“Reed, I need to go home right now.”
His hair is soaked, falling into his face while rivulets of water slide down his cheeks, off his nose, even off his earlobes.
“Okay, it’s okay. Jump in, and we’ll head back home right now, okay?”
I keep my voice low and gentle but firm. He hesitates for a moment, then nods, getting into the car.
Tension rolls off him in waves as he buckles his seat belt, staring straight ahead. The explosive edge he had to him earlier is gone though. He seems tense as hell, but he’s no longer full of rage. He’s exhausted.
We don’t talk on the drive to his place. I steal a glance at him a couple of times. His eyes are closed, but he’s definitely not sleeping.
When I pull into his long driveway, he gets out of the car without a word. I’m not about to leave him alone at the moment, so I turn off the car, following him to his front door. The little horse barn is all closed up and cozy, so the college kid he pays to care for his horses when he’s not home has been here.
Walking into the house, we’re both greeted eagerly by the Labs, David and Alexis, while Kramer stays out of the fray, waiting for his turn.
Without speaking, Dylan takes care of everything that needs to be done with slow, methodical movements.
After letting the dogs out, he gets their dinner ready and fills their water. When he’s finished, he pauses, looking at me like he’s only just realized I’m here. Leaning against the back of a kitchen chair, he grips the wood tightly.
“You don’t have to babysit me. I’m fine. You can go home if you want,” he says, still without making eye contact.
“Do you want to be alone?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. But the weather is really bad. If you want to, you can stay. I’m going to go to bed as soon as the dogs come in. You know where the guest room is. If you decide to leave, can you please lock up behind you?”
“Dylan,” I say, but he shakes his head, putting up a hand to stop me.
“Reed, I can’t right now.”
“Okay. It’s okay,” I say. “I just—you have nothing to be embarrassed about, and, uh, I’ll be here if you want to talk or anything.” I have no idea if that’s helpful at all, but I need him to know I’m not embarrassed by what happened. The brain is such a fucking complicated thing, and we know so little about how it works. I would never judge someone struggling the way he was earlier. I’m well aware that what happened tonight has nothing to do with who Dylan is.
Chapter 25
DYLAN
MybodyfeelslikeI’ve been hit by a truck. Every muscle aches. My throat is dry and scratchy, and the exhaustion is overwhelming. I don’t have the bandwidth to process the fact that one of my worst nightmares just happened—I had a meltdown in front of Reed. I don’t know why he didn’t immediately take off, leaving me in the dust when he saw what a total freak I am. I don’t know whether to hope he stays tonight or goes home, and I don’t have the brain space to think about it.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a meltdown like that. I really should have seen it coming. The signs were clear, but I ignored the messages my brain and body were sending me. I know better than that. But I fucked it up good this time.
As usual after such an intense episode, I’m exhausted to the point of crying. There is no fucking way I’m going to top off tonight’s horrifying performance by breaking down in tears in front of Reed, so I say almost nothing to him as I take care of a few chores and tend to the dogs before heading to my room. Stripping down to nothing, too tired to even dig out a clean pair of underwear or some sleep pants, I leave my soaking-wet clothes in a pile on the floor. I consider taking a shower to warm up, but that sounds like way too much work. I slide into bed, closing my eyes and sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately.
I resurface hours later, and the house is dark and quiet. Two of my dogs are on the bed with me, and my bedroom door is slightly ajar. That means Reed was here at least long enough to let the dogs into my room. I wonder if he’s still here. If he is, that means he’s asleep in the guest room right down the hall. I know it seems odd to make him sleep in the other room after we’ve shared a bed every night for the last week, but after that kind of episode, I need time alone to rest and pull myself together. It can often take a couple of days for me to feel back to normal. I’m relieved and grateful he seems to understand.
I close my eyes, but sleep refuses to come back so easily. It’s only 3:00 a.m., and I know I need more rest, so I roll over, trying to get comfortable enough to drift back into unconsciousness, but it’s not happening. I can’t stop thinking about Reed, wondering if he’s still here. It turns out that maybe I actually like sharing a bed with another person. Or maybe I just like sharing a bed with Reed.
Lying there wide-awake, I rehash today’s events, trying to pinpoint what my trigger was this time. Once I get to the part where Reed comes in from smoking and I’m in the middle of my meltdown, it hits me like a ton of bricks. I love him. I am absolutely, completely, one hundred percent in love with Reed Morrow.
Because my brain is… well,my brain, I start making a mental list of evidence proving I’m in love with Reed. Evidence like the fact that I don’t mind when he touches me—I actually like it when he bumps his shoulder into mine as we’re laughing. How, for the first time in my life, there are times I actuallywanthim to touch me. Prior to Reed, the few times I had had sex were not unpleasant, but when Reed and I are together, it’s… different. More than once, I’ve found myself longing to feel his skin pressed up against mine or his face buried in the crook of my neck.
Aside from all the physical and touch-related things, he’s just an incredibly good person. He’s kind, and he cares so much about the people he treats in the ER every day. I love how smart and curious he is, how he’s so eager to learn just about anything, from how to change a furnace filter to how a NASA telescope works.
The bottom line is that I really don’t want this to be over. I don’t want to lose this chance at something I’ve never allowed myself to even imagine, especially because of something I can’t help.
I go around and around in my head for a long time before finally deciding that if I have any hope of getting back to sleep at all tonight, I need to know if he stayed over or if he went home.
Not bothering to put anything on, I slide out of bed, walking quietly down the hall to the guest room, naked as a jaybird. The door is slightly ajar, and when I push it open, my heart squeezes hard in my chest. He stayed. Reed is passed out in the guest bed; he stayed. He’s lying on his back, shirtless, with the blankets rucked down around his waist. One of his arms is thrown over his eyes like he may have struggled to fall asleep, but the other arm is thrown across the bed, almost like he’s beckoning me.
I don’t let myself think. Forcing myself to follow my instincts, I tiptoe over to the bed and quietly lift up the sheets. As long as he’s beside me, I’ll be able to sleep, so I slide carefully into bed beside him. Knowing if I get too close, I might wake him, I settle for lying on my side facing him, my head pillowed on his arm. Resting my hand gently on his chest, the feel of his skin, warm beneath my palm, and the rhythm of his steadily beating heart are soothing. I can already feel sleep beginning to creep back in.