18. Halle #2
Next, I guide him to the bathroom, helping him out of his stained shirt.
Using a warm, damp washcloth, I wipe his face.
His skin feels warm under my touch. Once he’s cleaned up, we get him back to my bed, where he sinks into my mattress, removing his boots as he starts to pull the blankets over himself.
Then, he catches my wrist before I can step away. “Please stay with me.”
I perch on the edge of the bed, his thumb brushing the skin on my wrist in slow circles. The room feels intimate, charged with everything we’ve danced around.
“Today fucking wrecked me,” he whispers, voice rough but clearer now.
There’s a twist in my chest, seeing him like this.
This isn’t like Cash. He’s genuinely heartbroken.
“I know it did.”
He shakes his head, fingers tightening around my wrist. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
I swallow, throat tight. “You don’t have to do anything tonight. We can just talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” His eyes meet mine, raw and desperate. “I just want you.”
The words crack something open in me. I cup his face gently, my thumb brushing against his lower lip. That’s all the permission he needs. Cash sits up and pulls me into a kiss—soft and hesitant at first, tasting like beer and whiskey, but quickly deepens it.
He tugs me down onto the bed with him, and our bodies fit together seamlessly.
He strips me down slowly, reverently, then sheds his pants between nipping at my bottom lip and stealing more kisses.
Once there’s nothing between us, I straddle him, guiding him inside of me.
We both groan as I sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch as he stretches me so perfectly.
There’s no rush, just the slow and steady rhythm I’ve set as I roll my hips, grinding down on him. Cash’s breath catches as his hands roam everywhere—hips, waist, breasts—like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking perfect like this, riding me. Look at you, baby … taking all of me.”
His praise sends warmth blooming through my chest. I lean forward, bracing my hands on his chest, and rock against him harder, chasing that delicious friction. Every roll of my hips pulls a low groan from him, and the sound makes me feel powerful, desired, wanted.
His arms suddenly tighten around me as he flips us so that he’s on top. He rests his forehead against mine, thrusting deeper, hips pistoning with growing urgency. His lips find my neck, kissing and nipping, as he murmurs my name like a prayer.
“Halle … fuck, I’m so close,” he rasps, and his thrusts grow a little more desperate. “Please come with me, baby. I need you to come with me …”
I reach down between us, playing with my already-swollen clit. Already sensitive from rocking against his body when I was on top. He keeps thrusting into me, pleasure building for us both.
He begs and pleads for me to come with him, and the sound of his begging sends me over the edge.
Pleasure crashes through me, my legs shaking as my walls pulse around him.
I call out his name as I come, and Cash buries himself to the hilt with a shuddering groan.
Warmth floods into me as he follows right behind, trembling against me.
We stay locked together, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed close. For a long moment, the world is just the two of us.
Cash pulls back slightly, dazed and soft. “Shit … I forgot a condom.”
The words feel like ice water, but I smooth a few strands of hair out of his face anyway. “It’s okay, Cash.”
He accepts my answer with a nod, rolling to the side so I can slip out of bed to clean up. When I come back, he’s already tucked himself in, eyes heavy and struggling to stay open.
He reaches for my hand, a faint, sad smile touching his lips. “Maybe we aren’t meant to be. You’re too smart and wise.”
“I’m ten years older …”
“I didn’t mean that you’re old. But you … understand me. Just like he did. I need that, Halle. I need you.”
I squeeze his hand and stand. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re drunk. Sleep it off, Cash. We’ll talk when you’re clear-headed.”
He drifts to sleep shortly after, his breath evening out, as I put on an oversized sleep shirt. I watch him from the doorway, arms wrapped around myself.
The house creaks in the quiet, and memories of the funeral replay—stories shared, Cash’s mask slipping at the gravesite, the community pulling close. I gave Aria and Matt what they needed; now this feels like my part—steadying Cash when he fractures.
In the living room, I text Colt.
Me:
Thanks. He’s settled. Bar okay?
Colt:
All closed. Travis is fine. You ok?
Me:
Yeah. He’s finally asleep.
Exhaustion pulls at me as I tidy up the house, rinsing my coffee cup from that morning. Cash sees me like a fixed point in chaos, and tonight showed the fractures of how we aren’t going to work—his pain, my caution.
I check on him one more time before I try to sleep.
The pale light is already creeping through the blinds when I ease the bedroom door open.
Cash is out cold, one arm flung across the pillow, the other hanging off the side of the bed.
His face is softer now than I’ve ever seen it—mouth slack, lashes dark against his flushed cheeks.
I pull the blanket higher over his chest, fingers grazing his forehead. He stirs, murmuring my name, and warmth blooms despite everything.
The couch is lumpy and the throw blanket smells like the bar, but I curl up on it anyway, too wired to sleep and too tired to fight it. Cash’s words from earlier keep circling in my head like smoke I can’t wave away.
Maybe we aren’t meant to be.
My heart is open in the worst possible way—raw and stupid and still beating for a man ten years younger who doesn’t know how to be careful with it.