Chapter 2 #2
I swallow hard, suddenly very aware of the fact that we're standing alone in the dim hallway, mere inches apart.
It would be so easy to reach out and touch her—just a simple brush of my fingers against hers, or the curve of her waist—but I force myself to keep my hands at my sides instead.
I'm not that kind of man, I tell myself.
"There's always the guest room," I say, gesturing towards the door at the end of the hall. "Which means... we could share."
The words are out before I can stop them, and as soon as they hang in the air between us, I regret saying them. Mia's eyes widen slightly, her lips parting as if she wants to say something but can't quite find the words.
I backtrack quickly, trying to salvage the situation. "Or not," I add hastily. "That was just a joke."
I can see the frustration building in Mia's eyes as we stand here, the tension between us palpable. She's trying to keep it together, but I can tell she's at the end of her rope. The conversation earlier, combined with the revelation about her room, has clearly taken a toll on her.
"I don't want to watch movies anymore," she snaps, her voice tight and tense. I'm not surprised. I figured she was going to say that. "I just want to sleep… somewhere, wherever that's going to be tonight."
Her words sting more than I'd like to admit. I thought this would be a good way to distract her from everything going on in her life right now, but it seems like all I've done is make things worse.
"Okay," I say softly, holding up my hands in surrender. "No problem. You can have the guest room—"
"No," she interrupts, her voice sharp as glass. "I don't want to share a room with you, Jake."
The words hang heavy between us, and I can't help but feel like there's more to them than just her anger at the situation. It feels almost... personal.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I try to figure out how we've ended up here. One minute, we were planning a movie marathon, and now... this. "Fine," I say, hiding some of my frustration. "You can take the couch downstairs."
Mia's eyes flash with something like triumph, but it's gone just as quickly as it appeared. She turns on her heel without another word and heads down the stairs, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.
I watch her go, my gaze lingering on the way her cutoff shorts hug her curves, and the soft sway of her hips beneath that faded band tee. It's a struggle to keep my thoughts from wandering too far down that path, but I force myself to focus on something—anything—else.
As she disappears into the living room, I hear the rustle of blankets being pulled from the back of the couch, followed by the soft thud of pillows being arranged. She's really doing this, then. She's really going to sleep down there instead of sharing a bed with me.
A part of me wants to go after her, to try and convince her to change her mind. But another part knows that it's better this way—safer, at least—for both of us. Because if she were in that bed next to me tonight... I don't know if I'd be able to keep my hands off her.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought as I make my way into the guest room and close the door behind me.
The room is dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside casting long shadows across the floor.
I lean against the closed door for a moment, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself.
But it's no use. My mind is racing, filled with images of Mia—of her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes sparkle when she's excited about something.
And God help me, but I can't stop thinking about how good she would feel in my arms, her body pressed against mine as we finally give in to this thing between us.
I groan aloud, pushing away from the door and running a hand through my hair again.
This is going to be torture—lying awake all night, listening for any sound of her stirring downstairs.
Knowing that she's just down the hall, but completely out of reach.
God, I hate this. Hate it so fucking much, and it's frustrating that I can't change it.
With a heavy sigh, I cross the room and flop down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as I try to will my thoughts into some semblance of order. But it's no use. No matter how hard I try, all I can think about is Mia.
I wonder if she's still awake, too—if she's lying on that couch downstairs, her mind just as consumed by thoughts of us as mine is. Does she want this as badly as I do? Or am I completely alone in this?
The questions swirl through my head like a storm, each one more torturous than the last. I try to distract myself with other thoughts, with memories of deployments overseas, or the humdrum of everyday life at the office, but it's no use. My mind always finds its way back to her.
Eventually, exhausted and frustrated, I roll onto my side and close my eyes, letting sleep pull me under despite the turmoil in my head.
But even as I drift off, I know that tonight is going to be one of the longest of my life and that tomorrow morning will bring with it a whole new set of challenges.
◆◆◆
The sound of soft sniffles reaches my ears before I even open my eyes, pulling me from the fitful sleep I've managed to find. My head feels groggy, and my body aches like it always does when I've spent half the night tossing and turning.
I blink awake, rubbing at the grit in my eyes as I take stock of my surroundings.
The guest room is bathed in the soft, warm light of morning, the sun streaming in through the open curtains.
It takes me a moment to remember where I am—why I'm not waking up in my own bed, surrounded by familiar things.
Then it all comes rushing back—Mia, her late-night arrival, our tense conversation, and her decision to sleep on the couch instead of sharing a room with me. I still can't believe we talked about why we never ended up together when we were younger. That was a weird conversation.
The thought of her sends a pang of unease through me, and I throw off the covers, eager to find out if she's okay. She has to be. If she's not, I don't know what I'd do.
The sound of crying has stopped now, but there's still an air of tension in the house that sets my nerves on edge.
I pad quietly down the hall, my bare feet silent against the carpet. As I reach the top of the stairs, I can see Mia sitting at the kitchen table, her head bowed over a steaming cup of coffee. Her shoulders are shaking slightly, and even from here, I can tell she's been crying.
My heart aches for her, but I hesitate before descending the rest of the stairs. Should I go to her? Would she want me to comfort her right now, or would my presence just make things more awkward between us?
Before I can decide what to do, Mia looks up, her eyes meeting mine across the distance. She starts slightly, wiping at her cheeks as if trying to hide the evidence of her tears.
"Jake," she says softly, her voice hoarse from crying. "You're awake."
I nod, taking a tentative step down towards her. "Are you okay?" I ask, keeping my tone gentle.
She shakes her head, letting out a shaky laugh that's more like a sob. "Not really," she admits, looking down at the table again. "Just thinking about... everything."
I know what she means—everything being her breakup and the suddenness of it all—but I don't press for details. Instead, I descend the rest of the stairs and cross the kitchen to stand beside her chair. I have to be careful, no matter what I do.
"Want to talk about it?" I ask, keeping my voice soft.
Mia looks up at me again, her eyes red and puffy from crying. There's a moment of hesitation before she sighs, resignation in the sound. "What's the point? It won't change anything."
She's right, of course. Talking about it won't magically fix things or bring her ex back. But maybe, given the proper opportunity, it'll help her process what happened and start to heal. That's something I can help her with.
I pull out a chair opposite hers and sit down, giving her my full attention. "Talking can still help," I say quietly. "Sometimes, just getting it all out there in the open makes things feel more... manageable."
After all, isn't that a big part of what therapists do? They provide a listening ear for people to talk about their problems. Sure, they do more than that, but it's still one of the most important aspects of the job.
Mia considers this for a moment before sighing again, her shoulders slumping as she gives in. "Fine," she murmurs. "But you have to promise not to judge me for being stupid about him."
Mia takes a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever emotional onslaught she thinks is about to happen. But as the words start pouring out of her, it's like a dam has burst open, and there's no stopping the flood.
"It was so stupid," she says, her voice shaking.
"I thought... I thought he really cared about me.
That we had something real." She laughs bitterly, swiping at the fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
"Turns out, he was just using me for sex and a place to stay while his 'real' girlfriend was off doing God knows what with some other guy. "
That's not surprising. I'd heard about the issues with her ex. He was never trustworthy. Honestly, I'm surprised it took her that long to realize it.
She's crying harder now, her shoulders shaking as she tries to keep it together.
I can't stand to see her like this—broken, vulnerable—and before I even realize what I'm doing, I've pushed my chair back and moved to sit next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
This might be a mistake, but fuck it, I'm still doing it.
"It's okay," I murmur into her hair, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "It's going to be okay."
For a moment, she leans into me, her body softening against mine as she lets herself be held. But then, just as suddenly, she stiffens and pulls away, her eyes widening as she takes in the fact that I'm shirtless and that our bodies are slightly pressed against each other.
"Jake," she breathes, her eyes locked with mine. "What are you doing?"
I realize then what I've done, how close I am to breaking my promise to Ryan. How easily I could give in to the temptation that is Mia, especially when she's like this: raw, emotional, and in need of comfort.
"Ryan would kill me," I say suddenly, my voice tight as I pull away from her. The words feel harsh even as they leave my mouth, but I can't take them back now.
Mia flinches at the mention of her brother, her eyes hardening as she swipes angrily at her tears.
"You don't have to keep reminding me about Ryan," she snaps.
"I know you two have some kind of bro code or whatever, but that doesn't mean you can just use him as an excuse every time things get. .. complicated."
She stands up abruptly, her chair screeching loudly against the floor. I wince at the sound, feeling a pang of guilt for upsetting her further.
I know she's right about that, but it still doesn't change my promise to him. It's complicated. I can't just undo it or pretend that it doesn't exist.
"It's not like that," I protest weakly, but Mia is already storming out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the echo of her angry words.
As much as I want to go after her—to explain myself and make sure she's okay—I know it's better to give her some space. At least for now. Because right now, all I can think about is how close we were—how good it felt to hold her in my arms—and how badly I want to do it again.
But I made a promise to Ryan. And as much as I might hate myself for saying those words, I know that breaking that promise would be a mistake neither of us could come back from.