37. Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kat
Ididn’t respond out loud. I just smirked and raised one eyebrow at him.
He grinned. And kept grinning as his hand hit my hip, pulling me into him by it gently.
It was my good hip, and I knew that wasn’t an accident.
He was aware of every single place on my body that could and would hurt.
And avoided them to a wildly endearing extent.
I reached out and pushed his hair out of his eyes again—he really needed a haircut; it had to have been driving him insane—and kissed him on the temple.
“Come on you. Order the food and let’s pick out a movie,” I demanded. He nodded, and I hopped up to go grab us a couple bottles of water out of the mini fridge. I wished I had a scrunchie for my hair, but I hadn’t put anything of the sort into my purse. Damn.
I carefully replaced my sling, knowing I’d do something stupid without the reminder. I was much too drunk and feeling much too playful to remember it easily. When I came back, Henry was changing into his comfy clothes. He had his back to me, and was clearly in the process of unbuttoning his shirt.
I could see a peek of the top of his bandage he still had on his back. That he would have for a long time.
My feet carried me to him before I knew what they were doing.
I tossed the bottles of water on the bed, pressing my plexi-casted palm to his arm.
He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at me.
There was a question in his eyes that I couldn’t answer.
I was sure my face was saying plenty anyway.
I pulled him closer to me, holding one edge of his shirt in my bad hand, the other working the buttons. It was awkward, and was taking longer than it would’ve him. But he didn’t interrupt me.
I finished what I was doing, gently shoving the fabric off of his shoulders.
My hand landed on his chest, right over his heart.
I couldn’t look him in the face—I knew I’D kiss HIM if I did.
So, I just stared at the gruesome evidence of my love for this man, covering the evidence that I’d done SOMETHING good that night. Because that heart was still beating.
He reached for a t-shirt, and I stilled his hand. I knew he wouldn’t normally put one on. I knew he thought I was upset at seeing his injuries, because I had been before. But I wasn’t. Because I could see they were healing. He was healing.
And hopefully…
WE were healing.
I knew I’d stood here too long. I knew Henry was watching me carefully, unsure where my head was at. I was unsure where my head was at.
Fuck, I just loved this man so damn much.
What the hell was I doing? What was I thinking?
I needed… I needed to not let this happen again.
I needed those scars to be the last he ever received.
And if I couldn’t do that, they at least needed to be the last because of me.
But I was floundering on how to do that.
I knew that this was all my fault. Every scar, every bruise, every broken bone was my fault.
Me.
I did this.
But I’d given everything. EVERYTHING. To fix it. So much. I’d almost given my LIFE for it. And would gladly do it again.
And it still wasn’t enough. Not to me. Not to Andrew. Not to Henry’s parents.
But somehow, it was to him. I could see that. He didn’t even know the extent I’d gone to, and he just… wasn’t angry. Didn’t blame me. Still… wanted me.
I was so confused.
But I refused to let that consume me, tonight. It was his birthday. And I wanted to share it with him. Share in the JOY. Not the pain.
I looked up at him. And smiled.
“Hi,” I said softly. He was still watching me very carefully.
I knew he’d seen most everything I’d been thinking on my face.
I’d always known he’d seen a lot there. But he’d told me today he’d seen through me this entire time.
This entire time I’d been trying to protect him, and he’d seen the truth on my face.
And he was done.
“Hi,” he whispered back, matching my volume despite us being alone in the room.
Fuck I wanted to kiss him. I could see he wanted to kiss me, too.
But I knew he wouldn’t. I knew even this drunk adorable mess in front of me would never cross a boundary I’d set.
I leaned my forehead against his chest, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss over his heart. I felt his arms go around me.
I wanted to kiss every scar he had—old and new—over and over and over again. I wanted to check him over and over making sure every injury was healed or was healing and couldn’t cause him any more pain.
And I wanted to not look like a lunatic.
I leaned back, turning to grab the water off the bed.
“Here,” I said, offering him one. We both certainly needed it. He took it, still watching me carefully. I drained mine in one go, because I needed it. The water, the time. The distraction.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the remote and turned to crawl onto the bed. By the time I was settled, he was finished changing. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan.
I had figured he’d just strip to his boxer briefs. He didn’t usually wear more than that to bed. But he was either oblivious and trying to be good.
Or very much not oblivious and trying to be evil.
The damn man had changed into a pair of gray sweatpants that looked vaguely familiar.
“Are those the ones I bought you?” I asked incredulously.
He just laughed.
“Yeah? You’re really going to double down on that. Climbing into a cozy, warm bed with warm, drunk me. Wearing sweatpants. You’re going to roast, my friend,” I teased. He smirked at me, leaning down over me, both hands planted on the bed.
“I’m trying to be polite, Katherine. And don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing when you got me these in Canada,” he said in a low voice, sounding very amused. I grinned.
“To be fair, it was a joke. But I admitted to myself the joke was on me,” I confessed. He laughed. Loudly. I couldn’t help but join in. But he still wasn’t in this bed with me and my drunken self. Said drunken self didn’t like that.
I’d gotten used to his touch all night, so sue me.
“Come here,” I pouted. He smiled at me, lifting my chin with one finger to look me in the face.
“Are you pouting, Kat?” he asked teasingly. I pouted further.
“I didn’t call you out when you were pouting half the night when you weren’t allowed to touch me. So, shush mister,” I demanded. He sat on the edge of the bed, but didn’t move to climb in with me.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll climb in there with you. If you tell me the truth about something. Words matching face,” he offered. Oh, Jesus. What did he want to know? I eyed him suspiciously.
“Ask and then I’ll decide,” I countered. He grinned and leaned in.
“Are you actually ‘concerned’ about me getting too warm? Or are you just trying to get me out of my pants?” he asked quietly. I grinned right back.
“Honestly, I was just surprised because you do run hot. But I would absolutely prefer no pants,” I admitted, easily. He could’ve asked for something a lot more serious than that and I probably would’ve told him just to feel him next to me again.
We were both a little off after this afternoon.
I just hadn’t needed to be clingy, because he was already there, clinging.
I smiled and patted the bed next to me. He stood to remove yet another layer of clothing, and I turned the TV on for something to do, pretending my cheeks weren’t flushed. Too bad I looked back much too soon.
He was standing there, looking for something—his phone, I thought—not even realizing I was watching him.
Every lean muscle on display, flexing and relaxing beneath smooth tanned skin as he moved.
I knew from previous conversations that he just had absolutely no idea how attractive he was.
Everything he’d experienced growing up, in his career, even in his only relationship—fucking Delilah—told him one thing.
The only thing that mattered was performance.
In the car. Nowhere else. NOTHING else mattered.
And the damn sexy fool listened to them.
And just like before, at least for this night, I was more than happy to show him the truth.
Not only that he was honestly one of the sexiest men alive.
But everything else, too. I couldn’t even think about any of that too closely, in reality. Not without getting irrationally angry at just about everyone in his life.
Even the ones I liked on a day-to-day basis.
Especially the ones who sucked ass.
He still had this soul-deep belief that nothing mattered besides performing.
Being of value in some tangible way. But he was of value to me just…
as him. Just sitting here with me in his bed, arguing about what to watch on TV.
If he knew how much just the simple beating of his heart meant to me… maybe he’d start to see his own worth.
I could see the hypocrisy. But the alcohol drowned that out nicely.
He found his phone and plopped down in bed next to me. I squeaked at the unexpected bounce that felt like I was sitting on a trampoline. I was tilting to one side after I landed, but before I could right myself, he snagged me. I wasn’t mad about it.
He slipped his arm around me, gathering me to his chest and adjusting my arm in the sling carefully on his stomach. He plucked the remote from my hand as I snaked one of my legs over his thighs. He smacked a kiss on the top of my head and turned his attention to the TV.
“So, what rubbish are we watching tonight?”