Chapter 22 #2
“Who said anything about babysitting?” I crouched slightly so we were eye-level. “You’ve been holding everything together while I was gone. Tonight, just let me take care of you.”
Her eyes softened as she glanced down at her hands, fingers twisting nervously. Her lip twitched as if she was about to speak, but then she paused. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Darlin’,” I said gently.
She took one step toward the hall before folding in half and wrapping her hands around her stomach. Her face was wincing in pain.
That was all it took.
I crossed the room in two strides and caught her before she could even protest. One arm slid behind her knees, the other braced around her back, lifting her clean off the floor.
“Logan,” she started.
“Easy,” I murmured, instinct taking over. “I’ve got you.”
Her breath left her in a delicate sound as she settled against me, warm and solid, her weight fitting against my chest like something I’d been missing without realizing it. Her legs curled slightly, bare skin pressing into my forearm, and the sensation hit me low and immediate.
She smelled like lavender soap and steam and something softer underneath her. Familiar already. And all of it felt dangerous.
She rested a hand against my shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like she needed the anchor as much as I did. I could feel the subtle tremor in her body, the way she tried to hide how much the pain had taken out of her.
“Logan, I can walk,” the words slipped from her lips softly.
“I know,” I murmured. “You’re strong. You don’t need me to.”
My gaze held hers.
“But I want to. So stop fightin’ me on this and just… let me.”
I carried her the short distance to the guestroom bed, every step deliberate, careful. Her head tucked just under my chin, damp hair brushing my jaw. The contact lit something under my skin. The heat, awareness, the pull of her being this close.
I lowered her onto the bed slowly, making sure she was settled before I let go. My hands lingered a fraction longer than necessary. One at her waist, the other braced at her shoulder like my body hadn’t quite caught up with the idea of stepping back.
She looked up at me then. Eyes tired, soft, trusting.
And that nearly undid me.
“You look… good in that,” I admitted, because pretending otherwise felt like another kind of lie.
Her mouth curved into a small smile. “Yeah?”
“Too good,” I said. “Makes it harder to remember you’re supposed to be resting.”
She reached for my wrist, thumb brushing against my pulse. “I am resting.”
The contact sent a slow, grounding heat through me.
She hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the doorway, then back at me. “Stay.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even hesitant.
I swallowed and made myself step back, even though every instinct wanted to stay exactly where I was, wanted to pull her back into my arms and pretend I didn’t feel the line I was walking.
I swallowed hard. “You sure?”
She nodded. “Just… until I fall asleep. The pain comes in waves, and it’s nice to have someone nearby.”
“Alright,” I said softly.
I turned off the lamp and sat down in the chair beside her bed.
She shifted under the blanket, the heating pad tucked against her stomach again. “You’re comfortable there?” she murmured, voice sleepy.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Marine Corps?”
“Exactly,” I said with a grin. “Once slept sitting up in a Humvee with three guys snoring in my ear. This is luxury.”
She chuckled weakly, her eyes fluttering closed.
Silence filled the room again, gentle and easy.
After a minute, her breathing evened out. I thought she’d drifted off, but then she whispered, barely audible,
“Logan… just get on the bed. There’s plenty of space.”
She offered space next to her like it was simple, like it didn’t change anything.
Like it didn’t matter that every instinct in me was already too aware of her.
“You sure?” I asked.
She nodded, already shifting slightly under the blanket. “I’m not asking for anything,” she said gently. “Just… stay.”
That word landed.
Stay.
I exhaled slowly, then moved.
Kicked off my boots. Sat on the edge of the mattress for half a second longer than necessary, like I was giving myself one last chance to reconsider.
Then I lay back beside her. The bed was a big enough, plenty of room between us if I wanted it. But the moment I settled, It didn’t feel like distance existed at all.
She turned slightly toward me, not all the way, just enough that her warmth reached me. Her leg brushed mine under the blanket, her hand finding my arm again like it belonged there.
And suddenly, she was close, closer than she should have been for something that was supposed to be simple.
I stared at the ceiling for a second, jaw tight, forcing my body to stay still, to not reach for her, to not close the space I was already hyper-aware of.
Her breathing slowed beside me before she spoke again. “Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not making me feel weak.”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I reached over, brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek, and let my fingers linger just long enough for her to know I meant every word.
“You’re anything but weak, Dani.”
Her lips curved in the faintest smile. “Good. Because I kind of like being strong with you here.”
That one hit me right in the ribs.
“Sleep,” I murmured.
And she did.
I sat there in the quiet, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, the soft hum of the rain outside, the house feeling like a home again.
The smell of her shampoo mixed with the faint scent of my old T-shirt, familiar and new all at once.
I shifted slightly onto my side, not touching her fully, but close enough that if she moved, she’d find me.
Close enough that she wasn’t alone, and neither was I.
I stared at her for a long moment, her face soft in sleep, her guard down in a way I knew she rarely allowed. I’d been avoiding this since the moment she stepped into our lives.
I didn’t just want to thank her.
I wanted her to stay.
Not for three weeks.
Not just for Harper.
For me.
And lying there in the stillness of the room, close enough to feel her without holding her—
I realized I was already in deeper than I planned to be.
And I didn’t want out.