Chapter 25 #2
And it was, without exaggeration, the safest I’d ever felt in my life.
“This okay?” he asked into my hair.
“So okay.”
His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer. I could feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and slow, and the warmth of his breath stirring my curls.
“Jacks?”
“Mm?”
“Thanks for being patient with me and not pushing. For letting me figure this out at my own speed.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“I do, though, because I know it can’t be easy waiting for someone to catch up to where you’ve been for years.”
I laced my fingers through his where they rested on my stomach. “You’re not catching up. You’re finding your own way. That’s different.”
He was quiet for a moment as his thumb traced slow circles on my palm.
“Can I tell you something?” he whispered.
“Always.”
“When you were, you know, earlier . . . on the couch . . .” He paused, and I could feel him choosing his words. “I had this thought. This really clear, really loud thought.”
“Yeah?”
“I thought: Oh. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.”
My breath caught.
“I don’t mean the physical stuff,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “It’s all of it, the laughing and the Thai food and the stupid jokes and the way you look at me like I’m . . . like I’m enough, just as I am. I’ve never felt that before. Not once. Not with anyone.”
I pressed his hand tighter against my chest, right over my heart, because I didn’t trust my voice.
“I think maybe that’s why it never worked with women,” he said, the words slow and careful, like he was testing their weight.
“Not because anything was wrong with them. They were great, but something always felt like it was missing or like there was some piece out of place I couldn’t identify.
I thought that’s how it was for everyone, that the movies and romance authors were exaggerating to sell tickets or books or whatever. ”
He pressed his face into my hair and sucked in a breath, as though he wanted to absorb every part of me into him.
“They weren’t exaggerating. I know that now,” he said. “I hadn’t found the right person who made me feel those things, who made fireworks go off in my head and thunder clap in my chest. I guess . . . shit . . . I don’t know anymore.”
A tear slipped free and disappeared into the pillow.
“Sky,” I managed.
“Yeah?”
“That might be the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I don’t know about all that. It’s just the truth. My truth, anyway.”
“I know, and that’s what makes it beautiful.”
His arm tightened around me once more, and I felt him press a kiss to the back of my head, soft and lingering.
“Good night, Jacks.”
“Good night, Sky.”
Silence settled over us, warm and complete. The washing machine hummed down the hall, while the city murmured beyond the blackout curtains.
And Skyler’s heartbeat pulsed against my back, steady as a metronome.
His breathing changed first—morphing into the slow, even rhythm of someone slipping under.
His arm grew heavier around my waist, and his fingers loosened their grip on mine.
A soft exhale stirred my hair, and then he was gone, pulled into sleep with the easy surrender of a man who’d finally stopped fighting.
I’m not sure he even knew all the battles he’d fought.
I lay there for a long time, wrapped in his warmth, listening to him breathe.
I loved him.
It was silly and stupid and far too early to use a word with such weight.
How many times did I have to remind myself of that?
We barely knew each other. Sure, we’d texted like teenagers, but we’d only been on a couple of dates, if you could call what we did before Skyler came out to himself dating.
I still didn’t know his favorite color or where he wanted to go on vacation or how he felt about his family—or even the names of his family.
I knew so little; and yet, my heart screamed that I already knew what was important. I already knew him.
All I had to do was look into his eyes and I knew it was true.
Maybe that’s what made all this so scary—for us both.
He was terrified because I was his first experience with a guy. I got that.
But my own fears were born out of something far deeper.
I was his first, and I knew what that meant in ways he would only realize in the years to come. I also knew that most guys, like ninety-nine percent, didn’t end up with their first. Hell, I didn’t even know where mine was. If I strained, I might remember his name.
And that sickening, horrifying thought lingered and echoed, over and over.
“This won’t last,” it said.
“He needs to play the field,” it chided.
“He’s barely ready for sex. It’ll be years before he’s mature enough for a relationship. Protect yourself,” another part of me warned.
And yet, my stubborn heart refused to listen to my rational mind. His warmth didn’t wrap around me like his arms; it filled me. It gave me strength and comfort.
It gave me hope.
Nothing about this was easy. It wouldn’t be, wherever this path might lead.
But I couldn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . let him go. I would fight for whatever this was, whatever it could be. I would fight for Skyler.
Because I loved him.
I knew that with a certainty that held a fear all its own.
With those sacred, unspoken words on my lips, I nuzzled into him, closed my eyes, and let his heartbeat carry me under.