was there with me. Dropped me off. I was clean. I had to be for at least ten days before checking in. Matt and Megan helped me detox.” He pauses. “Sorry, that’s not what you asked.”
His hand slips from mine, sliding low across my stomach.
“First day felt really clinical. Check-in’s a blur.
I had to give them my phone and my watch.
I still didn’t feel great, even after two weeks clean.
I was jet-lagged, still lacking nutrients…
everything that makes you feel alive, you know?
You were gone, I wasn’t eating much. Lost a ton of weight. I was weak.”
His fingers draw together and spread again, brushing softly over my skin. Heat seeps into my thighs, my attention splitting, half on his words, half on the way his touch makes it hard to breathe.
But I’m listening.
“We had lunch, then they showed me my room. It was really nice and had a large bathroom. But no TV, no lock on the doors. Every room had at least one big window. Mine had two since it sat on the corner. Then they ran a bunch of tests and labs. Honestly, I felt a little like a lab rat.
He shifts behind me, adjusting himself, his hand brushing over my hip.
“I met my counselors, my therapist. Got my daily schedule. Had a psychiatric evaluation. It was really rigorous. After dinner, they gave us downtime. I’d planned to go back to my room and be alone, but Max sat down across from me.
He became my first friend there. He was from LA, youngest child in a wealthy family, mom who babied him.
We clicked instantly. Even though we were both only half-alive at that point,” he chuckles, “we just got each other.”
His hand moves back to my arm, sliding over it until he finds my fingers.
He weaves them with his, tugging me closer before continuing.
“He had a fiancée and a baby. She walked out on him, took the baby, and he spiraled… Worse than I did. Woke up on the street one morning, tried to see his kid, and she wouldn’t let him in.
Then she filed a restraining order. That was his wake-up call. ”
He falls quiet, and I can feel it, sense it, how close he is to breaking. I lean back, straining my neck to see him, then roll all the way over to face him. His arm slips around my waist as I shift, and my hand smooths up his chest, resting against his cheek.
“Hey… you okay?”
He swallows and nods, but his eyes shut and a tear falls.
“Fuck. Sorry.” He swipes it away, his lips trembling. “He relapsed. A few weeks ago. Ended up in the ER. Almost died.”
His voice cracks, and the sound splinters through me. The ache that hits isn’t just for his friend. It’s for him. For the possibility of loss.
But then panic slams into my chest, making it hard to breathe. This could be him. At any time. God. The what-if wraps around my throat, squeezing tight until it’s suffocating.
I force myself to form words. “Don’t be sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes it off. “I hadn’t heard from him in a few weeks, so I wondered if he’d fallen off, but then he texted me last week to say he was okay. That he was headed back to rehab.”
He exhales, swiping at his cheek. “Everything’s just so fragile. Life. People…” His voice is trembles. “Me.”
Shit. That hits me, hard. Scares me to death.
But at the same time, all I want is to be here for him.
To soothe his fears. I’ve carried so much anxiety for what feels like forever—most of it because of him—but these past few weeks, he’s been the one easing it.
He’s been masking his own anxiety, putting on a strong front for me. And I’ve needed that.
But now I’m realizing… he’s not as cool and collected as he lets on. He’s stressed, too. Maybe even a little scared.
I’m not used to seeing him this way. Even when we were dating, Jensen always carried himself like nothing could touch him. Never showing weakness. Not to me. Not to anyone.
Now, he’s unraveling in front of me. Not in a chaotic way. Not in an addiction spiral. In a quiet, honest way.
It terrifies me, knowing he’s scared of failing, of relapsing, of losing me.
But it’s this vulnerability that anchors me to him now.
Because this humility is exactly what was missing before.
It’s the absence of ego. He’s being real.
Human. Fragile. Somehow, that makes me feel safer than I ever did when he was bulletproof. It lets me hold on. It lets me believe.
He’s not being perfect. He’s being brave.
I meet his gaze, and it feels like the first time I’m truly seeing him since rehab, deep, down to his core. The man I know, but don’t. The man he’s becoming.
I see the hurt. The pain. The fear of losing his friend, his sobriety… Me.
His eyes search mine, the deep blue in them calming me in a way words never could. They’re filled with sorrow, remorse, and the endless love he has for me.
I shift onto my elbow and lean down, grazing my lips over his. “Hey,” I say softly.
I want to tell him it’s going to be okay, but I don’t know if it will. I want to promise his friend will get better. Promise we’ll work out. But I can’t.
So I kiss him instead.
I let my feelings take over, because it’s the only way I know how to tell him what I feel without actually saying it.
My hand slides through his hair as I press my lips firmer against his.
They part, and he dives his tongue into my mouth.
His arms wrap around me, inhaling like I just poured air into his lungs.
He pulls me even closer, possessing my mouth, running his hands along my body. Holding me like I’m his tether. His lifeline. And I want to be, because he feels like mine, too.
God, he has me coming undone.
I told him no sex tonight. I meant it. But now his hands are on my hips, his tongue’s in my mouth, and I can’t remember why I ever said that. I want him more than ever. I want his hands on me. His mouth consuming mine. And I want his cock buried deep inside me.
Right here. In our home. In our bed.
I want all of him.
He rolls me onto my back, mouth hovering over mine. He licks his lips. “You said you didn’t want this tonight.”
My gaze roams over his eyes, his face, his mouth. I nod, my voice barely a whisper. “I changed my mind.”
“You sure?” His hand skims over my stomach, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of my shorts. The tease makes my body arch into his, and I gasp against his mouth.
Yes, I’m pretty damn sure.
I nod again, biting my bottom lip as my hand drifts over his abs and down to the firm length of him, rubbing firmly over his pants.
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as his hand slides farther, knuckles grazing my underwear. His fingers stroke lightly over the thin fabric, teasing, fueling the craving that’s already consuming me.
He arches an eyebrow, a slow smirk forming as he pushes my underwear aside, his fingers gliding over the wet surface. He circles them against my clit, and I gasp, hips rolling into his hand.
His gaze locks on mine—somber, dark, but aching.
He’s never broken like this before. Never failed. Never doubted his worth. And now he’s struggling to believe he deserves love and happiness, maybe even me… I need him to know that he does.
I’m too scared to say it out loud. But I can show him. In the way I kiss him. In the way I melt into his touch. The way I give myself over to him, chasing the high only he can give me. The way I let him in.
That’s how I tell him I love him.