Chapter 21
I’ve barely stepped out of the shower when three sharp knocks crack through the silence.
Midnight.
Who the hell is at my door at midnight?
With a towel slung low on my hips, I grab my phone and pull up the porch camera.
Before the image of my front porch comes up, the sound comes through.
“Zach?”
Her voice. It’s desperate and ragged.
Fuck. Honey.
Without thinking, I drop the phone and run down the stairs to her.
She’s swaying on the porch with her arms wrapped around herself when I throw open the door.
“Honey.” My voice comes out rough. “Are you okay?”
She lifts her gaze, and my chest goes tight.
Her eyes are glazed, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s smiling at me in a way that feels wrong, but somehow, it manages to still wreck me.
What the fuck is going on?
“Zach,” she breathes, and then she’s on me, throwing her arms around my neck. I rest my hands on her hips, noting the scent of alcohol mingling with her perfume as she collapses into my chest.
Is Honey…. drunk?
Holy shit.
Honey never gets drunk. It was bred into her to be the perfect daughter—to stay in control.
She tilts her head back, her eyes half-lidded. “Do you always answer the door to jersey chasers in a towel?”
My jaw locks. Her lips graze my neck.
“Whoa, hey,” I catch her shoulders, forcing her back an inch so I can see her. “I only answered the door like this because I heard you.”
Because it’s you
Because it’s always you.
“Why are you knocking? Where’s your key?”
She holds up her hand, showing me the honeypot keychain. “Yeah, I swear it was on there too, but I think I lost it.”
“Lost it?”
“Good. I missed you,” she says as her fingers brush against the edge of my jaw.
“Come on.” My arm locks around her waist. She’s trembling because she’s not wearing a jacket. Probably left it wherever she drank herself past the version of her I know.
She folds into me as I drag her inside, her face pressed to my neck like she’s desperately trying to crawl beneath my skin.
I kick the door shut behind us and flick on the hallway light.
Her face scrunches and she winces at the brightness, but I don’t turn it off, because I want to see her. To talk to her and figure out what the hell is going on.
“Honey?” I say softly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How much did you drink, sweetheart?”
“Um,” Her lips curl. “I don’t remember. Not too much.”
“But you—”
She cuts me off with her lips, and I taste it. Whiskey with honey, and a little hint of desperation, sharp and sweet on my tongue.
Her fingers fist in my hair, dragging me closer. My body automatically responds, my hands finding her waist as she presses herself against me. One of her hands slides down my stomach and before I know it, her palm is pressed to my towel-strained length.
She groans into the kiss when she feels how hard I am.
Fuck.
Every part of me wants this—wants her—but not like this.
With more willpower than I knew I possessed, I tear my mouth from hers and catch her wrists, pushing her back an inch.
“Are you okay, Honeycomb?” My voice is rough and unsteady. “You’re acting a little different tonight.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” I walk over to the kitchen, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twist the cap, and then head back to my girlfriend, pressing it into her hand. “Drink this.”
She obeys, her eyes flicking to mine while she gulps half of it down. Then she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and gives me a lopsided smile.
“Bossy.”
“Drunk,” I mutter, steering her toward the stairs. She stumbles on the first step, and I catch her, one hand on her hip, the other bracing her under her arm. “You, okay?”
She nods. “Mhm.”
But she’s not. Not even close.
When we make it to the top of the stairs, I push open my door and guide her to the bed, helping her sit on the mattress.
“Do you want a shirt?” I ask.
She shakes her head, her eyes dark. “No. I just want you.”
I bite back a curse, turn to the dresser, and grab a shirt anyway. Then I toss it toward her as I drop the towel and pull on a pair of boxers.
When I face her again, she’s curled on top of the covers, her knees drawn in.
I kneel beside her, brushing my fingers through her hair to get her attention.
“Slide over, Honeycomb,” I murmur, pulling back the blankets.
She shifts, her hips lifting just enough for me to slip in beside her. I reach to tuck the sheets around her, but the second I’m close, she’s on me.
Her mouth crashes against mine and she pushes me back onto the mattress.
Rough and demanding.
I’ve never seen this side of Honey before and I’m not sure what to think about it.
“Honey,” I breathe against her lips, trying to keep my head while she grinds against my cock. “Slow down.”
She shakes her head as her mouth drags along my throat. “Don’t want to.”
“You don’t usually—” I groan when her hips roll again. “—come over here drunk and try to climb me like a tree.”
“Maybe I should,” she mutters, soft but sharp. “Maybe I should just move in with you, then you won’t forget about me, and I won’t forget who I am.”
Forget about her?
What the fuck is she talking about?
I catch her shoulders, easing her back just enough to see her face. Her pupils are blown wide, but there’s something raw in them.
“Hey.” My voice is gentle even though my chest is going tight. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
“Nothing.” Her laugh is paper-thin. “I just… needed to see you. Needed to make sure you still wanted me.”
That knocks the air out of my lungs.
Her smile falters as soon as it’s out there, and she looks away, chewing her bottom lip like she wishes she could take it all back.
That isn’t the alcohol talking. That’s her real fear. Small and sharp, twisting just under her skin.
“Baby,” I say, brushing my thumb across her cheekbone, “you have me. Always will.”
Her gaze flicks to mine. It’s dark and desperate.
“Then show me,” she whispers with a hint of frustration in her voice.
And before I can answer, she peels her sweater over her head in one fluid motion, revealing a black sports bra. She reaches for the button of her jeans, but I catch her hands.
“I want to feel something. Anything.”
The words cut through me.
I want to feel something.
As if she’s been numb… as if this isn’t about love or trust, or even lust. It’s about trying.
Her trying not to fall apart.
I want to ask her what she means, and what the hell happened tonight that made her show up like this, but she’s already on her feet, shimmying out of her jeans.
She’s fucking beautiful. Always is, but it’s not her body that hits me like a freight train.
It’s her eyes.
Wrecked. Wide and shiny.
“Honey—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Please,” she says, her voice cracking as she pushes me back onto the bed and climbs onto my lap in one smooth motion. “Please just give me this.”
Her lips find mine again, hungry and insistent, and I let myself get lost in it for a moment, but when her hands move to push down my boxers, I catch them again.
“Wait,” I say, more firmly this time. “Let's talk about what's going on first.”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk. I just want us.”
“I can’t give you us until we do.”
She sits back, still straddling me, frustration evident in the set of her jaw. Her eyes search mine and she shakes her head before biting down on her bottom lip. I don’t know what the hell happened since she texted me this afternoon, but I wish I could just open her head up to find out.
“You really want to talk about it? The elephant in the room?”
“Which is?”
Her eyes flash with something before darkening.
“If we talk,” she whispers. “You’ll see it.”
“See what?”
“That this—” she gestures between us, her voice splintering “—is the only thing I don’t fail at.”
The words hit me square in the chest. “You're not a failure. Why would you even think that?”
She laughs, but it’s humorless and hollow. “The only reason I get anywhere is because of the men in my life. Without you, without my father… who would I be?”
“Well, you'd be the same amazing person you are now. The girl I'm in love with.”
“Exactly,” she says, as if I've proven her point. “The girl you're in love with. That's my identity. I have no personality. Nothing. The minute you decide to leave me, I’m back to being nothing. To feeling nothing.”
I sit up and cup her face, forcing her to see me. To hear me.
“You’re not nothing,” I say, my eyes locked on hers. “You’re the smartest, bravest, most stubborn girl I’ve ever met. You walk into every room like you belong there, even when the world tries to slam the door on you. You don’t care. You face things most people couldn’t.”
I press my mouth to hers, just once. “I love you. Every little piece of you.”
She blinks. Once. Twice.
Then she breaks, and tears start spilling before she even realizes she’s crying, and I don’t try to stop them.
Instead, I pull her in, wrap her up, and hold her like she’s mine, because she is. Even when she forgets it, she’ll always be my priority.
“Will you just help me feel?” she whispers. “Please?”
Fuck, that breaks me. Not because she’s asking for sex, but because this isn’t her. She’s broken and I’ll do anything to prove I can put her back together.
“Lie back,” I say softly, guiding her down. “Let me take care of you.”
I kiss her slowly, pouring everything I can’t say into it. Then I trail my lips down her neck to her collarbone, and she arches under me, her breath hitching.
Her fingers drag through my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan.
Palming her breast, I drag my thumb across the tight peak before I suck it into my mouth. She gasps, her hips lifting off the bed and her thighs clench around my hips.
I take my time, needing to watch her every reaction and make sure she’s still with me. Dragging my hand down her stomach, I hook my fingers in her panties. She lifts her hips, wordless, letting me slide them off.
When my hand comes back to her center and I move to settle between her thighs, she tugs at my hair, stopping me.