Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
AIDAN
Taking care of Joanna Shepherd while she’s drunk was not on my bingo card.
I hate drunk people, but I can’t be upset with Jo.
It’s impossible not to see how much she’s hurting, I only wish she would open her sealed vault of emotions and tell me what’s wrong.
I want to prove to her she can trust me, but I can’t push her.
If I do, I fear she’ll run away for good.
In the middle of our drive to the farm, Joanna suddenly declares she has no interest in going home.
I hear a rambling mumble of words about how her mother isn’t there and the hole is too big—whatever that means—so instead, I make an illegal U-turn and drive her to my home.
I would like to think she feels safe there, after all this time, and right now that’s all I want for her.
Despite the gloss of alcohol over her eyes, they look dull.
From the corner of my eye in the driver’s seat, I catch her rubbing her chest as if to soothe a literal ache.
I fight the urge to place my hand on her thigh.
I want to comfort her. I want to listen to whatever she has to say, but I can’t do that when she won’t even talk to me.
By the time I get her through the door, Joanna can hardly keep her eyes open.
Sitting down in the car for so long must have made her sleepy, because she heads straight for the couch.
I urge her up the stairs to the actual bed.
She tries to make it on her own, one wobbly step at a time, but after she misses the railing and nearly slams her head against it, I swoop her against my chest and cradle her in my arms.
“I don’t need your help,” she grumbles, half-asleep, head already resting on my shoulder.
I don’t respond. I just watch her lashes flutter as she tries, and fails, to keep herself awake.
I place her on the bed, removing her shoes, and make sure she’s comfortable, selfishly relishing the fact that my sheets are surrounding her with my scent.
I want her to dream about me, and what she’s been pushing away.
She stirs as I pull the duvet to her chest, and her hand reaches out to take mine. “Aidan?”
I still. “Yes, ma douce?”
Eyes closed, she blindly clasps her fingers around mine, holding tightly.
“I don’t want to be alone.” Her voice is so small and fragile it causes a small fissure in my heart.
I walk around the foot of the four-poster bed and pull the blankets down, crawling in next to her fully clothed—damn the wrinkles.
She smells like sweat and alcohol, but underneath is that sweet, fruity scent I know so well.
I envelope her in my arms , and she doesn’t pull away, so I bury my face in her neck.
It’s the first time we’ve ever lain like this together—no sex, just two people enjoying the comfort of one another.
The safety. It’s the type of intimacy I’ve craved for so long but never thought I’d be worthy enough to experience.
I soak it up for as long as I can stand it.
Once the sound of her heavy breathing fills my ears, I get up carefully and leave the room.
As I stand in the hallway, I try not to let myself get used to the feeling of what I just experienced.
It’s the closest I’ve felt to her throughout our time together, but I know it’ll never happen again.
Even worse is that she’s most likely not going to remember it tomorrow.