Chapter 8 Lennon
EIGHT
LENNON
Carson carries me through the house like I weigh nothing, his strong arms secure around me as he navigates the stairs.
My legs tighten around his waist, and I close my eyes, letting myself be taken over by the excitement of being with him.
My heart is hammering against my ribs, a mixture of anxiousness and nerves.
At the same time, I’m so excited for whatever this night leads to.
When we reach the landing, he sets me down gently, and I notice the way his hand lingers on my waist, like he’s reluctant to let go completely. The upstairs hallway is dark except for a sliver of moonlight coming through the window at the end, casting everything in the twilight.
“Is it the room I’ve been staying in? Is that the one you want to be in? It’s yours, right?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It is,” he answers, but I can see the tension in the set of his shoulders. This is hard for him, I realize. Harder than he wants to admit.
I take his hand, lacing our fingers together. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”
“I want to,” he says, but there’s a lot of uncertainty in his voice. “I just…it’s been a while since I’ve slept in there. Actually, it’s been a while since I’ve been in there before I came in the other day.”
“Then let’s take it slow.” I squeeze his hand, trying to just let him know I’m right here, for whatever it is he needs. “There’s no pressure or expectations. It’s just whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” he whispers, his eyes meeting mine.
He nods, seeming to feel stronger from the words, and leads me to his bedroom door.
When he opens it, I look at it from his gaze.
I didn’t do that last time. All it was to me was a place to stay.
Granted, I’d smelled his scent on all the blankets, but seeing him walk into this room?
It strikes me how this is his domain. It has dark furniture, dark covers, and everything else is neat and organized.
But there’s a staleness to the air, the mustiness of a room that hasn’t been used in too long.
I didn’t necessarily notice that when I came in the other night.
Carson flips on a lamp, bathing the room in soft light, and I can see him physically brace himself against whatever demons this space holds.
“Hey,” I say softly, stepping behind him and placing my arms around his waist, resting my hands on his chest. “Turn around and look at me.”
He does as I ask. When his green eyes meet mine, and I see fear there, it makes my chest get tight. I blow out a breath, hoping that I’m right in what I’m thinking. That what I’m about to say might change things for him.
“We’re going to make new memories in this room,” I tell him. “Good ones, starting right now.”
“I want that,” he admits, his hands coming up to cover mine. “More than you know.”
We stand there for a moment, breathing deeply together.
I’m trying to wait for him to tell me what he’s ready for, but it looks like he’s not able to make the decision.
So I make it for him. I step back and pull my sweater over my head, folding it neatly on the chair by the window.
Carson watches me, his gaze intense, as I slip off my jeans, shoes, and socks.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rough and slightly breathless.
“Getting comfortable,” I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Relax. This is just about sleep, Carson. About being close to someone who understands the need to have a warm body next to you sometimes. Nothing more, nothing less.”
The tension visibly leaves his body at my words. His shoulders slump in relief, and his chin dips to his chest. He follows my lead, pulling off his flannel shirt to reveal a white t-shirt underneath, then toeing off his boots.
When we’re both down to the least amount of clothing I feel comfortable with—me in my bra and underwear, him in a pair of boxer briefs—I climb onto the bed, patting the space beside me. “Come here.”
He hesitates for just a moment, then joins me, lying stiffly on his back, almost like he’s afraid to move.
Like he’s afraid to touch me. I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, his breathing shallow and quick, as his eyes go back and forth in the room.
He looks at the walls, and judging by the way his stomach concaves quickly, he’s on the edge of a panic attack unless I can get his mind off the fact that he’s got walls around him.
“Close your eyes,” I instruct gently.
“Lennon, this isn’t going to work,” he argues.
“Trust me. Just close your eyes.”
He does, though I can see the effort it takes. His jaw is clenched, his hands fisted in the comforter beneath us.
I shift closer, resting my head on his shoulder and draping my arm across his chest. “Now, tell me about the ranch. About your favorite part of working here.”
“What?” His eyes fly open, confusion replacing some of the fear.
“Just talk to me,” I say. “Tell me about something you love. Something that makes you happy.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I think maybe he’s not going to answer. Then, slowly, he begins to speak.
“Early mornings,” he says, his voice rough. “When the sun’s just starting to come up, and the whole world is quiet. Just me and the horses, checking on the cattle. Everything is peaceful and simple.”
“That sounds beautiful,” I encourage, my fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.
“It is.” Some of the tension is leaving his body now, his breathing starting to slow. “There’s this one spot, up on the north ridge, where you can see the whole valley spread out below you. On clear days, it feels like you can see forever.”
“I’d like to see that sometime.”
“I’ll take you,” he promises. “When this is all over.”
We fall into a comfortable rhythm, me asking questions about the ranch, about his life here, and him answering in that low, rumbling voice that I’m quickly becoming addicted to. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, I feel him relaxing against me, his body losing that rigid tension.
“Your turn,” he says eventually, his arm coming around to hold me closer. “Tell me something about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything.” He turns his head to press a kiss to my hair. “Start with why you became a paralegal.”
I’m quiet for a moment, considering how much to share. But there’s something about the darkness, about the safety of his arms, that makes me want to open up in ways I normally wouldn’t.
“My parents fought a lot when I was growing up,” I begin, my voice steady despite the painful memories. “They were physically violent, which was awful, but the screaming was the worst…it was constant. And my dad, he had a temper. When things got really bad, he’d take it out on us kids.”
Carson’s arm tightens around me, protective, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“I learned to escape,” I continue. “To go off into my own world when things got ugly. I’d imagine myself in these elaborate scenarios—a lawyer in a big city courtroom, fighting for people who couldn’t fight for themselves. People like Atlee and me, who were stuck in situations we couldn’t control.”
“Is that why you do what you do?” he asks quietly. “Help people like the woman who came to your office?”
“Yeah.” The word comes out thick with emotion. “I couldn’t help myself back then. I couldn’t help my sister. But now…now I can make a difference. Even if it’s just one person, one family at a time.”
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, and I can hear the sincerity in his voice. “You know that?”
“I’m just doing what I can.”
“No.” He shifts, rolling onto his side to face me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “You’re risking your safety, your life, to help someone you barely know. That’s not ‘just’ anything. That’s heroic.”
Tears prick at my eyes, unexpected and unwelcome. I’m not used to being seen this way, to having someone recognize the cost of what I’m doing.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers, his thumb brushing away a tear that’s escaped. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not,” I lie, even as more tears fall.
He pulls me closer until we’re tangled together, my face pressed against his chest. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”
We lay like that for a long time, just holding each other in the darkness. And somewhere between one breath and the next, I feel Carson’s body go completely lax against mine, his breathing evening out into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep.
I smile against his chest, my own eyes growing heavy. For tonight, at least, we’ve both found peace in each other’s arms.
And maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something neither of us expected but both of us desperately need.