Page 21 of The Replay
Austin Holt is out there, and I don’t know what went down tonight, but I know one thing—I won’t let anything, or anyone, hurt her again.
I press another kiss to her hair, holding her close as I finally close my eyes, letting the warmth of her body pull me under. Having her here like this feels right.
It feels like home.
gabriel
. . .
Sunlight filters into the room,dragging with it memories of last night. I reach out blindly, searching for the warmth of Cecilia’s body. But I find nothing but cold sheets. My heart lurches, eyes snapping open. Where the hell is she?
Throwing the covers back, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud. The knot in my stomach tightens as I take in the empty room. She wouldn’t just leave. Right?
I yank on my discarded sweatpants, movements sharp, leaving my chest bare as I scan the clock—6:30 AM. Too early for anyone else in the house to be awake. The silence hangs heavy, and my pulse picks up.
I pause at the bathroom door, pressing my ear against it. Nothing. The quiet gnaws at me. I push the door open, only to find emptiness staring back at me. The space feels hollow, mocking me.
Fuck.
She doesn’t have her Jeep. She couldn’t have gone far. Panic starts to creep in, clawing at my chest. I jog downstairs, firstchecking the living room. Empty. My eyes flick to the front door, but something pulls me toward the kitchen.
And then I see her.
Cecilia, standing at the counter, her back to me. Her hair is a mess from sleep, dark strands tangled over her shoulders, and she’s wearing my shirt. Only my shirt. It hangs loose, mid-thigh, giving me a glimpse of her bare skin as she reaches up for the coffee canister.
Fuck me.
I stop in the doorway, adjusting myself because just looking at her undoes me. The knot of worry loosens, replaced by something primal. My heart pounds, and for a second, all I can do is stare. Everything about her—the way my shirt clings to her curves, her skin glowing in the soft morning light—grips me tight.
I step into the kitchen, clearing my throat to make my presence known. “Here,” I say, moving behind her and turning the coffee pot on, my fingers brushing hers as she pours the grounds.
She stiffens at my touch, her body tensing—a wall going up. “Thanks,” she mutters, brushing her hair back, revealing tired, red-rimmed eyes. She looks ... wrecked.
I frown, stepping closer, the warmth of her body pulling me in like gravity. The soft brush of her skin against my chest, the way her scent—coconut with a hint of vanilla—wraps around me is intoxicating. It tightens my chest, makes me crave more.
“Did you sleep okay?” I ask, reaching up for the mugs, but my eyes stay on her, watching every small movement. It’s like the air in the room shifts between us. Too much, too soon? Or not enough? Fuck if I know anymore.
Her fingers trace the counter, avoiding my gaze. “Not really,” she whispers, the words barely there.
My heart sinks. I want to pull her into my arms, but something in her posture stops me. She’s distant, closed off, and the ache in my chest intensifies.
“How come?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended. The need to fix this, to fix her, is overwhelming, but I can’t do that unless she lets me in.
She sighs, her eyes drifting to the window. “I had a lot on my mind.”
No surprise there. Holt getting out, the way she disappeared last night—there’s a lot going on. But knowing that doesn’t ease the knot in my stomach.
“About last night …” I trail off, searching her face for any sign she’s ready to talk, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.
“Not yet,” she mumbles, her voice hesitant. “But …” Her gaze flickers to mine for a brief moment before darting away again. “We do need to talk. About other things.”
That sends a chill down my spine. Nothing good ever comes fromwe need to talk. I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “Like?”
Cecilia hesitates, her shoulders slumping as she grips the edge of the counter. “Last night was …” She pauses, eyes briefly meeting mine.
“It was great,” I say, stepping into her space, needing to close the distance. I brush a lock of her hair behind her ear, tilting her chin up. “It was perfect.” Her wide brown eyes lock with mine, and for a second, I think I’ve gotten through to her.
But then she blushes, that pretty shade of pink staining her cheeks, and she shakes her head. “Yeah, but … what does it mean?”
