Chapter 20 Jesse
Jesse
NOW
“You got her?” Fia asks, yawning in the hallway with Tank on her heels. The overhead light casts a soft golden haze, catching in her tired eyes.
I shift Penny’s limp weight in my arms. Her head rests on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I reply quietly. “She’s gonna feel this in the morning.”
Fia just shakes her head and disappears into her room without another word.
I nudge Penny’s half-open door with my shoulder and step into her room.
It’s spotless—too spotless. Nothing out of place. Like she could pack it all in five minutes and disappear without a trace.
She whimpers softly against my chest, the sound low and vulnerable.
I lower her gently onto the bed, trying not to jar her.
She smells like vanilla and lime, and I try not to notice how soft her hair is against my jaw.
I flick on the lamp, the light washing the room in amber as I catch her reflection in the mirror above the dresser.
“Jesse?” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep, her head rolling to the side.
“I’m here.” I drop into a squat next to the bed, and her eyes adjust to look at me.
“I can’t sleep in my boots,” she whispers, almost pouty. She lifts a leg an inch off the bed and lets it drop. “Help.”
Of course, she can’t. She didn’t get the nickname princess for nothing.
I sigh, not bothering to answer, and reach for her foot.
“You have to unzip them first,” she adds, watching me through heavy lashes, her brown eyes glassy but still sharp enough to sting.
She tries to sit up and fails, falling back with a laugh that rattles me, making me exhale deeply.
I told her not to take that fifth vodka soda. She didn’t listen. She never does.
She’s lucky I was there. Every eye in the Rebel Tavern was on her, and I fear she would’ve been eaten alive tonight.
The zipper starts at her thigh.
Fuck.
Careful as hell, I grab it, my fingers trailing the warm, smooth skin of her inner leg, and it’s a kind of slow torture I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I keep my jaw locked, eyes averted, pretending this isn’t the closest I’ve been to her in a decade.
She watches me the whole time. Not speaking. Just…watching.
I get both boots off quickly and drop them at the foot of the bed like they burned me.
I straighten up, running a hand through my hair, trying to ground myself. “If you need anything, I’m just across the hall,” I say, jerking my thumb toward the door.
Penny sits up slowly, her hair messy and falling in waves around her heart-shaped face. She looks like a fever dream in this light—drunk and heartbreakingly real.
“Wait.”
I freeze mid-step.
She blinks heavily then whispers, “Stay. Please.”
I close my eyes. Her voice—raspy, quiet, needing me—wrecks whatever composure I was hanging on to. I turn to face her, against my better judgment. The room has gone still, and I have to remember to breathe.
“Penny,” I reply, almost a warning.
She shakes her head as she flops to one side and clumsily pats the empty space on the bed next to her. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, Jesse,” she says, softer now. “Please.”
I haven’t heard my name sound like this on her lips for a long time. Not bitter. Not sharp. Just bare.
I should say no. I should.
But how many times have I thought about crawling into bed next to her? So I stay, because I can’t say no. Not to Penny.
“Okay.” I move slowly to the bed where her arm stays outstretched in welcome. “I’ll lie here.”
Just for tonight.
And only because she asked nicely.
Even if it tears me apart.
I kick off my own black boots with a grunt, then strip down to my boxers—I am not getting on the bed in my full clothes. But I’m also not about to ask Penny if she needs to change. That’s a boundary I will not cross tonight.
Penny shifts toward me as I lie down next to her on the pink floral quilt, her body curling on her side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I reach over her for the lamp and pull the cord, and for a second, the room is swallowed in stillness. My heart starts to settle.
And then, in the dark, her voice slips out soft and sleepy. “Do you remember our bench, Jesse?”
Her words hit me like a sucker punch. My lungs forget how to function, and a lump lodges hard in my throat.
Of course, I remember. God, I remember everything.
But before I can force a single word out, she murmurs, drifting into sleep, “Our initials are still carved in it.”
Silence again.
Except now it’s louder than before, echoing with memories I haven’t let myself feel in years.
I lie there frozen, staring at the ceiling in darkness, blinking back something I won’t name. She’s asleep within seconds, peaceful, completely unaware that she just cracked me wide open.
I stay awake for another hour, maybe more, wondering how the hell I got here.
Wondering what I’m supposed to do now that she remembers us, too.