Try as I might, though, I can’t get the words out. The ones I’ve never been able to admit out loud to anyone, about the other grave I cried over, months before Gran was lowered into the earth.
Another rogue tear slips down my cheek. Ryder reaches out, almost without thinking, and smooths it away. We both go still as soon as he makes contact. The tiny bead of grief quivers on the tip of his finger in the air between us. I watch it for a split second, suspended, wondering which direction it’ll roll.
Either way, the end game is the same.
Splat.
The tear hits the floor and, a heartbeat later, I hit his chest. The impact knocks the air from his lungs, but he recovers almost instantly. His arms come around me, strong and safe and warm, as I bury my head in the crook of his neck and wrap my hands around his waist.
It’s not a romantic embrace. It’s pure comfort in a moment of weakness. It’s surrender after a long battle, a handshake with the enemy on the besieged front lines.
Still… my tears drip faster and my whole body seems to sing.
Home.
Home.
Home.
Chapter Eighteen
ryder
My pulse is roaring soloud, I can hardly think straight.
She’s pressed tight to my chest, her every curve plastered against me. It’s torture and bliss all rolled into one. I want to savor the moment forever — the feeling of Felicity in my arms, her salty tears dripping against my skin, her slender fingers fisted in the fabric of my t-shirt — because I know it won’t last.
Heaven and hell in the shape of a girl.
Mouth in hair, arms banded tight around her back, I hold her for what feels like hours in that dark, dusty storage closet.
It’s not nearly long enough to sate my need.
When her tears subside, she goes limp in my embrace, all the tension sliding out of her like a wet rag wrung dry. Our chests move in tandem, breathing as one. She makes no move to pull away, content in the circle of my arms.
God, I’ve missed this.
Missed her.
When she finally shatters the silence, her voice shakes.
“Did I cross the friend boundary?”
I shrug lightly, striving for a casual tone. “Friends hug.”
Her hold loosens and she pulls back to look at me. Less than two inches separate our faces. It fucking kills me not to kiss her, but her swollen eyes and lost expression are enough to curb the desire raging inside me.
“Thank you, Ryder.” Her voice cracks on my name. “For listening. For being you… even when we aren’t us.”
I nod, feeling my heart splinter. “Anytime.”
She rises to her feet, and I school my expression so she doesn’t know how much it pains me to let her slip out of my arms, how hard it is to keep my hands off her body now that I’ve had a searing reminder of the way we fit together, corresponding stars in the same constellation.
We don’t touch again as we walk out of the storage closet. The world feels glaringly bright outside our small, silent room. I’d give almost anything to go back; trade every night I’ve ever spent in five-star hotels for a few more stolen moments with her in the dark — breathing dust motes, my hands on her skin.
Stevens and Smith shadow our every step at a careful distance as we make our way back from the arena, leaving the stage lights behind. We don’t speak, each lost in our own thoughts as we traverse the gaudy halls of our hotel, smiling at fans who recognize us as we cross the lobby, picking up our pace before they notice Felicity’s red eyes and start asking questions she’s not ready to answer.
Apparently, not even when I’m the one asking.