37. Tyson #2
She’s closer now than she was a minute ago.
She leans into me as her eyes scan my face, waiting for me to answer.
I look back at her, trying to memorize this moment with her forever.
Something about it feels important. Her face is half-shadowed, thanks to the dim light.
The careful curls she showed up with this morning are gone.
Instead, her hair is now slightly tangled from where my fingers ran through it.
Even her lips are a little swollen. Her hazel eyes stay locked with mine as she stares back at me with the same softness I’m used to with her—but there’s something different about her expression too. Something more open.
Like it not only took a lot for her to ask the question, but that she actually wants the answer too. Like it matters to her.
That alone makes my chest tighten.
I don’t answer right away. Not because I don’t want to, but because I want to get it right. Something tells me that whatever I say here, Josie will take it to heart.
“I don’t usually let people in like this,” I admit.
I don’t miss the way her fingers slightly tighten in mine. The small reaction pulls something loose in me, pushing me to keep going, even though being vulnerable isn’t something I’ve ever been good at doing.
“I’ve always been focused on work,” I continue, my voice low. “It’s simple, something I can understand. You put something in, you get something out. There’s a formula to it.”
As the words leave my mouth, I realize how lame they may sound, but they’re true. My work was something that was safe. Controlled. Predictable for the most part—until things blew up with my dad, at least.
My thumb brushes over her hand without thinking, like I need the small connection with her to keep going to say the next part, something I’ve never really said out loud. “Work was the only place where my effort actually meant something. If I worked harder—longer—it’d matter.”
Her fingers shift slightly in mine as she holds on to my hand a little tighter.
“I spent most of my life trying to prove something,” I continue before I lose the nerve to admit this to her.
My gaze drops for a moment before lifting back to hers.
“To my dad. To myself. I thought if I just—” I sigh, wondering how to even get the words right about how I’ve always felt.
“If I just worked enough, built enough, got it all right…it’d finally be enough. ”
The words feel way heavier leaving my mouth than they felt in my head.
I close my eyes for a moment before opening them again to meet her gaze.
“But it never was enough. Not for my dad. And if it wasn’t enough for him, it wasn’t enough for me.”
Something flickers across her face. It isn’t pity, it’s something softer, maybe…understanding.
“But still, with work…” I shake my head as I continue to try and give her the most honest answer to her question.
“It at least made sense. There were rules and structure.” My thumb swipes over her knuckles as I revel in having some sort of contact with her through this.
“People aren’t like that,” I finally get out.
Josie doesn’t say anything. All she does is watch me closely, like she’s taking in every word.
“People are messy and unpredictable.”
Her brows pull together on her forehead. “And you don’t like that?” she asks, her tone curious.
“I didn’t,” I answer.
A beat passes as her gaze travels over my face, like she’s trying to figure out what I meant by that.
“Until you,” I add. “You don’t feel like something I have to manage,” I explain, my voice lower now. “Even when I’m trying to understand what this is between us—or trying to understand you.”
Her lips part slightly as her gaze travels over my face. “That doesn’t make sense,” she says, her voice soft.
A small smirk pulls at my lips. “I know.”
I continue to swipe my thumb over her knuckles. “But being around you…” I sigh, my gaze dropping to the mattress for a moment before meeting hers again. “I can just…be. What I feel around you, it doesn’t feel like something I need to control.”
The word lingers between us. Control. I don’t miss the way her expression shifts when I say it. Like she’s beginning to understand what that word means to me—and what it costs to let it go.
Josie moves closer to me, and I don’t hesitate. My arm slides around her, pulling her in just enough that she settles against me, her head resting lightly against my chest. She fits in my arms too easily. Like she’s meant to be right here.
“It just feels…” I pause, because the word that comes to mind sounds too simple for what this actually is, but it’s the only one that seems to fit. “Easy.”
My hand moves along her back as I’m all too aware of every inch of contact between our bodies. Of her breathing. Of the way she relaxes into me instead of holding back.
She doesn’t have to say anything in response to what I just admitted to her. The way she effortlessly melts into my hold tells me everything I need to know.
She’s here. She’s letting herself be here—with me.
I stare up at the ceiling for a second, my thoughts quieter now, but somehow still heavy despite the relief I feel at her melting against me. The relief in having her next to me, in my bed, getting ready to sleep next to her.
My thoughts get heavy because this isn’t just wanting her.
It’s not just the way she reacts to me, or the way I can’t seem to get enough of her, or the way I’m desperate to give her inspiration and be the first one to make her feel things.
It’s something else.
Something I didn’t plan for.
Something I don’t fully understand yet.
But there is one thing I know for sure—I don’t want this to end.