I want to argue. Want to tell her she doesn't understand. But there's something in what she said that hits differently than all the therapy sessions and well-meaning conversations I've had over the years.
Maybe because she's not trying to make me feel better. She's just pointing out a fact.
Five men lived.
I brought five men home.
"It still hurts," I say quietly.
"I know." Her voice is gentle. "And it probably always will. But hurting doesn't mean you failed. It just means you cared."
I stare at the fire, trying to get my breathing under control. Trying to remember why I built these walls in the first place.
"You cared," I repeat, testing the words. "Yeah. I did."
"And you still do."
"Every goddamn day."
She moves then. I hear the couch shift, and suddenly she's closer. Not right next to me, but closer.
I make the mistake of looking at her.
Her hair is still damp from the rain, drying in waves around her face. And as I watch, a drop of water trails down from behind her ear, sliding along the curve of her neck, disappearing beneaththe collar of my flannel shirt. The shirt that's too big on her, hanging open just enough that I can see the soft swell of her breasts, the shadow of cleavage.
Her lips are slightly parted. Rosy and full and—
Fuck.
I'm hard. Instantly, painfully hard. My body responding to her proximity in a way I haven't let myself feel in years, and there's nowhere to hide it, nowhere to go except—
I stand abruptly, turning toward the fireplace. Pretending I need to adjust the logs. Pretending my hands aren't shaking and my cock isn't straining against my jeans and my entire body isn't screaming at me to turn around and—
"Eli."
Her voice is soft. Right behind me.
She followed me. She got up and followed me, and now she's close enough that I can feel her heat, the smell the goddamn soap, and I'm losing my fucking mind.
Then I feel it. Her hand. On my shoulder. The touch is light, but it burns through my shirt like a brand.
"I'm right here," she whispers. "For whatever you need."
Whatever I need.
She has no fucking idea what I need right now. No idea that I'm standing here trying not to turn around and pin her against the nearest wall. No idea that I want to strip her out of my clothes and taste every inch of her skin. No idea that it's taking every ounce of control I have left not to—
"You have no idea what I need," I say, my voice coming out rough and strained.
"I don't," she agrees. "That's why I said whatever."
Christ. She's not making this easier.
"Go back and sit down, Jade."
"No."
"Jade—"