Page 40 of Hunter or Hunted

“Sleep?” He returned to the head of the bed and leaned against the headboard. “Way later than you, but yeah. This bed is shockingly comfortable.”

“Did you leave?” I asked, glancing over at his outfit. I didn’t remember exactly what he’d worn yesterday, but I would’ve remembered the color. It brought out the green in his eyes. “Where’d you get the clothes?”

“No, and in my truck.” He rolled his head from one side to the other, stretching out his neck. “I always keep a couple of outfits in there. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten piss or shit on myself at work.”

Something fluttered in my chest. Something warm. Comforting.

Last night was the worst I’d been in so long, and he’d stayed.

He’d stayed even though I yelled and screamed and broke a glass.

“Oh. Right, that makes sense.”

Squinting at me, his smile inched higher. “You’re being weird.”

“I just woke up.” I pulled my blankets in closer. “I’m not being weird. I’m sleepy.”

“I like you sleepy.” He pushed some hair behind my ear. “I like your snoring less.”

Cheeks red, laughing, I pulled the blankets over my face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.”

He chuckled and tugged the blankets down. “I’m messing with you. You didn’t snore.”

I wanted to laugh or playfully smack him in the chest. But he was looking down at me, and I was looking up at him, and that flutter in my chest returned. Fluttering and warmth and comfort and… and something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something I had never really felt with a man. Something I’d only found in friendships.

Safety.

“Still,” I said. “I’m sorry. For everything yesterday, for the mess I was. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

Sympathy raised his forehead. “Don’t be sorry.” He found my hand, twined his fingers through mine, and squeezed. “I’m grateful you let me deal with it. That you let me be here.”

But I was a mess. For so many reasons.

Sebastian’s dad had been a drunk, and last night, so was I. Messy, and accusative, and angry. I’d shattered a glass and stepped on it. I’d hurled into the toilet and needed help getting to bed.

That wasn’t me. Not who I wanted to be. Not who I had worked so hard to become.

“Well, I’m grateful you were, but that wasn’t…” I shook my head. “I’m not usually like that.”

“I know.” Another squeeze around my hand. “Your friend just died. You’re going through something. The aftermath of that isn’t always pretty.” He paused. “Well, you’re always pretty, but—I—You know what I mean.”

I laughed, and he joined in, and it went on for a while. Then it faded, and silence set in.

He broke it with, “Do you want to open presents with me and Lizzie?”

“Huh?”

“In an hour or two.” He glanced at his watch. “I figured the three of us could go back to the house. Open presents. Maybe have breakfast. Then come back here for dinner with Rhiannon?”

Shit. It was Christmas. I had completely forgotten that it was Christmas Eve last night.

“Oh, no,” I whispered. “You missed out on Christmas Eve with Lizzie.”

“In her words, she’s basically grown now. She doesn’t need me anymore.” Smile teasing, he shook his head. “She didn’t care. She wanted me here with you. And I wanted to be with you, so none of that, alright? Bad day was yesterday. It’s over. Let’s enjoy Christmas.”

Nothing hit quite like a post–mental breakdown shower.

The water practically baptized me. Or maybe the breakdown itself had.