Chapter 9 #2
I should be able to let this go, but her arranged relationship with Sterling hurts so intensely that it aches deep in my bones. And I’m not good at letting things go. Every corner of my mind is heavy with regret.
“Jasper, why are you so angry about this?” She looks confused. “I’m fine.”
“I’m angry because I want you happy and safe.
You weren’t. I pulled away when I found out you were engaged.
” What I don’t admit out loud is that my feelings were too jumbled and complicated to face in the wake of that announcement.
It winded me in a way I never saw coming.
“But you still needed my help, and I wasn’t there for you.
You came so damn close to being trapped in a life that would have been miserable for you. ”
This last week has put me into a state where I’m practically frothing at the mouth to protect her, to rescue her—to ensure she never ends up in that position again. And I’m realizing that what I’m feeling is a whole lot more than a brotherly sense of protection.
It’s envy. It’s possession .
“Jasper.” Her eyes are like saucers, her hands held wide as she lifts them and drops them back down in an exhausted shrug.
She steps closer, eyes roaming my face. “I’m here, aren’t I?
I’m here. With you.” Her fingers slide over my hand still fisted on the pillow, and she locks in on my eyes.
“It’s just you and me. Together. And I’m safe. ”
I offer her a terse nod. It’s all I can manage right now. My limbs are seized up. Too many emotions. Her body too close.
“Move over.”
My head flicks in her direction. “What?”
“Move your ass over.”
“Why?”
Those pale blue irises roll back into her head with so much attitude. It reminds me of her as a teenager. “Because I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”
My body goes rigid. “Why?”
“Because I’m concerned for the safety of the walls in this room.” The voice she uses is light, but her eyes are just a bit pinched.
Sloane’s not worried about the walls. She’s worried about me . It’s why she used to come out on the roof with me too. She’s always been a little uncertain if I would take a turn in that direction.
If I’d hurt myself.
Sure, I’ve contemplated suicide. But mostly in the way everyone has. What it would take. If I could follow through. In the wake of Jenny’s death, I’d toed that ledge, but ever since the Eatons took me in, it was never an option.
I know how it feels to lose someone you love, and I couldn’t do that to these people who’ve become my family. I’ll suffer before ever making them do the same.
“Why?” I ask, wanting validation in a moment of weakness. Wanting to hear her say she worries about me or wants to comfort me. It’s insecure and I shouldn’t be hoping for something like that from a woman whose relationship dissolved mere days ago.
Her responding sigh is tired. “You’re glitching, Gervais. You sound like a scratched record. Move the fuck over.”
One cheek twitches at the fact that she resorted to swearing at me. There’s something satisfying about proper little Sloane having a sailor’s mouth. So I move over, not letting myself think too hard about whether it’s a good idea. We’re just friends.
My eyes flutter shut at the sound of the sheet rustling, the small mattress dipping under her weight.
Just friends.
A few strands of her hair tangle in the stubble on my cheek as she lays down facing me, but I leave them there, opting to breathe her in instead.
“Well, this bed is tiny.”
I chuckle. “It is.” The bed usually feels too small for my six-foot-three frame, never mind adding in another person .
The silence stretches out just a little too long. A little too far.
“Am I bugging you? Do you want me to leave?”
My heart slams against the cage I keep it locked in. How could Sloane bug anyone? She has to be the least annoying person in the world.
“No,” I husk as I reach down and wrap my hand around her delicate wrist, as though pulling her back from even thinking about leaving.
“Okay,” she breathes, sounding relieved.
We fall into silence again, and I let my mind wander to how these last few days must feel for her. We’ve been so wrapped up in my life—Beau, hockey, me punching walls like a rage-case teenager—that I’ve failed to give her the comfort she might need.
“Are you sad, Sloane?”
She shifts, head turning to gaze up at the ceiling, giving me a darkened view of her profile. Her hair slips away, and my fingers twitch on her wrist with the instinct to run them through the silky strands, to rub my cheek along it like I do when we hug.
“I mean, of course. I know Beau isn’t my best friend, but he’s my cousin. Some of my best memories are of long, sweltering summer days spent out here with all of you. I’m...devastated.” Her voice breaks a little, and I watch her lashes flutter rapidly.
She’s close enough that I could reach out and hold her.
But I don’t.
“I meant about—” I stop suddenly. His name doesn’t belong here in the dark with us. “The wedding.”
She hums thoughtfully as she runs two fingers across her lips before firmly pressing on them. Her cheeks go round, and it’s like she’s trying to push the smile back down. “No.”
“Are you trying not to laugh about your big fancy wedding going to shit?” I chuckle quietly, turning on my side to face her.
A grunt-snort noise escapes her, and she’s now pressing her entire hand over her mouth. “No!”
“You have always had a fucked-up sense of humor.”
Her body shakes with laughter, and she gives me a look of feigned offense. “I have not!”
“You laugh at the most inappropriate times. You know you do.” I point at her playfully. “You laughed that time Rhett fell off the llama and broke his arm as a kid.”
She laughs harder. “He deserved to be laughed at! He had no business riding that llama! And the way he latched onto its long neck made him look a big, dumb koala or something.”
She’s wheezing now, curling in toward me, and I can’t help but laugh with her. He really did look like a big, dumb koala.
“And it wasn’t even an impressive fall! He just plunked down in the most lackluster way. I’ve seen him take worse spills off an angry bull and walk away totally fine.”
The giggles hit us hard on the walk down memory lane, and I wipe happy tears out of my eyes as I gaze up at the stucco ceiling. God, we had fun as kids out here. It feels good to reminisce. Good to laugh.
Good to lie here with someone who knows about some of the happiest days of my life.
We’ve been in a rut of games and workouts this week.
I think Sloane’s been dancing for fun in a spare room at Summer’s gym and then tending to Harvey.
We’re all hiding out. Hunkering down. Trying to keep things normal—but failing.
She sighs deeply and carries on, “Anyway. No. I’m not sad about the wedding. I’m...relieved. Isn’t that awful? All I feel is intense relief. Am I going to hell for admitting that?”
My thumb brushes over the bone in her wrist. The way I feel about her wedding crumbling into nothing is intense relief too. “Nah. If you’re going to hell for that, then I’ll definitely be there for all my shit too.”
She yawns, and her body softens beside me; she has to be so tired. “Hell might be alright if you were there with me.” She stiffens. “I didn’t mean?—”
Not wanting her to second guess anything she says, I cut her off. “Hell might actually be alright if we’re stuck there together, Sloane.”
The sound of her head rustling against the pillow tells me she’s nodding in agreement. And then I give in to that little voice in my head. The one that tells me I need her.
I draw her body against mine, my arms wrap her up, and our legs tangle together instantly.
“Goodnight, Sunny,” is all I say as I revel in the comforting heat of her.
A beat of silence passes and then she sighs. “Goodnight, Jas.”