Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
NATHAN
All I could hear was the sound of blood rushing in my ears from where I leaned against the booth.
As if it wasn’t hard enough to sit still when I watched some guy sidle up behind her on the dance floor, his front pressed against her back—I then had to witness some asshole who didn’t seem to be able to understand the word no.
Her body language had screamed discomfort: the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her laugh and smile all forced and brittle, the way her eyes darted toward the crowd like she was searching for an escape.
I told myself I wasn’t going to intervene, confident she would get herself out of whatever that situation was, but the guy kept on, leaning in closer as though he had the right.
Jealousy and anger had burned hot and irrational in my chest at watching that idiot treat her like she was just another girl to hit on.
So I had said to hell with standing back, moving before I realized it.
But now I’m wondering if that was the wrong play.
Thea wasn’t my girl, as she made painfully clear after the confrontation, but damn it she doesn’t deserve to be treated like an object, either.
And there was no way I could just…stop caring about her.
Just as I could give her all the space she asks for…
but I’ll never be able to leave her alone again now that she’s back in my life.
If I could get her to just talk to me, to hear me out, maybe she will let me in.
Not only to get close to her, but I want her to trust me enough to let me help her with what she’s going through.
And then I had to say that I wasn’t pretending to be her boyfriend after she called me out on it.
Not a great choice of words either, as that is exactly what I was doing and I know it.
All but confirmed it. Because whether she caught it or not, I’ve already done exactly what Fletcher did with Dylan. Claimed her.
The house is quieter than I expect when we get back, which is odd considering it isn’t any quieter than it was before Thea moved in.
Although, maybe that’s it. Even though I haven’t seen much of her since then, I’ve gotten used to hearing her through our shared wall; the way her feet sound as she walks up and down the hall.
The buzz of the night out still clings to us, but the mood has shifted, mellowing with the late hour after Dylan and Fletcher went home.
Thea brushes past me, heading toward the back patio with an effortless grace—one that she hasn’t shown, one that’s almost…
relaxed. I know whatever grief she is carrying is far from gone, she is far from healed, but it still brings me some relief.
I hesitate for a moment before following her.
The cool night air hits me again as I step outside, the door clicking shut softly behind me.
She doesn’t turn around, but I know she hears me by the way her shoulders tense.
She’s leaning against the railing, her arms draped over the edge as she stares up at the light of the moon.
Pieces of her hair have fallen out of her bun, catching the faint light from the porch.
She looked stunning earlier, her beauty hitting me like a freight train as she came crashing out of the bathroom, stealing my breath.
But she has never looked more gorgeous than she does right now, bathed in the silver glow of the night.
There are so many things I want to ask her, but this moment isn’t an invitation for a conversation.
Still, I stay. Leaning against the railing a few feet away, I let the silence stretch between us and for once, there is no tension.
The breeze carries a faint hint of rain on the horizon, and I tell myself to be patient.
She has never been the kind of person to push, and that stands true now more than ever.
“You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” she says after a while.
I raise an eyebrow, though she isn’t looking at me. “About what?”
“Hovering.” She turns her head to glance at me with an unreadable expression on her face. “I’m fine, Nathan. You don’t have to keep checking on me.”
I cross my arms, mirroring her stance. “I’m not hovering. Just happened to step out for some air.”
She lets out a soft huff of disbelief, her lips curving into the faintest shadow of a smile before she turns her gaze back to the horizon. “Right. Just a coincidence.”
I shrug, even though she can’t see it, and I’m hanging onto that thread of a smile she gave me, hoping to bring more out. “Believe what you want. But if I were hovering, it would only be because I care. That’s not a crime, is it?”
She doesn’t respond immediately, her fingers brushing the weathered wood of the railing. The silence stretches again before she speaks, her voice quieter. “It’s not a crime. But you don’t have to. Care, I mean.”
I feel a pang in my chest, her words landing heavier than I expect. I feel both pain for myself and pain for her that she thinks I would ever be capable of not caring for her. “That’s not really up to you, is it?”
Her head turns sharply, her eyes locking onto mine. They’re guarded, but there’s something else there, something fragile and raw that she’s desperately trying to hide. “Why are you like this?” she asks, almost accusingly.
“Like what?” I challenge gently.
She gestures between us, frustration flaring briefly in her expression before she closes the distance that separates us. “Like…so persistent. Like I’m something worth—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together as though she regrets letting the words slip.
“Because you are. Jesus, Thea. Don’t you know how special you are?
” I say, my voice steady, and her eyes widen.
For a second, I wonder if she’s going to bolt, but she doesn’t.
She just stares at me. The breeze picks up, carrying the scent of rain more strongly now.
A piece of her hair flies into her face and I tuck it behind her ear without thinking, her breathing stopping altogether at the small contact.
I need to be careful not to let the fragile thread holding her here break, so I don’t do anything else.
“I know you’ve been through hell. One I no doubt have a feeling you blame me for.
I wasn’t there for you in the past, and I know you think you have to do this on your own.
This thing with Lucas. But you don’t. I’m here now, and I’m not running this time. ”
She exhales, not quite a laugh. “You really are stubborn, aren’t you?”
“Call it what you want, but I mean it.”
I’m surprised she isn’t arguing—a nice change in pace from our conversation upon waking up—but she just sighs. “You’re exhausting, Nathan.”
“And you’re deflecting. But that’s okay, because I’m patient,” I counter.
“Here comes your savior act. Again.” Her voice is tight as she says it, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.
I swallow hard, every instinct telling me to pull back and to keep my distance.
“No, but I do think you need someone to fight alongside you. I think you deserve someone who won’t let you fight alone, no matter how much you push them away.
” Her gaze pierces mine as we continue to stand there and stare at each other, unable to look away.
My heart begins to beat faster, but I hold my ground.
Her lips part, like she’s about to respond, and I swear the world slows down around us as she glances to my own and then back to my eyes.
We’re inches apart now, and I can feel the warmth radiating off her body despite the cool night air.
I could kiss her right now. She might let me.
I almost taste the moment and I lean forward, just the slightest amount, and I see her hesitation in the way her body tenses again.
She stops herself, pulling back abruptly and putting distance between us, and whatever brief connection we had is gone.
“I don’t need you, Nathan,” she says, her voice cool, but her eyes betray her and I know she felt it, too. “And I don’t need you pitying me.”
The words hurt, hitting deep, but I don’t let it show. If me being her punching bag is what she needs to get past whatever is keeping her walls up, so be it. “Once again, this isn’t pity. It’s about not letting you disappear into this alone. So hate me for it if you want, but what’s done is done.”
She looks away, her jaw tight, clearly torn between wanting to push me away and wanting to let me in.
I turn to walk away when I hear her mutter, so quietly I almost don’t hear it, “I don’t hate you.
” I don’t know if she meant for me to hear her or not.
But I did. And I don’t know how I’m going to be able to handle this—the almost kiss, the almost connection, and the walls that seem to be built two bricks higher for every one knocked down.
But one thing I do know? She felt it, too.
She felt what has always been there between us, like a pile of embers waiting for the perfect amount of fuel and oxygen to bring it to life.
Screaming wakes me from sleep some hours later, but it isn’t coming from Thea’s room.
I quickly grab my weapon from where it’s strapped underneath my nightstand and pull on a pair of sweats before exiting my room.
It isn’t dark out anymore, so I highly doubt someone has broken in, but you never know.
When I open my door, the distressed voice becomes more clear and I do recognize it as Thea’s, her open door all the confirmation I need to make the connection.
Is someone else here with her? I tuck the weapon into the waistband of my sweats, causing them to hang lower on my hips from the weight of the gun as I walk out to the kitchen and living area.
Thea’s back is turned to me as she stares out the back door, one hand to her ear and one pulling at the hair piled on the top of her head.