24. Kai
Kai
Julia falls asleep faster than I expected.
One minute she is still awake beneath my arm, warm and loose against me while the hand resting over her stomach rises gently with every breath.
The tension leaves her body in slow intervals until her fingers uncurl from around my forearm and her weight settles fully into mine, trusting sleep enough that she no longer helps me hold her.
I stay exactly where I am. The room has been quiet for long enough that I can hear the old house settling around us, wood shifting somewhere beyond the bedroom and the refrigerator humming faintly downstairs before everything returns to silence.
Outside, an occasional car passes at the end of the street, but Julia doesn’t react to any of it.
Her breathing has gone deep and even, her back warm against my chest and one leg bent beneath the sheet where she curled into me without seeming to notice she was doing it.
I wait a little longer anyway. There is no reason to rush this part, especially when leaving suddenly feels considerably less appealing than it did when I imagined tonight from outside her windows.
I had imagined plenty. Her against a wall.
My hands finally touching everything I had spent weeks watching through glass.
The sounds I could only guess at from the trees.
I had imagined getting her into bed too, although those particular thoughts never went much farther than sex because apparently my imagination had neglected to account for what happened afterward.
It had never bothered to include Julia falling asleep in my arms. My hand remains spread loosely over her stomach beneath the sheet, no longer holding her there so much as resting against her because I haven’t convinced myself to move it.
The warmth of her body has settled into mine with an ease I didn’t expect, and for a few minutes I allow myself to lie there without deciding what any of it means.
Tonight does not need another explanation. I have given myself enough of those.
Julia shifts slightly and makes a soft, sleepy sound into the pillow.
My whole body goes still. She settles again within seconds, pushing a little farther back against me as though searching in her sleep for the warmth I am already giving her, and something in my chest pulls tight.
Once I’m certain she is properly asleep, I reach carefully for the bottom edge of the balaclava and peel the fabric upward.
It has been hot and uncomfortable for the better part of the night, and dragging it completely over my head feels almost obscenely good after hours of making sure no useful part of my face became visible.
Cool air reaches my skin and I let out a quiet breath.
“Jesus Christ.” There is no need to distort my voice now.
Nobody awake can hear Kai Blackwood. The bedroom remains dark enough that I can barely make out my own hand at first, but my eyes gradually adjust until Julia begins taking shape against the pillow beside me.
I can see the pale curve of her cheek, the darker spill of auburn hair surrounding her face and the soft outline of lips parted slightly while she sleeps.
She is so fucking beautiful like this. There is nothing polished or carefully arranged about her now.
Her hair is a mess, whatever makeup survived the day disappeared hours ago and one cheek is pressed into the pillow enough that her mouth sits a little crooked, but she looks more peaceful than I have ever seen her.
She was beautiful beneath me too. That particular image is going to be considerably more difficult to remove from my head, especially the moment her entire body tightened around mine and she stopped caring what sounds came out of her mouth.
Unfortunately, I remember one of those sounds perfectly.
“Ghost.”
My mouth pulls into a faint smile before the small thread of regret follows.
I like the name. I liked it far too much the first time she said it downstairs, and there is something deeply satisfying about knowing she created a name for the man she waits for after dark.
Still, for one second while she was coming around me, I wanted to hear something else.
“Kai.”
That particular disappointment belongs entirely to me.
I could have avoided it by doing what any remotely sensible man would have done months ago.
Once I realized wanting her had stopped being something I could comfortably contain inside an office, I could have referred her to someone else, waited until enough time had passed and approached her as myself if that ever became appropriate.
I know how to ask a woman to dinner. I have even managed it without hiding in foliage.
Out of all of the problems in my life, that was never one of them.
The problem was never whether transferring Julia was possible.
The problem was everything we had already built by then.
Putting her in front of someone new would not erase that progress, and I’m not arrogant enough to believe I am the only psychiatrist capable of helping her.
She could do it. She would do it. I simply couldn’t make myself be the reason she had to rebuild that trust with somebody else.
That is the respectable explanation. The less respectable one is sleeping beside me.
I don’t want somebody else doing this work with her.
I don’t want another doctor learning the small things I have spent months noticing, and I don’t want to lose Thursdays simply because that would be the ethical, intelligent, overwhelmingly obvious thing to do.
There isn’t a clinical term required for any of that. I’m selfish.
Julia breathes out and turns her face slightly toward me, and I lift one hand to move a strand of hair away from her cheek before it starts tickling her nose.
“You’re going to ruin my fucking life,” I whisper. The worst part is that I sound almost fond of the idea.
I stay until the darkness begins thinning around the edges of the curtains, black slowly becoming charcoal where the fabric doesn’t meet the wall perfectly.
Sunrise is still a little while away, but not enough to pretend Friday isn’t waiting for me with a full schedule and patients who deserve a doctor capable of keeping his eyes open.
Reluctantly, I slide my arm out from beneath her.
Julia immediately shifts toward the warmth I leave behind and makes a small dissatisfied sound as she curls deeper into the pillow.
For one dangerous second, I consider lying back down.
Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed and rub both hands over my face.
“Do not be an idiot.” Useful advice. Several months late, though.
I pull the balaclava back over my head before the growing light has any chance of leaving complicated, then find my clothes by touch.
My jeans go on first, followed by the white T-shirt and jacket, although I carry my boots into the hallway rather than risk waking her by stomping around the bedroom.
Before leaving, I look back once. Julia hasn’t moved.
I stand there longer than necessary, taking in the outline of her beneath the covers, then force myself downstairs.
The old staircase complains under my weight twice despite every attempt to avoid the boards most likely to creak, but no sound comes from the bedroom above me.
By the time I pull on my boots near the front door, the house has taken on that suspended quiet that belongs only to the hour before morning properly begins.
I should leave. My bike is parked far enough away that starting it won’t wake half the neighborhood, and I need a shower, coffee and whatever miracle is required to make zero hours of sleep look respectable in a suit.
My hand nearly reaches the doorknob before I stop.
Leaving while she sleeps was always the plan.
Leaving without anything suddenly feels wrong.
Not because I think Julia expects some ridiculous morning-after performance involving breakfast in bed.
I’m reasonably certain masked stalkers operate under a different hospitality standard.
Still, I don’t want her waking and wondering whether I disappeared the second her eyes closed so I turn toward the kitchen.
The first weak traces of morning make it easier to navigate now, and I find a ceramic cup near the refrigerator filled with several pens, scissors and, inexplicably, one chopstick.
A notepad sits beside the fruit bowl with half a grocery list on the top page, including dishwasher tablets, bananas and something she has written as “the good yogurt, not the sad one.”
My mouth twitches. I tear off the blank page underneath and lean against the counter.
For all the things Ghost has written to her, this one takes longer.
Sex is easy when the woman you want keeps giving you material every time she moves through her house.
This isn’t sex. I want her to know I stayed.
I want her to take care of herself when she wakes up because despite every willing yes she gave me tonight, I was rough with her and she is absolutely going to feel it.
More than anything, I want her to understand that coming through her door was never only about finally getting between her thighs.
I put pen to paper.
Little Ember,
You were sleeping too peacefully for me to wake you, so I left before morning could ruin the mystery.
Take a hot bath when you get up. Drink plenty of water, eat something that qualifies as an actual meal and be kind to the muscles that are going to remind you of me today.
I know I was rough with you. You asked me to be, and I loved every second of giving you exactly that, but wanting you that way doesn’t mean I stop caring about how you feel when it’s over.
And since you were asleep, I’ll admit something I probably wouldn’t if you could look at me while I said it.