Chapter 17 Lucy
LUCY
Asound breaks through my sleep, waking me. A soft clink.
Then, the low, distinct jingle of a belt buckle being threaded through loops. There’s a bang, then a muttered curse.
“Fuck.” The word comes out on a whisper.
I’m in bed, cocooned by soft sheets that don’t smell like my laundry detergent. The mattress is firmer than I’m used to, and it takes me a moment to remember I’m in my new apartment.
My temporary apartment.
And the belt buckle jingler must be Grudge.
My lashes part slowly, the dim room spinning, for a moment, until I blink away the blurriness. There’s a dull throb behind my right temple, and my joints ache as I move, especially my ankle and knee.
But it’s the shape of him that lowers to sit on the edge of the bed near me.
He’s shirtless, just the line of dark denim that rides low on his hips as he reaches for my hip and squeezes gently. “Hey, Bug,” he says softly. “Time to wake up for a little minute.”
“Concussion, right?” I ask, my voice a rasp.
“Let me help you sit so you can take some more painkillers.” He slides his hands beneath my arms and takes my weight, guiding me up to the headboard.
The world spins for a moment, but, thankfully, there’s no nausea or any of the other symptoms Greer told Grudge to watch for.
His hands are careful, deliberate, as he hands me a glass of water and the pills. “Know you don’t like taking them,” he says softly. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”
He’s right. I don’t like taking them. Every time I take a pill, I feel like I’m going to choke on it. Vitamins, painkillers, even my contraceptive pill, which…
Shit!
We didn’t use protection. Not that I can do anything about that, now. That’s a conversation for tomorrow.
The way he stretched me and filled me.
The way our bodies said things neither of us is brave enough to say out loud.
How he held me like I was everything to him.
His hand comes up and brushes a curl from my cheek, fingers trailing lightly along my skin. The warmth of his touch ignites something low in my belly. It’s something more terrifying than pure lust, something more dangerous than nostalgia.
It’s want and need and blistering confusion.
Grudge hasn’t asked why I’ve slept so much. I haven’t told him.
He probably assumes it’s the accident.
The truth is, it’s the sum of everything.
For the first time in weeks, I feel…safe. His presence insulates me from the rest of the world. This apartment physically keeps everyone away.
Here, tonight, I can just be.
In someone else’s sheets, I can pretend everything is okay in my world. Maybe it’s wrong to let Grudge play that role without his consent. But even as my body aches, my soul is settled.
“Take them,” he says, tipping his chin to the pills in my hand.
“We should talk,” I force myself to say.
“It’s late.” His words are quiet, but he doesn’t pull away. His knuckles stroke over my temple, down to my jaw. His fingers are soft when he takes the pills from my palm and offers them to my lips.
I open them, and he pops the pills inside, his finger brushing over my lip deliberately.
“Drink, Bug,” he says, lifting the wrist of the hand holding the water.
I do as he says, chasing the pills with cool liquid that eases my dry mouth. I shake my head, trying to force the pills to the back of my throat.
Grudge watches me the whole time, like I might choke before I swallow.
And as soon as I do, I gag and cough violently.
“You know,” Grudge says, rubbing my back tenderly, “for a woman who can take a dick as far as you can, it’s always been a marvel that you have a weirdly inflexible gag reflex when it comes to pills.”
I huff a laugh at that. “One of the many mysteries of the universe, I suppose.”
But Grudge just looks down at his knees as he smiles sadly. “Maybe. You should get some rest.”
“Where are you sleeping?” I ask.
He glances over at the chair in the corner of the room. “Right there. Wanted to be close, if you needed me.”
The chair, as comfortable as it looks, can’t be good for a man of his stature to sleep in.
Then, I glance over the large bed. Not quite a king, but certainly big enough for the two of us to fit. “You can sleep on the bed with me.”
I shuffle down the bed and pull the pillow farther beneath my head.
But Grudge doesn’t move.
Not an inch.
He looks down at his clasped hands, elbows resting on his knees.
In the silence, I can hear his mental conversation with himself. The fact he didn’t immediately strip and climb into bed with me, almost makes this easier.
“There’s no point in you not getting any rest. We’re both grown-ups, and it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”
My eyes are heavy, and I sigh as I roll onto my side, facing away from him, and allow myself to drift off toward sleep again.
Grudge finally stands and walks to the other side of the bed.
It’s a good mattress, and I barely feel it when he lies down, but I do feel the shift of the covers over me.
He shuffles around a bit, and I sense his heat when he gets close.
But he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t reach for me, pull me close, tug me to him.
Just the warmth and reassurance of his presence.
The intimacy of it sinks deeper than the sex ever could.
Grudge always knew how to fuck me. But this…the way he cares for me when I can’t care for myself…this was the part that once made me believe he was my forever.
“I missed you,” I whisper, my guard fully down.
His body tenses for a fraction of a second. Then, he exhales slowly and presses his lips to my temple. “Go back to sleep, Bug.”
The command is gentle. A reprieve I’m not sure I want or deserve. Because I feel it now, in every inch of my bruised heart, in the way the truth presses up against the back of my throat.
I need to tell him.
About my father.
About what it cost me to leave.
But the sum of the exhaustion in my bones wins.
I close my eyes and let sleep drag me under.
When I wake, it’s to sunlight. Golden and piercing, spilling through the cracks in the blinds.
I blink against it, and then, reach out for the warmth of Grudge.
But the bed is cold.
Still shaking the sleep from my eyes, I sit, and the covers fall off me. I press my palms to my eyes, willing away the spin. But there is no sign he was ever here.
He left.
Without a word.
My heart jolts. The part of me that cracked wide open by soft hands and care in the dark, slams shut again.
Maybe that’s all it was. A mercy fuck. Something born out of memory and desperation. A man called to duty, making sure his ex-wife didn’t collapse from a head injury, due to an accident he was part of.
Perhaps it was his way of absolving himself of guilt.
I drag myself out of bed and catch sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is wild enough for a bird to nest in. I try to tug my fingers through it, but that isn’t going to work.
The floor is cool as I pad to the kitchen and make a mental note to ask Quinn how the heating system works. When I get there, there is no coffee brewing, like he always used to make first thing in the morning. There are no boots by the door. His jacket is gone too.
It slams into me, then, sharp and ugly.
I imagined it. The tenderness. The quiet reverence. The way his fingers stroked my skin, like he couldn’t believe he had permission to again. Perhaps I misread everything that happened last night, romanticized it or projected my own feelings onto it.
Maybe he just needed to get me out of his system.
Maybe it was revenge.
Hurt me like I hurt him.
I press my hand to my stomach. I need to go see a doctor, to get tested.
Again.
How I wish I’d let the words take shape in my mouth to explain to him why I left, what really happened with the divorce. And how none of it, not one single piece, was because I stopped loving him.
Now, he’s gone.
And it burns.
My eyes sting as I set the coffee to brew and then tear into one of the leftover pastries Quinn gave me. At least the apartment smells good. From the occasional clang I can hear from downstairs, Quinn must have been awake for a while, baking.
My phone is charging in the kitchen socket, and I know I didn’t do that. Dare I let my heart warm a little that he thought to do that for me?
The lock screen tells me I have two missed messages.
Zach: Feel better? Had to go. Club biz.
Then, two minutes later.
Zach: Take your pills.
My breath catches.
I stare at the words for so long, the screen dims. I wake it again, just to be sure I didn’t hallucinate.
He didn’t just leave.
He sent messages.
As he went to deal with his club, he thought of me as he left.