Chapter 8
Clay
I untangle myself from Grant. My thoughts drift back to the woman in our living room and the need to see how she’s doing.
Grant said she was sleeping, but knowing her, it won’t be for long. I also don’t want her to attempt to jump right into the cold. I could see her trying her damnedest.
Stepping out of the bedroom, I hear the paper before I see her.
A sharp, tearing sound. Harsh in a way that doesn’t match the calm of the house. It makes me pause halfway down the hall.
At least that means she hasn’t left.
She’s standing in the kitchen, shoulders tight, a single sheet of paper clenched in her hands like it might bite her if she loosens her grip. There’s a glass of water untouched on the counter. Her bag sits open, mail spread beside it. The envelope is shredded into pieces on the floor.
I don’t even need to read it to know it isn’t good.
Her face has gone blank in that way I’ve already learned to recognize. It’s like she’s pulled a wall down inside herself, brick by brick, until nothing can get through. But for some reason, I’m compelled to help her. I don’t want anything that tarnishes the woman inside.
I lean against the doorway, keeping my voice low. “You okay?”
She doesn’t look at me right away. When she does, her eyes are glassy but dry. Controlled. Too controlled. I don’t want her to hide. Not from me.
“It’s stupid,” she says quickly. “I knew it was coming. It always does.”
That answers nothing. What the fuck is she talking about?
I go with the only thing I know. “Is it him again? Is the jerk from the warehouse threatening you?”
She laughs, but it’s hollow, “I think I might take those better at this point. It would really be a toss-up.”
Her response only adds to my confusion. “Then who sent you something that has clearly upset you?”
She doesn’t answer, but hands me the letter to read for myself. I read it. Then re-read it. What the actual fuck is this? This is terrible.
“I get one every year. It’s no big deal.” She shrugs like it means nothing, which is complete bullshit. My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
She takes the letter back, folding it over and over. An attempt to make it smaller. Like she’s trying to make it disappear through sheer force of will. I watch her hands. Steady, even though everything else about her feels like it’s fraying.
Ready to crumble.
This isn’t the Jolee that I know. Not the strong and independent woman I’ve become infatuated with.
I step closer, careful not to crowd her. “This feels like a big deal. It feels like something, or someone, is hurting you. I don’t like it at all.”
Her shoulders lift in another slow shrug. “Nothing new.” A beat. “Nothing she hasn’t already said.”
I nod, even though anger coils in my chest. I want to tear the letter up myself. Burn it. Remove every trace of that woman from her life. But I don’t. Because this isn’t mine to fix. Not yet. Jo has to let me in first, even if it’s just a fraction.
I don’t even know who the fuck this is. But I hate that she even has this effect on her.
“She doesn’t get to define you,” I say. “Who is she, Jo? Tell me who this is.”
She laughs softly at that. Not amused. Just tired. “Everyone says that. And who isn’t important. I can’t let her be important.”
“I’m not everyone.”
That finally makes her look at me. Really look. There’s something raw there—exposed and exhausted—that hits me harder than I expect.
I lean closer. I want to offer her comfort. To hold her. But her body language has me holding back. She’s turned further away, rigid and tense. The opposite of what sleep and rest are supposed to do to someone.
She clears her throat and looks away first. “I shouldn’t be here.”
The words land more heavily than they should.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I don’t know how to exist in places where people are… kind.” She gestures vaguely with the folded paper. “Or where things feel complicated.”
I exhale slowly. “Funny. I was thinking the opposite, that you shouldn’t be alone. Not right now and not with the worry in your eyes.”
Her fingers tighten around the letter again. “This is my mess.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But you don’t have to stand in it by yourself.” I place my hand lightly on her free hand. Offering her what I hope she can accept.
For minutes, neither of us moves. The house hums softly around us. The heat kicks on, water running down the hall. Life continues, indifferent. Jo just stares down at my hand on hers.
She finally sets the letter down on the counter, but doesn’t throw it away. Just… let's it be.
“I don’t know how long I can keep pretending,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper.
Something settles in my chest at that. Strong. Determined.
“Then don’t,” I say. “You don’t have to pretend here, not with me.”
She nods once. Not in agreement. Not a refusal either. Just acknowledgment.
And for now, that’s enough.
Dinner passes by in a blink. Grant is carrying on most of the conversation and keeping things light. He knows something happened, but I haven’t had a chance to fill him in yet.
And now it’s time for bed. Well, an attempt at sleeping, because I’m half worried and half horny. I warn my dick that nothing is happening tonight.
It’s going to be a long night, given the fact that we only have one bed in this house. We’ve never needed more for any reason. Except it would give us another surface to fuck on. Not that we need more. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a spot left untouched in or outside this house.
“You’re kidding me.”
The fire is back in her words, and like nothing happened.
I try to hold back my grin as I hand her bag so she can change. I was at least nice enough to pack some for her. Hell, I was being courteous, even packing her any clothing at all.
“Nope. There’s plenty of room for all of us… to sleep.” I emphasize the word not only for her, but for my dick. It really does need to calm down before it scares her or makes her think I have a weapon in my pants. I’m not exactly small.
“It does look… roomy.” She grumbles before heading into the adjoining bathroom.
I look at Grant, who has already put on sweatpants to sleep in. I’m not complaining as he looks fine in sweats, but normally we don’t wear anything to bed. Maybe I need to crack a window because we are going to melt. And sweaty doesn’t sound fun… unless we’re naked.
“Not sure how much sleep we are getting tonight,” I say, almost defeated. So much has happened tonight. I have questions, but I won’t be getting any answers tonight.
“It’s okay. If she really has an issue, I can go try to sleep on the couch.”
“No!” I whisper harshly. “I don’t want to sleep without you tonight. We’ve already had too many nights apart. Besides, you don’t fit on the couch. I’ve been telling you we need a larger one anyway for us to cuddle on.”
“And who’s fault is that…” He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Mine. I missed us, but I don’t regret anything. If I could have walked away, I would have. But Jo… It’s different. She’s different.”
“I know, love. Let’s just try to get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow. Today has already been an eventful day.”
He kisses me tenderly.
I turn down the lights and crawl in. I’m claiming the middle of the bed after all. He just shakes his head at me as he finishes getting ready.
Jo returns from the bathroom, spine straight, chin lifted, and in the cutest pink pajama set I’ve ever seen.
She looks as determined as ever… meaning fucking adorable.
I want to see more of her, not the Jo who’s filled with pain.
She sets the bag down on her side of the bed and starts rolling up something. I sit up a little. A blanket?
“What are you doing? I won’t steal the covers from you, I promise.”
She huffs and continues her task.
I watch because I really don’t know what’s happening. My eyes shift back to Grant, and he just shakes his head; clearly, he’s amused. I don’t get it.
When I look back at Jo, it becomes obvious. She’s made a blanket wall between her and me. Like that’s going to protect her from me. A six-foot-one, built man with a potential weapon between his legs.
Fuck, she’s cute when she’s got her mind set on something. My dick perks up, wanting to bust that barrier down, but she’s not ready for that.
I still can’t figure out why she hasn’t been with anyone in eight years. She’s smart, fiery, and gorgeous. Not to mention the most accident-prone woman I’ve ever met.
And right now, she’s crawling into our bed. No kissing. No touching. No sex. It’s really a first for Grant and me. But I’ll do anything to help her.
That letter creeps back into my head. There’s a lot of pain there. I can’t help but think it’s related to why she hasn’t been with anyone. My mind also remembers how good that stolen kiss was… complete.
Grant leans down to kiss her forehead, “Goodnight, Jolee.”
My heart melts as he turns out the lights and comes to cuddle next to me for the night.