“The door was unlocked,” he says, then, after noticing my tear-stained cheeks, he pushes damp hair out of my eyes, cupping his hand around my face. “Grace.”
At the tenderness in his voice, pain rips through me afresh, and a whimper escapes my lips. In an instant, he pulls me into his arms and nestles my head beneath his chin, my face resting against his chest. His back against the bed, he sets me in his lap and holds me tight against him. My body shakes with sobs, but his steadiness holds me together.
“Shhh,” he croons, then murmurs Korean words against my ear, smoothing my hair over and over, the repetition its own source of comfort.
We sit like that so long, I feel like we’ve melded together. I finally stop crying, but I can’t let go of him. I breathe in the cool, watery smell of his cologne, the tip of my nose dusting the skin on his neck. He smells like rain.
His hand slips beneath my hair and trails lines across the nape of my neck, dipping below the collar of my shirt and sending chills down my spine. I should let go, tell him I’m fine. But the hollow ache inside me tells me I’m not fine. And while nothing can fill the void, he’s the only thing that can make it a little smaller.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, his warm breath tickling my ear. His fingers twist in my hair absently. “Did you argue with your mother?”
I nod.
“And that’s why you’re so upset?”
“No,” I whisper.
He hesitates a moment. “Does this have anything to do with your brother?”
My breath freezes in my chest. I lift my head so I can look at him. “My what?”
His gaze falls. “Your brother. Your brother was Nathan Cross, wasn’t he? I didn’t want to mention it because you never talk about it.”
Fresh tears well up in my eyes. “You knew?”
He gives me a soft smile. “Everybody knows Nathan Cross was Stephen Wilde’s son. Even KPOP singers.” His smile fades. “Why did you think you had to keep that from me?”
“I didn’t want anyone to think less of me,” I say, barely loud enough for even me to hear it.
“Why would anyone think less of you? If anything, people would sympathize with you.”
Not if they knew. It was my fault. But I can’t bring myself to say the words.
“The funeral was in June, right?” he says. “It was really brave of you to come here right after all that happened.”
I don’t feel brave.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you and your mother, but I’m here for you, okay?” He presses his cool hands against my cheeks. “You said you were going to help me, and I’m going to help you.”
Fresh tears threaten to seep out of my eyes, and I want to tell him how much he’s already done for me, how he’s helped me forget about all my pain. But I can’t spit out the words.
“I’m tired,” I say instead.
Jason slips out from underneath me and gets to his feet, then helps me to mine. I crawl into bed, feeling like I ran a marathon. It’s still early, but I think I could sleep for days.
Jason stands there a moment, then says, “I guess I’ll go. Do you need anything?”
I bite my lip, wondering if I should say what I’m thinking. What I want. But I take in the empathy in his eyes, and I know he’ll understand.
“Don’t leave,” I say. “I don’t want you to go.”
He hesitates a second, the deliberation visible on his face. For that brief moment, I hold my breath. But then he kicks off his shoes, flips off the overhead light, and yanks the comforter and extra blankets off my bed. And we make a nest on the rug, because he knows I don’t want to be on the bed—I want to be somewhere new, somewhere just for us.
He rolls onto his side to look at me, and I offer him a grateful smile. I turn away from him, curling up on my side and listening to him breathing, feeling the warmth that radiates from him.
I drift in and out of sleep, but I wake completely when I feel the weight of an arm wrap around my waist. Jason presses his face into my hair at the back of my neck, and my breath catches. I force myself to keep still so he thinks I’m still asleep, but my heartbeat pounds so loud he must be able to hear it.
“Grace,” he murmurs into my hair, and I’ve never loved the sound of my name so much. “You were the only person who was there for me when I needed you. I want to be there for you.”
Then he says it, and every nerve inside my body prickles at the same time.
“Trust me,” he whispers.
And I only wish I could.
Chapter Twenty-four
The next morning, I wake up to my phone buzzing. Jason mumbles something in his sleep and rolls away from me.
Am I allowed to come back to my room now? Sophie texts.
My cheeks burn, and I fumble with the buttons on my phone. YES! I respond. I’M SO SORRY!
She replies a moment later, rolls eyes If you’re shacking up with my brother, I’m going to vomit.
Even more heat rolls through me, and I type back as quickly as possible, I am NOT sleeping with him. Well, I did. But totally in a literal way. Long story.
She doesn’t respond, but I decide it would be best if Jason were gone by the time she arrives. I sit up, stretching my stiff muscles—maybe the floor was a bad idea—and nudge him. He opens his eyes and blinks back sleep, then smiles up at me.
“Good morning,” he says, voice thick with drowsiness.
My insides are doing backflips as I peer down at him, with his head on my pillow, but I stomp on all these emotions. Must keep level head. Must not be overwhelmed. Must not be overwhelmed.
“I think Sophie came in last night,” I say.
He scrubs his face with both hands. “Yeah, she did. Around eleven, I think.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I didn’t think it was necessary. She left again.”
I groan. “This is her room, too.”
“She could have stayed if she wanted to.”
Not if she thought we were getting busy. But I choose to keep that to myself. Just another thing to add to Sophie’s list of grievances she has against me, I guess.
“I—I think you should leave.”
He sits up. “Are you … mad at me?”