Chapter 18 Free Fall #2
Sage forces a swallow, her throat rough and dry.
She feels cracked open in the worst way.
It makes her want to pull back, to shove off the couch and move, to pull herself together and make sure Theo knows she’s fine, she’s just having a bad day—few days—and honestly it could be worse, even if the thrumming in her veins makes her want to tug her hair from her skull.
But before she can even attempt damage control, Theo squeezes her thigh once and stands, the space immediately going cold as he walks out of the living room.
For a wild moment, Sage’s too-fast brain leaps to the worst possible conclusion:
It’s too much, he’s leaving, and he’s not even going to say anything before he does, because of course he’s not, why would he? He’s … he’s Theo, and she’s a mess, and the last thing he needs is to be dealing with this.
She tamps down the urge to go after him, her nails digging into her palms as she curls her hands into fists.
But then she blinks, and he’s back, pressing a cool glass of water into her hands as he sits back down on the coffee table.
His knees bracket hers again, his hands a grounding touch as they settle on her legs while he says, “Drink it.”
Sage takes a long gulp, the cool liquid soothing her throat. Theo tracks the motion of her swallow before his eyes fix on hers once more. “When did you last eat?”
“I had a banana this morning,” Sage rasps before clearing her throat. “And coffee.”
“Ah, coffee. An essential food group,” he murmurs, squeezing the space just above her knees. Sage manages a breath of laughter, but it fades as quickly as it comes.
“Nothing sounds good,” she admits, staring down at where his hands are resting, his thumbs having taken up soothing circles. They stay like that, quiet for a few long moments, before Theo reaches beside her and grabs her phone from where she’d abandoned it on a couch cushion hours ago.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says as he turns it off.
“You’re going to go shower, and I’m going to fix some pasta.
” Theo moves his hands to her waist and tugs her up, his fingers digging into the space above her hips, as if he knows to keep his touch firm.
“We’re going to eat, and then we’re going to watch a film until you pass out. ”
He gives her two long breaths to refuse, his gaze steady on her, waiting.
That frenetic energy in her immediately wants her to object, because nothing that he’s suggested scratches that itch that keeps sizzling in her mind, but there’s something about someone else deciding for her that keeps her protests locked away.
When she doesn’t refuse, Theo nudges her toward the hallway before he walks off toward the kitchen.
Her shower is quick, the warm water soothing.
It doesn’t quite calm her racing brain, but it does ease some of the tension that coils itself around her muscles when she gets like this.
She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she tugs a brush through her wet, tangled strands.
Her eyes are bright, but her face looks gaunt.
Even with her freshly washed face, her skin still pink from the shower, she looks harried.
She tugs on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, too simultaneously keyed up and exhausted to care about making an impression on Theo.
That ship set sail as soon as he stepped into the cottage. Besides, it’s not like Sage has made much of an effort with her appearance since arriving in Skye. She’s been far too focused on other things.
On Theo.
Sage finds him in the kitchen, one hip leaning against the counter as pasta boils on the stove. His hat’s abandoned on the counter, one hand tucked casually in the pocket of his jeans, hair brushing his brow as he peers into the pot.
He looks soft, so strangely domestic, that something in Sage’s chest twists in on itself, especially as he glances up at her and gives her a half smile.
Her body moves toward him without her ever giving it permission to do so, but her brain kicks in just as she reaches the far burner.
She stops just shy of his space, her weight shifting between her feet as she reaches for something to fill the silence, but Theo just grips the front of her sweatshirt and tugs her into him.
“Nice jumper,” he remarks. Sage glances down at the Cambridge lettering. She hadn’t even realized this was the one she put on. When she looks back at Theo, he’s still smiling. “You should keep it,” he insists before she can say anything. “Looks better on you, anyway.”
His arms circle her tightly, and it dawns on her as she lets her head fall against his chest that Theo isn’t holding her like she’s going to break.
He’s holding her like he knows she’ll fly away if he doesn’t keep her anchored.
He presses her to him firmly, and each point of contact seems to drain some of that frantic energy out of her as he grounds her.
She doesn’t question it, not as she feels her body settling into his, the warmth of him covering her completely.
He keeps her there, pressed against his chest, heartbeat steady beneath her ear, even as he releases one arm to stir the pasta.
He doesn’t move her until it’s time to drain the water, and even then, his hands are back on her in seconds, long fingers splayed across her waist as he tilts his head toward the kitchen cupboard. “Bowl or plate?”
“Bowl,” Sage answers with a scrunch of her nose.
“I’m not a heathen.” Theo’s low laugh vibrates against her, and he gently shuffles her out of the way as he grabs two bowls and plates the food.
Sage fills two cups of water, and then they’re back on the couch, a blanket pulled over them and two steaming bowls of pasta in their laps.
“I cued up a film,” Theo says, settling back with the remote. “Figured we could continue to improve your cinematic education.”
She doubts she’ll be able to pay attention, but it doesn’t stop her from saying, “Quite,” in a horrible imitation of his accent. Theo nudges her shoulder, but he doesn’t pull away, instead keeping their sides fused together, tethering her to the here and now as he starts the movie and they dig in.
“Wait,” Sage says as the opening credits roll. “You said we were improving my cinematic education.”
“I did.”
“… This is Shrek.”
“Well spotted.”
Sage snorts a laugh. “I’ve seen it.”
Theo grins. “Then you know what an uplifting and brilliant movie it is. Now hush, Collins, it’s starting.”
It takes Sage a bit, but she manages half her bowl of pasta—a success, if her past dinners in times like these are any proof. Usually she’s lucky if she finishes a piece of toast.
That surging in her veins is still there, but it eventually settles when Theo tugs her down with him, his arms locking around her waist, leg slotting between hers.
She’s tucked in tight, her back to his chest, his body like a warm, weighted blanket that pushes the rest of that buzzing down until it bleeds from her bit by bit.
She’s not paying attention to the movie, but not because her mind is still churning. Finally, her lungs are loose, her breath slow and easy, eyes heavy. She lets herself sink into the warmth, lets Theo keep her here, a firm foundation against the battering winds.
Later, when he gently shakes her awake, his voice a murmur against her ear telling her she should go to bed, Sage doesn’t think about crossing lines or keeping up walls. They’ve obliterated them all, anyway. She just reaches out her hand, her fingers linking with his, and makes a simple request.
“Stay.”
Sage wakes up slowly, her brain crawling into the land of the living before her eyes can be bothered to open.
Her body feels heavy in the way it does after a night of deep, undisturbed sleep, and she burrows into the sensation, her muscles relaxing against the mattress.
Theo’s arm is a steady weight around her waist, his chest flush against her back, legs tangled with hers.
She turns carefully in his hold, and Theo lets out a noise of discontent, his face scrunching as he buries his cheek further into the pillow.
His breath hitches, his hold tightening around her waist as he pulls her impossibly closer, then evens out, his chest rising and falling steadily as he settles back into sleep.
His hair is a mess, and Sage curls her hand into a fist to keep from dragging her fingers through the soft strands.
He looks far too peaceful for her to disrupt him, so she allows herself another few moments to simply take him in instead.
The gray light of morning illuminates his features, from the blond of his lashes to the fullness of his lips, parted slightly as he sleeps. Sage swallows and lets her head fall against his chest, his skin warm against her temple, his heartbeat steady against her ear.
Her mind is quieter this morning, that buzzing in her veins not quite gone but receding steadily like the tide. The fact that there’s nothing casual about the way her heart swells in her chest is left exposed with the rocks and sand as the water goes out to sea.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
The mantra appears in her mind unbidden, but instead of hearing it in a deadpan tone she never actually did hear from Theo, it’s a whisper in front of a fireplace just before his lips found hers.
I cannot believe you thought I called you a mistake.
She wonders what he would call her now.
Theo’s arm tightens around her just before she feels the soft press of his lips against the top of her head. “All right?” he rasps, his vowels slurred with sleep.
“Mm-hmm,” Sage says as she nuzzles deeper into his hold.
“How’s the buzzing?”
“Quieter.”
“Good,” he murmurs, the words vibrating against her. His fingers take up steady strokes up and down her back, the motion light and almost mindless. Sage closes her eyes and focuses on his touch.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” she breathes. Theo’s hand pauses, and suddenly he’s pushing her back, his hand cupping her jaw as he forces her head up to meet his gaze.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he assures her.
His thumb traces her bottom lip, his eyes soft in the morning light.
“You can talk to me, though. If you want.” His fingers trail slowly across her jaw and up her cheek.
He skims her temple—brushes her hair back—before retracing his path with painstaking gentleness.
“You mentioned stuff with your family,” he prompts. His touch settles lightly over her collarbone, sending a pleasant tingle up her spine.
She lets her eyes flutter shut, lets the sure curl of his fingers over her shoulder tether her to the quiet peace they’ve created as she lets out a long breath.
And then she tells him.
About the conversation with her dad and the decision to stay away for Christmas.
About the argument with Noah and the jealousy that finally made itself heard and the guilt that’s been lingering since, because maybe she should have been more clued in to what he was going through, too.
About the phone call with her mom after the Fairy Glen.
She tells him about gifted copies of Nights that went unread and dreams that were dismissed in the name of practicality and rationality and a girl who wanted to be normal, so she folded herself into a mess so tangled she’s still trying to undo it, even now.
Theo holds her and listens and doesn’t say a word, not even when she lets some of her most jagged edges show.
He holds her and he listens and he stays, and when she’s talked herself into exhaustion, he kisses her, slow and thorough, his hands bunching in the back of her shirt as he presses every inch of her against him.
“So what are you going to do?” he asks some time later, when he’s lying on his back and Sage’s head is pillowed on his chest, their limbs tangled together in a mess she doesn’t want to undo. “Spend Christmas with Emerson?”
“I hadn’t actually gotten that far, to be honest,” she confesses into his skin, her gaze fixed on the window. Rays of sun pierce the cloud cover, dotting the hills like soft spotlights. “I just know that I don’t want to be in Chicago this year.”
Theo is quiet for a long moment, and then he says, “You could stay.”
Sage stills, but Theo’s fingers weave into her hair and he tugs slightly, prompting her to meet his gaze.
“You could stay,” he says again, as if she didn’t hear him—as if she isn’t replaying the suggestion over and over in her mind.
“With me.” Sage blinks and he rushes on, his face flushing as he does.
“I don’t want to exacerbate things with you and your family.
I just meant … if you’re truly not going home … ”
“I’m not.”
His fingers drag through her hair, gently untangling the strands. “Then stay.”
Sage rolls off of him, using her elbow to prop herself up as she gazes down at him. Theo simply lies there and lets her look.
“But your dad … doing Christmas here is a big deal for you two. I don’t want to intrude.”
“Honestly? You’d be helping more than you’d be hindering. It would be nice to have someone there to help diffuse the tension. It’s … going to be a lot. For both of us.” His mouth pinches as he registers his words. “Wow, I’m not selling this well, am I?”
He’s not. So it makes no sense that Sage is actually considering it, especially when there are things like five thousand miles and fans and …
And in the light of morning, those look less like reasons and more like excuses, because there’s another list in her mind, and it says things like conversations on the couch, and Never Have I Ever, and hospitals, and pasta, and crisps and wine, and …
Oh.
Oh.
Sage’s heart trips, the way it might if she was standing on one of the sea cliffs and considering diving into the waters below.
It’s the windup right before free fall. The teetering seconds just before you realize that even if you wanted to turn back, you can’t, because you’ve already taken one step too far.
Everything has already changed.
Theo’s throat bobs, his fingers curling around the back of her head as if he can keep her here.
She thinks maybe he can.
“Stay,” he breathes.
Her stomach swoops.
“I’ll stay,” she murmurs.
It plunges.
Free fall.