Why was I out here eating cookies after what had just happened in her bedroom?
I didn't know what else to do. If I thought my head was fucked up before, I should probably get a gun and let a bullet take care of my problems. My logical mind told me she wasn't fully aware of what she'd said to me. Winter was injured, exhausted, and medicated, so nothing she'd said could be taken as a conscious statement of truth. This was my lawyer brain speaking to me. My James brain had a different opinion.
My James brain argued that we didn't put thoughts into words if our minds didn't believe them. Winter could only say the things that were already inside her consciousness. She might be out of it, but she'd said and done things tonight that showed her feelings about me went deeper than I'd ever realized.
My James brain was a fucking goddamned asshole for dangling something in front of me that I wanted so badly.
I'd probably do anything to hear her say those three words to me again.
Those words changed everything.
Every-fucking-thing.
I turned off the light in the kitchen and went to check on her one last time.
She had rolled to her side, her long hair wildly strewn over the pillow like dark silk. Her expression looked peaceful now. The earlier tension had left her—finally—and I was grateful. I hated the idea of her suffering and in pain. I leaned over her, close enough to hear her breathing in a steady, calm pattern of in and out. She would get through this and be okay. Thank God, I'd been here to help her.
But things would be different now. For us and for our families. Because it couldn't go back to how it had been before between us. Not after this night.
And I didn't want things to go back to how they'd been before, either. Because even if I did want that, I was honest enough to admit I'd never be able to follow through on walking away from her. I'd have to make some changes—give up some of the things I craved but couldn't have with her—if I hoped for any chance at all.
I pressed my lips to her forehead gently so I wouldn't wake her.
"I love you too, beautiful."
For a split second she smiled.
She was dead asleep, but she heard me…and she smiled.
Chapter Eight
WINTER
Sex dreams are totally conflicted. On the one hand, you wake up smiling and feeling like you were in on an amazing secret. That's the good part. The not-so-good part is feeling guilty for visualizing supremely filthy deeds with someone you are definitely not having sex with, but wish you were.
I peeked under the comforter and checked. I wasn't naked. The same pink Red Sox T-shirt and gray yoga pants were still in place. Clothes that James put on me so he could take me to the ER last night. I did remember him eying my boobs and saying they were spectacular when he was putting the shirt on me. Oddly, I felt no embarrassment about that. I didn't care that he'd seen me. Maybe it would help him to finally make a move—
"The princess awakens." The subject of my dirty dreams rose from the comfy chair in the corner of my bedroom and sauntered to the bed looking utterly delicious as always. He must have left at some point to shower and dress before coming back. "How are you this morning?" He stayed after he brought me home.
I lifted my right hand for inspection. Bandaged between thumb and index finger with a stabilizer to keep me from moving it. There was a slight throbbing in the general area of the cut, but nothing I couldn't handle. My threshold for pain wasn't the problem. The sight of blood was what I couldn't stomach. "Hi." I smiled at him and wondered how I'd ever repay him for being so good to me. "I'm okay…really, I am fine. James, I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you for all you did for me last night. God, I was so scared—"
"No need, Win. I was right where I wanted to be." To keep me from interrupting, he held up his palm. "I'm not saying you didn't scare the ever-lovin' shit out of me when you showed up at my apartment leaking blood all over, but I'm eternally grateful I was home." He carefully lowered himself to sit on my bed. "But don't ever do that again," he said sternly.
"Believe me, I won't. Jesus…" I dared to ask the question. "I was a mess, wasn't I?"
"Yeah." His stern look morphed into a wicked grin, letting me know there were a lot more details he could have shared to answer my question, but he was being nice instead.
"What?" I looked at him, supremely jealous he was showered and gorgeous in his worn jeans and soft white shirt, while I was full-scale call-in-theNational-Guard disaster. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"How is that, exactly?" He made air quotes with his fingers and was adorably cute doing it.
I couldn't help staring at his lips as I sought any kind of comeback that would take the focus off me. "Never mind," I said finally, realizing there was no good answer to my original question. An image of us kissing flitted through my head, but the details were frustratingly missing. "James, last night—"
"How much do you remember from last night?" He hadn't lost the smirk on his face even a little, either.
"Umm…what do you mean?" Instant fear hit my gut. "Did I do something…b-bad?" My muscles delivered me a swift and silent "fuck you" when I made the move to sit up. The aches and pains screamed at me, and I couldn't help the pathetic groan that escaped.
"Easy there," he scolded. "You need to take it slow, because your body has been through a helluva lot in the last twelve hours."
"Twelve hours. What time is it?" I tried to get a good look at the alarm clock on my bedside table but his frame blocked my view. "James, I…I have t-to be at the center by t-t-ten o'clock." I lost the small shred of composure I'd managed to bluff my way through. Hot tears fell as he drew me in with strong arms.
"Shhh, you're all right. I got you," he said reassuringly while caressing me up and down my back. "And you didn't do anything bad, Win."
Despite wallowing in my own personal ocean of self-pity, James was still here with me—helping me through the mess I'd made and taking care of me. I clung to him wildly, again feeling an odd sense of intimacy, or at least the flash of a memory of intimate acts between us. It was weird, and I had no proof that anything had happened, but my subconscious told me otherwise.
I pulled back from his embrace so I could look him in the eye, because seeing his reaction to what I was about to ask him was the only way I could get the truth. "But what did I do last night? You said something about wondering how much I remembered from last night. Well, the answer to that is nothing really after we left the hospital…so I need you to tell me," I pleaded.
His brown eyes with the green flecks—that made them so unique—flared enough for me to catch the surefire tell that there was more to the story of us and last night than I was currently aware.
"Was I…did I do something inappropriate, James?"
He shook his head back and forth slowly. "Not to me."
He answered every question like a lawyer, and it was starting to annoy me. "You mean I didn't do anything to you, or that you don't consider whatever it was inappropriate?"
"You don't remember at all?"
Now I was the one shaking my head at him. His careful hedging of the topic had me worrying more and more with each passing second. "I told you I don't remember anything after we left the ER. Look, I'm very sorry if I did some—"
"How about I just show you what you did?"
I swallowed hard. "What did I do?" I asked again, but this time the words came out of me in a fearful whisper…I might not really want him to tell me. Please, God, don't let it have been sex. It would be tragically cruel to have been with James and then have no memory of the experience.