Chapter Six #3
She looked at him then. Lennox’s face was tight with anger, but his eyes were soft on her. That combination should have been impossible. It should have scared her. Instead, it made the ache in her chest loosen just enough for breath to get through.
“Jeanette never looked for me,” Lane said.
That was the sentence that hurt the most, even after all those years. Even with all the healing she had done and all the life she had built, that truth still lived inside her as a bruise pressed too long.
“She didn’t call the school or file a missing persons report.
That lady didn’t even bother to ask around about he child.
” Lane swallowed. “For a while, I kept waiting. I hated myself for it, but I waited. I thought eventually, even if she was mad, even if she didn’t love me right, she’d at least want to know if I was alive.
She didn’t, so I stopped waiting to be missed. ”
The silence between them didn’t feel empty this time.
Lennox lowered his head, pressing his lips to her knuckles.
Lane’s breath caught at the tenderness he’d given her as she lay there vulnerable.
That’s what undid her, him kissing her hand like he was honoring something.
Like the girl with the duffle bag and the trash bag deserved tenderness too.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Lane looked away fast. “You didn’t do it.”
“No. But I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry nobody came. I’m sorry you had to become your own rescue.”
Her eyes burned, and she hated that. She loathed that he knew exactly where to press without meaning to.
She hated that the words made her want to fold into him.
She hated that being seen by Lennox Jackson felt less like exposure and more like finally setting down a bag she had carried too long.
She pulled her hand from his and wiped beneath one eye before a tear could embarrass her by reaching freedom.
He lay back down beside her, still leaving space, still letting her decide what happened next. Lane stared at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re not going to try anything?”
His eyes darkened, but his voice stayed steady. “Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because you gave me something more important than your body and I’m not stupid enough to treat that carelessly,” he answered.
The words went through her so cleanly she had no defense ready. That was how she ended up moving toward him instead of away. Not dramatically. Not seductively. Just tired. Human. Honest.
Lennox opened his arm without a word, and Lane curled into the space against his side like she had not been craving it since the dance floor.
His arm came around her, firm and warm, and she rested her cheek against his chest. His heart beat fast beneath her ear.
That comforted her more than it should have.
He wasn’t as calm as he looked, and neither was she.
“Lennox?”
“Yeah?”
“If you do anything to Jeanette without telling me, I will set your life on fire.”
“I believe you.”
“This is my story to keep writing,” she let his ass know.
His hand moved slowly along her back, not seducing, just soothing. “Then you lead.”
Lane closed her eyes. “And you?” she asked.
“I follow, protect, and annoy you, Lavender.”
Despite herself, she smiled against his shirt. “You excel at the last one.”
“Very gifted,” he chuckled.
“Tragically,” she laughed as well.
His lips brushed the top of her head. It should have felt like too much, but it didn’t. It felt like warmth. Dangerous, complicated, unearned in places, but warmth all the same.
That was what she remembered now, waking up in his bed with his arm heavy around her waist and his breath soft against her neck.
Not the scandal of sleeping beside him. Not the fact that she had stayed.
Not even the foolish little truth that she had slept better in his arms than she had in her own bed in weeks.
She remembered telling him and his anger rising. She remembered not having to carry this alone anymore. Behind her, Lennox shifted in his sleep and pulled her closer, his hand spreading over her stomach like he had reached for her even in a dream.
Lane looked down at his arm. She should have moved. She really should have. Instead, she placed her hand over his and let her fingers rest between his.
Just for a minute. Just until the world remembered how to be sharp. Just until she remembered why trusting Lennox Jackson was still a terrible idea. His voice came rough with sleep against her neck.
“You awake, Lavender?”
He’d called her by a pet name, making her blush—happy he couldn’t see the red in her cheeks. “No,” she said.
His arm tightened, and she felt his smile against her skin. “Liar.”
“You wake up annoying,” she grumbled.
“I woke up holding you, so it’s the best morning I’ve had in months.”
“Don’t start.”
“Too late,” he said as he kissed her neck.
Lane closed her eyes, trying not to smile. Outside, morning kept rising, and inside, Lennox held her as if letting go were not on the agenda. Lane let herself be held without immediately planning the escape.