38. Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kat
Ishouldn’t have suggested a movie. TV was much easier.
I hadn’t realized how… difficult… I’d gotten.
I had vetoed ten movies already. Henry hadn’t commented, hadn’t looked at me funny, hadn’t gotten irritated.
I felt terrible. Tears were welling in my eyes and I was starting to think maybe I should just go.
I hadn’t noticed that Henry had moved to a new movie for me to yay or nay because I was looking down, trying not to cry.
He was looking at me now. Fuck.
“Kat?” he asked softly. I shook my head.
“No to the movie?” he asked. I glanced up, saw that it had guns, and shook my head again. He didn’t look back at the TV. He pulled my head down to fully lay on his chest, keeping his hand in my hair, stroking gently.
“Got it,” he said firmly, determined. He clicked buttons on the remote for a few moments, but I didn’t look at the TV. I didn’t care anymore. He could put whatever on. I’d just not watch, that was fine. I’d rather snuggle than leave, anyway. If I was being honest.
He tapped me gently on the shoulder, but I just shook my head. He tapped me again, and I sighed and looked up. He’d landed on an Adam Sandler movie.
Not one with anything sad.
Not one that was romantic on the surface but just sucked underneath.
One that was stupid and funny and slightly crude. I kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you. I’m… I’m sorry,” I said slowly. He nodded and settled in like it wasn’t a big deal. It was, though. I couldn’t watch a lot of my old favorite movies, right now. Maybe eventually. Some, never.
I had so many triggers and I had no clue where to start. I was barely surviving them, let alone working to fix them.
“Don’t be sorry, Kat. I’d watch a blank screen if it kept you here with me,” he said like he hadn’t just said something wildly sweet.
It was just a given, to him. A tidal wave of emotion rolled through my chest, making a couple of the tears leak free just as he shut off the light and started the movie.
I didn’t know how to show him what it meant to me. What this all meant to me.
Well, I knew one way.
I kissed his neck softly, ran my nose down the clean lines of his jaw.
Pressing tiny kisses back over the same expanse of skin, I skated lightly down to his collarbone, running the very tip of my tongue down the dip between bone and muscle.
I felt him shiver and I smiled. I planted the most deliberate, most gentle kiss I could on the two-inch wide, still-pink scar just below where his arm joined his shoulder. Then another.
I moved slowly down his pec, putting every ounce of love I couldn’t tell him into every kiss, every gesture. I could hear the opening credits ending as I made it to his nipple. I thought of the other night and grinned to myself, flicking it lightly with my tongue.
That earned me the most delicious groan I’d ever heard.
Then admonishment.
“Kat, you need to save that until after we eat because I’m not answering the door if we’re busy,” he stated, sounding wildly distracted. I stayed where I was, not continuing just yet. Just thinking. Was I really that hungry? Truly?
We needed to eat. It would help make sure we weren’t just drunk making stupid decisions.
We needed to make sure we were drunk making excellent decisions.
I sighed.
“Fine.”
“Fine? Fine, Kat?” he asked incredulously. Before I knew it, he was tickling me. I was wildly ticklish which he heretofore did not know. Now he did. I squealed, kicking my legs but realizing at the last second I couldn’t flail plaster and plexi around all of his broken ribs.
“No, stop, stop, Henry. STOP,” I demanded, making sure I sounded as serious as it was about to be. I was huffing and puffing, but he was halfway across the bed before I could even react further. He looked so, so upset.
“I’m sorry, Kat. I… I’m sorry…” he murmured, trailing off. He didn’t understand and thought I was mad, or upset, or something. I crawled toward him, slipping my arms around his middle and kissing his neck softly.
“Sweetie, don’t be sorry. I am very ticklish, and I didn’t want to hit your ribs with my casts. I didn’t want to hurt you,” I said quietly in his ear. I was terrified of hurting him. I kissed him again, behind his ear, right at that tender spot that always gave him goosebumps. It worked. I grinned.
I pressed another kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then his nose. He was finally smiling back at me.
“I wasn’t thinking, Kat. I kind of forget about my ribs sometimes,” he admitted, shrugging. I pulled back, looking at him incredulously.
“Henry, aren’t you just about constantly in pain from your ribs? How on earth can you forget about them?” I asked, palming his cheek and suddenly feeling very sad. For him. Because I knew why.
I knew he’d learned to just ignore the pain, deal with the pain, without anything stronger than ibuprofen to get him through.
I knew he pushed through the G force throwing him against his harness, wrenching on those broken bones.
I knew he dealt with his helmet compressing his broken cheekbone.
I remembered those flashing red sensors from his elevated heart rate, respiration rate, body temp, blood pressure, because he was in pain.
And no one fucking cared as long as he could drive the damn car.
I threw my arms around his neck, because otherwise I was going to kiss him and not give a fuck what it meant, what it told him. Because one person cared.
I fucking cared.
I leaned my forehead against his, nose to nose, knowing I was going to kiss him. And it would have to be okay. Because I needed to. And I thought maybe he needed me to.
I stayed just like that, threading my hand through his hair, just holding him gently. I don’t think he really ever got that. I knew how he’d grown up.
Just like every other driver on the grid.
Unlike how I’d grown up.
And there was no room for affection. Ice cream. Fun.
He chose it, and I knew that. And he’d kept choosing it. But I wanted him to know he could have both. I’d had both. And I was a damn good driver. At six, at sixteen, at nearly twenty-six.
I wanted to give him both.
I looked down at his mouth, knowing once I started, I’d never stop. Once I kissed him, it was all over. I’d never be able to walk away.
But he needed someone—anyone—to show him he was worth more than his performance. And no one else had, would, did.
And I wanted that person to be me. Desperately.
“Kat?” he asked me slowly. A warning. Not a warning.
A reminder. A reminder that I had chosen this.
But yes, a warning. A warning that if I started this, he would absolutely finish it.
And keep finishing it. Probably for the rest of our lives.
Because that was how it was, with us. How it had always been.
I stroked his hair again, loving how soft it felt between my fingers.
I ran my nose down his, smiling.
“Henry,” I responded. He tried to pull back slightly, but I didn’t let him.
“What are you doing, Kat?” he asked softly. He sighed.
“We’re drunk, sweetheart. You already decided you didn’t want this, tonight. Remember?” he continued in a voice that told me he absolutely didn’t want to be saying it. But knew that he needed to.
“I remember,” I insisted. He stopped trying to pull away.
“Has something changed?” he asked, holding his breath slightly. I laughed softly and shrugged.
“Honestly, no,” I offered. He did fully pull back now. I laughed again.
“No, nothing has changed. I still want to kiss you just as badly as I did earlier. If anything, I want to kiss you more. That’s what’s changed,” I admitted. He smiled at me.
“We can wait until we’re sober in the morning, love. I promise,” he insisted. He didn’t sound like he believed his own words. My smile grew. Now whose face was telling the truth while their words lied?
I crawled into his lap, straddling his waist. Very aware that only my thong and his boxer briefs separated us.
And yet it seemed like so very much. I looped my arm back around his neck, the other one squished between us.
I nudged his nose with mine, jumping slightly at a loud raucous laugh from the movie we weren’t watching. I leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“I can tell when you’re lying, too, you know. Love,” I teased. He chuckled.
“Fair enough, Kat. But it was mostly true. I’d love to kiss you right now.
But I can wait as long as you’d like. As long as you need.
I know you don’t believe me, and I think you actually CAN’T believe me right now, but I’m yours, Firecat.
Always have been. Always will be. So, when you’re ready.
I’ll be here,” he whispered into my hair.
Oh. I… God he was drunk. I’d cut him some slack since it was his birthday. He’d regret this in the morning, but I knew he didn’t mean it. It was okay.
He pulled back and looked at me, slightly uncertain, like he was waiting for a response. A response I didn’t have.
Knock, knock.
“Room service.”
Saved by the fucking bell.