Page 67 of Possessive Sinner
Closer this time. Stronger. Then his arm is around me. And I don't even protest. That's the worst part. I don't fight it. I don't pull away. I just… let him.
"Easy," he murmurs.
And everything in me just… gives. The adrenaline. The fear. The holding it together for Mom. For Pete. For everything. It all crashes at once.
"I've got you," he promises.
I believe him. God help me, I believe him.
The next thing I know is that I'm in the car. Somewhere between sitting and leaning. My head is so heavy. My eyes are burning if I don't close them. I try to stay awake. I really do. But it's like my body just decides for me.Nope. We're done.
The last thing I register is warmth. Solid. Steady. Gabe. Then, nothing. I wake up to movement. Soft. Careful. My cheek is pressed against something warm. Firm. And, oh shit, wet. I'm drooling. I jerk back, mortified. "Oh my God—I'm so sorry?—"
My hand flies to my mouth. My face burns. "I didn't—I wasn't—I mean I?—"
Smooth. Real smooth, Audra.He just looks at me. Completely unfazed. "It's fine."
Nothing, and I mean nothing, seems to rattle this man. Ever. I wipe at my mouth quickly, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow me whole.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep," I mumble.
"You needed it," he simply states.
Like it's not embarrassing. Like it's not… intimate. Like I didn't just use him as a human pillow. Before I can even process that, the car door opens. Warm air hits my face.
"We're here," he announces.
And then—before I can react—he's moving. One arm behind my back. The other under my knees. And just like that, I'm off the ground.
"What—Gabe—I can walk?—"
"Hmm," he hums, like he doesn't believe that for a second.
"I can," I insist weakly.
He doesn't even slow down. "Sure."
I open my mouth to argue again, but nothing comes out. Because deep down I know I'm a liar. I don't actually want him to put me down. I'm too tired, I tell myself. But the truth is, it feels… safe.
God. What is wrong with me?
I go still in his arms. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the strength in them. The ease with which he carries me. Like this is nothing to him. The elevator doors slide open. He steps inside. I make the mistake of looking up at him. Our eyes meet, and something passes between us. Too quiet. Too charged. Too dangerous. I look away first. Because the truth that I'm enjoying being taken care of hits hard. Too hard. It's not something I can deal with right now. I'm too tired, too spent.
Before I know what's happening, I begin to cry. The ugly kind. The kind that rips out of you without warning. My whole body shakes, my breath hitches and breaks, like I don't remember how to breathe properly anymore.
It hurts. God, it hurts. Losing Pete like this was more than a shock, because now guilt riddles me too. If he hadn't been killed that day, I would have broken his heart by discussing the separation with him.
The word doesn't even fully form in my head before it shatters me all over again. Pete.
"He's—" I choke, but I can't finish it.
I can't say it out loud. Because if I do, it's real. My fingers clutch at Gabe's shirt, twisting the fabric like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
"I—I can't—" I gasp, my chest tightening, air refusing to come in right. "I was just—I was going to?—"
My voice breaks completely. Gone. There's nothing left but sobs. Raw. Broken. Humiliating. And he says nothing. Not a single word. No,it's going to be okay. No,I'm sorry for your loss. Nothing empty. Nothing useless. He just holds me. One arm tight around me, solid, unyielding. The other comes up, steadying me as I fold into him without even realizing I'm doing it.
Which I do. I fold. Completely. My forehead presses into his chest, my tears soak into his shirt as everything I've been holding in finally spills over. Pete. The warehouse. The gun. The sound?—
