Chapter 32
Mira’s tears sink into my shirt, but I don’t care.
She can stay here and cry until I’m completely soaked through, because after the story she just told me, I’d do anything for her to feel safe.
I’ve never been one to hold onto anger, but finding out that Mira feels so guilty after some asshole assaulted her, and her so-called best friend had the gall to make her the villain rather than face the fact that she was about to marry a grade-a douchebag, makes my blood boil.
And to know that she’s been holding onto this, letting it eat away at her for months, makes me squeeze her tighter.
Seeing her this vulnerable, this raw, is new, and I’m glad that she feels comfortable enough to show that side of herself, that she can trust me not to let her fall.
But I can’t help but wonder why this is all coming up now.
I know that trauma doesn’t have a timeline, but something must have triggered this, right?
I want to ask her, but the answer comes to me when I hear Grant’s voice boom from the entryway.
“Mira?” he calls, and my fists clench with irritation.
“What did he do?” I ask, pulling away just enough to see her face. “I swear, if he touched you . . .”
“Not me,” she says, as I catch sight of Katherine, stumbling out behind him.
I’m already out of the car and rushing at him before he knows what’s happening.
Grant may have five inches on me, but I use his intoxication to my advantage as I shove my weight against his ribs, knocking him off balance.
He barely has time to steady himself before I pull back and punch him right in the face.
The sound of bone against bone echoes into the night and he falls back onto the concrete.
“What the fuck, Hudson?” Katherine shouts, hunkering beside Grant to assess the damage. From here I can see that his eye is already swelling, the thin skin of his cheek inflamed.
Adrenaline pulses through me as I stare down at my stepbrother.
I’ve wanted to punch Grant for years. From the first time he bullied me so badly I slept in the woods in an attempt to get away from him, with nothing but my book and a flashlight.
Or the day I found out he purposefully asked the girl I liked on a date, only to stand her up.
But through all those events, I kept it together.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt. But knowing that his actions have hurt Mira breaks my resolve.
Grant groans when Katherine helps him off the ground.
“As soon as we get back I want your shit out of the apartment,” I shout, anger coursing through me. “Hire a moving company, send me the bill. Because I’m done.”
Katherine stands there stunned, her eyes glued to me as I walk back to the Jeep. Mira has her knees pulled into her chest, her eyes still swollen from crying, as I pull out of the lot and onto the road. We make the drive in silence, my hand never leaving hers.
I park the car in front of the Big Barn but neither of us move to get out.
“I can’t go back to that room,” Mira says, and I nod my head in solidarity.
“My mom’s cabin is empty,” I offer. “I can run in and grab our things.”
She nods, and I quickly make my way inside, tossing our stuff into our bags, and hauling them back to the Jeep.
The cabin is dark as we make our way inside before Mira clicks on the lamp by the couch. I set down our bags and slip off my suit jacket, wincing when my swollen hand catches on the fabric.
“You need ice,” Mira says, wrapping her fingers against my bruised knuckles.
“I’ll be okay,” I promise, but it doesn’t stop her from going to look inside the freezer.
She hands me a towel full of ice, and I place it against my knuckles, the tendons already tightening. She leans against the wall across from me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
“Do you mind if I go upstairs? I think I just want to go to bed.”
“I’ll go with you,” I say, picking up our bags and following her up the stairs. The bed is still made, the plaid comforter is perfectly tucked in on the sides, and I doubt my mother’s head ever graced the pillow.
“Do you want to take a shower? I bet they have hot water.”
“I just want to sit here for a minute,” she says, leaning towards me and burying her head in my chest. I thread my hands in her hair, massaging the space around her temples until she lets out a soft purr of contentment and safety.
“What do you need?” I ask, willing to give her the world.
“I don’t know, sleep maybe,” she says, picking at the fabric at her knees.
The dress is stained, little droplets of water or wine dotting the fabric, and she places her hands in her lap. The straps of the shoulders have already left marks against her skin, and I know she can’t be comfortable.
“You can’t sleep in that dress.” I dig through her bag hoping to find pajamas, but I spot a familiar piece of fabric bunched up inside.
It’s my Shire shirt, the one I gave her to wear the night she came to my apartment.
I can’t believe she brought it with her.
I hold it up, showing it to her as she gives me a sheepish smile.
“I didn’t have much time to pack,” she says, reaching for it.
The straps of her dress have fallen over her shoulders, the delicate gold fabric glowing against her skin, as she moves her hair to the side.
“Can you?” she asks, turning her back to me.
My fingers glide along the zipper, my knuckles skimming the pale skin of her back, and she lets the dress fall to the ground.
And although I’ve longed to get her out of that dress all night, watching her slide my favorite shirt over her skin, knowing that her body is pressing against the fabric I’ve worn my entire life, feels more intimate.
Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in heavy waves as she climbs into bed.
I lay the blanket over her, tucking it in on the sides.
I want to lie down beside her, to feel her warmth, to memorize the sound of her breath, but after everything she’s told me, I don’t want to overstep.
“I can sleep on the couch,” I offer, but I’m grateful when she reaches for me.
“Stay, please.”
“As you wish.”
She offers me a weak smile before I kick off my shoes and find my place beside her. She cuddles into my chest, her head resting just below my chin, and I wrap my arms around her. I breathe her in, kissing the top of her head as we lie together.
“You didn’t have to hit him,” she whispers, and her fingertips graze over the bruised skin on my knuckles.
I move a stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “It was about time Grant learned that his actions have consequences.”
“Like hooking up with Katherine?”
I reposition myself so I can see her face.
“I’m pissed he did that to Meredith. She doesn’t deserve that.
But honestly, I punched him because he hurt you.
He might not have done it on purpose but .
. .” I trail off. “It’s one thing to have him inflict pain onto me but I won’t have him do it to the people I love. ”
The word hangs in the air between us for a moment as I wait for her response. I know she heard my speech earlier and we never really had a chance to talk about how she felt about it.
“Love?” she asks, carefully, scooting closer, even though there is no space left between us.
“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “I mean, we barely know each other outside of the bar.”
I can’t restrain the laugh that burrows out from my chest. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Okay, you know my coffee order, but—”
I cut her off. “Mira, we’ve been talking non-stop for weeks.
I know so much about you. For instance, I know you splurge on Chinese takeout every Sunday because you know you’ll have leftovers.
That you love blasting Midwest emo so loud your neighbors have called in two noise ordinances against you.
That you always give the unhoused guy outside a dollar and that you let Lilah borrow that sheer black top for her date.
It looks better on you by the way, so I hope she gave it back. ”
A little laugh sneaks out of her mouth.
“But more than that I know that I wake up every morning excited to see you, that I check my phone the second I wake up hoping there’s a text from you.
I wish I could be there in that apartment when you’re working late, so I could coax you to sleep with good wine or multiple orgasms. Or that every day I go without seeing you, I write down everything I want to share with you on my notes app, so I don’t forget a single thing. ”
Mira diverts her gaze from me, a pretty pink hue building along her cheeks, and I turn her chin back towards me.
“I know that this scar,” I say, running my finger along the discolored line on her arm, “happened when you had to hike down Hanging Rock after an engagement session and you vowed to never do a shoot there again.”
She lifts her head, her eyes staring up at me. “I never told you that story.”
“No, but you told Lilah.”
She stares at me quizzically as if trying to place the memory.
“It was my first day,” I say, filling in the blanks.
“You were sitting there, drinking whiskey and, I dunno, you looked so cool. Like you never needed anyone to take care of you. And I knew I didn’t stand a chance.
But I listened to your stories, I followed your photography page the day you asked if you could put one of your stickers on the bar. I couldn’t help taking an interest.”
I take a deep breath, as the butterflies that used to visit me every time she walked into Finn’s make a reappearance in my stomach.
“You know it took me a week to work up the courage to ask for your drink order.”
“But I always get the same thing.”
“I know.” I smile, recalling how my hand trembled the first time I grabbed the whiskey bottle for her. “But that was the day you let me in. And I promised that I’d never let myself squander your attention.”
“Why did you wait so long to ask me out then?”
“If you haven’t noticed, my life, my relationships, my family, it’s complicated.
But I didn’t want to fuck anything up between us by asking you out, or putting too much pressure on us.
I thought I could settle for your friendship, even if all I ever thought about was what it would be like to lean across that bar and kiss you. ”
“So that’s your excuse then?” she laughs, throwing her arms around my neck and running her fingers through my hair.
“Excuse?”
“For never being able to make a drink?” she asks, pulling me towards her until our mouths are a breath apart. “Because you wanted to kiss me?”
“I feel like it’s a pretty good excuse,” I say as she brings her mouth to mine.
Her tongue slips into my mouth, and my hand crawls up her back, stopping at the back of her neck, steadying her against me.
Our bodies respond to each other as if we are tethered, the push and pull creating a delicious friction before she reaches for the button of my pants.
As much as I want this, to be with her, to know her in this way, I want her to be sure.
“Mira,” I breathe.
“Hudson,” she says, matching my tone.
“We don’t have to do this right now,” I say, giving her an out.
“I’ve had a lot of really shitty things happen in my life lately, but being with you made them feel inconsequential,” she explains, her hazel eyes soft in the warm glow from the bedside lamp. “And I know what I need right now, what I want, is to be with you. So unless you want me to stop . . .”
I can’t find the words to argue when she bites the delicate skin of my neck. The bruise she left on Monday has almost faded and I’m eager for her to write over it, to brand me, to let everyone know that I’m hers.
My fingers fumble with the buttons of my shirt, quickly going down the line as her nails rake down my chest. The black polish is chipped and faded, her signature look. I grab one of her hands and kiss her palm, pinning it behind her head.
Her hair’s been let loose, the deep-brown curls falling around her face, and I weave my fingers through it, guiding her mouth to mine.
Her tongue slips into my mouth, and she moves against me with an unbridled passion as if kissing me is the only thing keeping her breathing, and I want to be that oxygen.
There’s heat behind her eyes while she watches me discard my shirt on the floor before bending to my knees to taste more of her.
Her body hums against me as I move my mouth along her stomach, up her ribcage, then my hands slide underneath the fabric of my shirt she’s wearing, pushing it up over her breasts.
I take one of her taut nipples between my teeth and bite down just hard enough that she arches her back.
She moans, the sound an achy whimper when my hand reaches between her thighs, to find that she’s completely soaked through.
“Birth control?” I ask, highly doubting there are condoms in the bathroom.
“IUD,” she replies, peeling off her shirt.
I wiggle myself out of my pants as she reaches for me, tugging at the fabric of my boxer briefs, pushing them down until I’ve sprung free.
“Come here,” she begs, her eyes darkened with need.
I settle between her legs, waiting for her reassurance before I slip inside her.
I go slow, my body moving in even, gentle strokes.
This isn’t something to be rushed, but an experience to be savored.
But unlike seeing bioluminescence in Puerto Rico, or the aurora borealis in Iceland, or volcanic lightning in Guatemala, I know that nothing will ever compare.
We work together as she matches me, rhythm for rhythm, pressure building inside me.
I can’t let go, not yet, not until I hear that coarse sound escape from her lips, the one that lets me know that she’s gotten what she needs.
I’m on the edge, my head buried in her neck, when she cradles my face in her hands.
“Hudson.”
She says my name as if it’s sacred, her body pulsing beneath mine.
“Say it again,” she demands as I let go.
“I love you,” I breathe against her skin, into her hair, over her body. “I love you. I love you.”
Each time I say it, the tension in her body releases, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes while she grinds against me, nails digging into my shoulder blades as if she needs to be embedded in my skin.
I don’t care that she doesn’t say it back. She doesn’t have to. Because I’ll love her regardless. Whether it’s a night, or a year, or a lifetime, I’ll love her for as long as she lets me.