Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR_
HAZARD
Helping Decaf dress in fresh clothes and get into bed isn’t weird until I realize I’m supposed to get in next to him.
What happened in the bathroom was so far out from the expected that it’s kind of surreal it’s continuing. I was half expecting him to shut me out again as soon as he’d come. But he’s choosing to be here, with me.
I’m frozen, standing above him as he gets situated on his back and tries to get comfortable.
“Can I get you anything? Your sling, glass of water, another pillow?”
“Maybe another pillow? Don’t worry about the sling. Stopping it a day early isn’t going to make my hand fall off. I don’t think.”
There’s a beat of awkward silence. I don’t move. I should move. “Right. Okay, I’ll be right back.”
Instead of going and grabbing his pillow right away, I go back to the bathroom to tidy up a bit. Our towels are on the floor, along with the plastic wrap, which actually did a decent job of keeping his cast mostly dry.
After that’s cleared away, I go to the kitchen and get us both some water because even though he didn’t ask for it, hydration is important.
Yes, I’m stalling. No, I don’t know why I’m doing it.
Maybe it’s the anticipation of rejection.
It’s true we’ve complicated the crap out of an already complicated situation, but in no way do I regret it.
With how drawn I’ve been to Decaf, if he were any other guy, I would’ve pushed for this to happen a hell of a lot sooner.
The only thing is now that it’s done, will he be like the rest of the men in my life and no longer need me?
Or want me? Will the complication be too much for him?
These are all thoughts I shouldn’t be having at the ass crack of dawn, so even though it’s awkward as fuck, I throw back my glass of water, go get an extra pillow, and take it and some water for Decaf back to my room.
He’s still lying there, good arm under his head, propping it up, and staring at the ceiling.
“Here.” I deliver the water to his nightstand and then help him rise up to put the extra pillow behind his head.
“Did you get lost?” he jokes. At least, I think it’s a joke.
“I just cleaned up a bit. The bathroom was a mess.”
His eyes narrow, but he lets it go.
I round the bed and slip under the covers, trying as hard as I can to stick to my side, but with it only being a double, it’s next to impossible not to be touching him in some way. Still, I try, and I almost fall off the side of the bed.
“Trying to get as far away from me as possible?”
I glance over to see him smiling at me, so again, it’s a joke, but how do I explain that I’m cautious as fuck because I don’t know what to do now. “You need more space to be comfortable.” Well, that doesn’t come out convincing at all.
He lifts his arm. “I’d be more comfortable if you stopped making this weird. Out of the two of us, I would’ve thought that was going to be my job.”
“Yeah, me too.” There’s a beat before I relent and roll into his side as he slips his arm around my shoulders, finding that perfect gap between my neck and pillow.
Being cuddled up with him shouldn’t feel as good as it does. It feels like … safety. It makes my heart get ahead of itself and totally forget that this man has abandoned me twice. My heart should be protecting itself, not acting like my dick and throwing itself at him.
“So why are you freaking out?” he asks.
“I’m not … freaking out, per se.”
“You used per se in a conversation. If that’s not a sign of freaking out, I don’t know what is. Are you … regretting what we did?”
I shake my head.
“Suddenly realize I’m too old and too broken for you?”
I shake my head again but at least smile this time.
“Are you going to have this conversation like a grown-up, or am I going to have to ask you twenty questions to get to the point?”
I sit up so I can look him in the eye and do this properly, but seriously, who forces people they hooked up with to talk about their feelings afterward? Gross. Sounds too mature to be actually healthy. “Not going to lie. I’m having … doubts. But not from my side.”
“Then doubts about what?”
“About …” Urgh. I hate this. “I don’t want you to think I still don’t trust you, but—”
“You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Pretty much. I’m trying to tell myself to not overthink it, and usually, that’s easy for me, but with you …” I bite my lip.
“With us, there isn’t going to be an easy way to navigate something. There’s so many factors. Too many. If we try to tackle each of them all at once, we might as well chalk tonight up to a mistake and never speak of it again.”
Here it comes.
“But”—he reaches for my hand and squeezes—“if you’re willing to deal with each insecurity one at a time, we might be able to make something of this.”
A smile breaks through on my lips because I was fully expecting him to do the opposite.
“It’s okay for you to have trust issues when it comes to me—it’s understandable—but if you don’t talk to me when those thoughts come up, I’m not going to know you’re hurting.”
I screw up my face. “This is sounding rather mature and emotionally intelligent, and from what I’ve heard from the guys, you don’t do that.
Not when it comes to relat—uh, men. Hookups, I mean.
They all say you don’t do relationships.
” And I’m not going to be the guy who calls one orgasm the start of a relationship.
This is still new and still weird, and he says he’s all for it now, but what will happen when he wakes up in a few hours? What happens when we get to Montenegro?
“I’ve never had relationships because I haven’t wanted to experience loss again. If losing your father was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through, and we were only friends? The thought of losing a real partner … it has scared me off of anything resembling a close bond.”
“And with me?”
“I didn’t choose to feel this way about you. I just do. And yes, it scares the shit out of me, possibly even more than the idea of a relationship has before.”
While that fills me with relief, it also brings up another insecurity.
“If we’re doing full transparency here, and you’re adamant I talk about my feelings, I need to ask …
Do you think it’s possible that you only think you have …
interest in something with me because I’m the closest thing to getting my dad back? ”
“No. Fuck no.” His answer is quick and adamant, and I’m so desperate to believe him, but it’s hard to take his word on it.
Maybe that trust will come with more time with him.
Or maybe when it comes to Decaf, it’s a question I will always have because the loss of my father affected him so deeply, it’s shaped the course of his life and relationships for two decades.
He reaches for my cheek and cups it gently.
“I’ve tried to not feel things for you because of your dad.
Breaking my rules with you, getting close when I initially tried not to …
I might not have consciously chosen for these things to happen, but fighting it was no longer an option.
Not after waking up and finding out the anguish of losing you was only a dream.
I experienced it deeply. I always do. Sometimes I wake up not knowing what reality I’m in because they both feel that real to me.
I can’t lose you. It’s that plain and simple.
” His thumb brushes down my cheek and over my lips.
I lay a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb, and his eyes flicker closed, but when I say, “What happens if I fuck this up?” they fly back open.
“What did you tell me earlier? Don’t.”
It’s only now that I’m realizing how much that’s easier said than done.
Still, I lie back down, roll into Decaf’s side, and try to only focus on one insecurity at a time.
Only problem is, when I focus on the pressing one of what will happen after we wake, it’s impossible to get to sleep.