Chapter 52
Decker
Her breath caresses my palm.
Her clear blue eyes go round with shock and shoot up to mine.
Panic. Trepidation. Unease.
Her eyes go even wider, then she inhales a sharp breath.
Removing my hand, I pacify her. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”
I was afraid I’d scared her, emerging from the dark the way I did.
As her fear transforms into resolve, her brows hitch higher and realization trickles in.
She’s not scared. Startled, maybe. But it’s not the unknown presence looming in the dark that’s throwing her.
It’s me.
I watched her walk into the living room. Looking for what, I didn’t know.
I watched her, satisfaction settling in my gut as my longing manifested into reality.
I thought I was hallucinating.
After I’d wished for her to appear before me all night, she waltzed right back into my orbit.
Close enough that when she passed, I could feel the shift in the air.
Close enough that the sweet scent of her shampoo assaulted me.
I’ve been up for hours.
Nursing three fingers of bourbon. Desperate to find a way to escape the ever-widening pit in my stomach. Willing myself to ignore the discontent overshadowing my existence.
It’s all in vain. I can’t ignore anything about how she affects me or how much I fucking miss her. Being in the same house only compounds the yearning.
I’m so attuned to her, so desperate for a glimpse of her face or the hint of a smile. I swear I sensed her before she’d made it to the top of the stairs.
My pulse hammered so loudly I was certain it would give me away.
But she didn’t see me where I sat, shrouded in darkness, slouched in a wingback chair.
She didn’t even sense me, not the way I always sense her.
It hurts. It hurts to know she’s moving on.
In search of a blanket, she wandered through the dark house, wearing a tiny tank top and sweatpants that clearly belong to one of the guys. She just wanted a blanket.
And I can’t leave well enough alone.
Her hair is wild and loose. She’s fresh-faced, her cheeks rosy and lips swollen.
I want to ask if she’s cold. If she’s hungry.
If she’s even remotely okay. Because I’m fucking not.
I haven’t been since the second I told her we were through and obliterated the most cherished relationship I’ve ever had. That I’ll ever have.
All I want to do is hold her.
“Siren.”
She blinks out of the spell we were both under.
She pulls the blanket around her shoulders tighter.
I know before she opens her mouth that the moment is gone.
Vanished. Dissipated. Over before it even truly began, just like us.
She averts her gaze. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be up.” She won’t even look at me. Her focus is fixed on a spot over my shoulder.
“Josephine,” I try again. Surely she can feel my desperation—the despondence and pain that lurches through me at just the sight of her. If only she’d let me hold her. If only we could slow this all down so I could explain.
I reach out. Only enough to test her resolve.
She shifts back before I’ve moved an inch.
“Kylian said we wouldn’t see you again this weekend.” Her words are clipped, her tone as tense as her posture. She barely sounds like herself as she speaks, and she still won’t meet my eye.
She wasn’t supposed to see me.
That’s what I promised when I persuaded them to come to the cabin.
How the hell did I convince myself I could stay away from her when every breath I take burns with regret?
She wasn’t supposed to see me, but the instant I laid eyes on her, I couldn’t hold back.
“I’m sorry. I’m only out here because I didn’t think anyone would be up at this hour.”
She nods, pulling the blanket draped around her shoulders even tighter.
“I just needed…” She trails off, still looking everywhere but at me.
A blanket. She needed a blanket.
Which confirms my suspicions. She’s sleeping downstairs with Kylian.
I didn’t dare inquire about sleeping arrangements. I was just so damn grateful that they’d all be here. That I can see with my own eyes that they’re safe. That they’re sheltered, under my roof, together. Despite how begrudgingly they came.
But now she’s here. Standing two feet in front of me.
“Wait. Josephine,” I croak. Desperate to get through. Desperate for her to look at me, to open up, to stop pushing me out.
Her eyes find mine, and for a second, just a second, I swear there’s a flicker in those blue irises.
A flicker of curiosity.
A flash of pain.
A second suspended in time where we exist in an alternate universe. One where I didn’t break us and our story wasn’t over before it had a chance to begin.
She blinks, and it’s gone.
But it was there. I saw it. I fucking felt it.
I refuse to accept defeat. The moment may have passed, but I have to try.
“One minute,” I request, planting my feet wide and squaring my hips.
I’m warm and unsteady from the bourbon I’ve been nursing all night. I maintain my posture and hold the position while I await her answer.
“One minute, Josephine,” I plead. This time, I hold my breath.
Her eyes narrow, searching. If she’s considering whether I’m worthy of that minute, she should know I’m not. But I am relentless.
I’m not above begging. She’s here. Right fucking here. Within arm’s reach. Even if she’s further from being mine than she’s ever been.
I’m still holding my breath when she tips her chin and shakes her head.
“I can’t.”
The pain of her rejection doesn’t even register. I stow it away, keep it for later.
She takes a step forward: a long stride, sidestepping me in an effort to give herself a wide berth.
I fall back into the pocket, willing to stand directly in her path and take the sack.
“Josephine,” I try one more time. “One minute. You can’t even give me that?”
She hesitates. It’s a micro-movement, a barely there drag of her momentum. But it’s enough.
She peers over her shoulder, this time with tears in her eyes, and assesses me. The scowl she so often reserves for me is firmly in place.
“No, Decker. You can’t have a minute. Not now. Not ever again.”