Page 22

She stands completely still, swaying slightly on her feet. The alcohol has clearly hit her harder than she realizes, and there’s a shell-shocked expression on her face that makes something protective unfurl in my chest.

“You can trust me,” I say quietly.

Those four words seem to break whatever spell she’s under. Her feet finally move toward me, and the relief that floods through me is almost overwhelming. I don’t know when her trust became so important to me but watching her choose to follow me feels like a victory.

As she walks past me, I make a promise to myself—and to her, even though she won’t know it. I will never make her afraid of me again. Whatever happened in that office, whatever trauma is living under her skin, I won’t be another source of fear in her life.

She stops in the hallway and points at each door like she’s playing some childhood game. “Eenie meanie minie mo...”

I flick my head toward the last door—my bedroom, the master suite that I’ve never let anyone else see. My sanctuary, the one place in this house that’s purely mine.

But she stops at the bedroom right before it, the one I use for... other purposes.

“This is your room?” she asks, looking around at the deliberately sparse space. “So simple.”

I watch in amusement as she explores, waiting to see how long it takes her to figure out what this room actually is. She opens the nightstand drawer, and her eyebrows shoot up at the variety of condoms inside.

“Wow.”

I press my lips together, fighting back a smile. “This isn’t my room.”

Just a place to fuck when the bitches come over.

But I don’t say that.

“No?” She shuts that drawer and opens the bottom one, pulling out a vibrator. “Wow, you have quite the collection, don’t you?”

She laughs, holding a vibrator at me.

My jaw clenches. This is not how I imagined this would go.

“Is this a sex room?” she scoffs, looking around with newfound understanding. “Oh my god. It is.”

She runs to the dresser like a kid in a candy store, opening drawers at random. The first one contains towels, thankfully. But the next one reveals rope, blindfolds, and other toys that make her eyes go wide.

“That’s enough,” I say, moving to close the drawer.

“It’s not.” Her eyes are practically sparkling now. “You’re...”

“What? Sick? Perverted?” I brace myself for the judgment, the disgust, the inevitable retreat.

“No, Slater. That’s not what I was going to say. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

I can think of other things to put in your mouth. But I don’t say it. Just think it and try to keep my expression neutral as I glance at her lips.

She grabs the blindfold from the drawer, hesitating. “Is there a reason why you have this?”

“What do you mean?” I ask

She walks over and stares straight into my soul. “I mean is this a sick joke?”

I shake my head.

“Are you friends with Tyler?”

“Tyler?” I ask, officially tasting the name of her asshole ex. “Why the fuck would I know Tyler?”

She clutches her head. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. It’s just…” She waves her hand, putting the blindfold back.

“This isn’t where you were trying to take me, was it?”

I shake my head.

I take her hand and lead her to my actual bedroom.

The space that holds everything I am—hockey jerseys framed on the walls, trophies lined up like soldiers, and in the center of it all, the fake Stanley Cup that Archer and I made when we were kids.

We’d gotten into manifesting that year, convinced we could bring our dreams into existence if we just believed hard enough.

“Black everything,” she observes.

“Like my soul.”

She turns to look at me, and her expression is serious now. “I don’t believe that.”

The words make every thought leave my head. I’m speechless, overwhelmed by how much her faith in me means. She sees something in me that I’m not sure actually exists, but maybe there’s some hope for me after all.

“Silk blankets. So bougie.” She runs her hand over the comforter. “You must have more trophies than this.”

I can’t help but smile at her assumption. “I do, but these mean the most to me.”

Her attention is caught by the photos on my dresser, and she points to one in particular. “Because of him?”

The room goes silent. Even my heartbeat seems to pause. Does she know about him?

“He’s your twin.” She smiles, and it’s warm and genuine. “Same smile. Maybe a year younger? But still close in age. Two handsome brothers.”

My heart does that crushing thing it always does whenever Archer is mentioned, but for some reason, right now, it’s not as heavy.

Her compliment means more to me than she’ll ever know.

I don’t share images of my brother with anyone.

Hell, I don’t let anyone in this room, period.

I have to fight the urge to rush her out, to protect this space from contamination.

But I did just offer to have her live here.

I willingly brought her in here knowing what it means.

I take a deep breath, watching her survey the rest of the room.

“So, is this where I’ll sleep?” she asks, flopping onto my bed like a child. “In silk?”

The photo of Archer is haunting me, but I try to shake it off. “Only if you want to.”

“Want to?” She closes her eyes and sinks into the mattress. “Oh my god. This is a dream. This can’t be good for your hips. Oh, your hips. Do you need some PT?”

I shake my head, too distracted by the sight of her on my bed to think about physical therapy. Her presence in my room, in my space, is both calming and addicting. She looks like she belongs here, and that thought terrifies me.

“Water?” I offer, needing a moment to collect myself.

“Sure,” she says, snuggling deeper into my pillow. My side of the bed. The view of her on my bed makes my breath catch.

I walk out to the kitchen and fill a glass with ice water, taking longer than necessary.

Her presence in this house makes me feel less lonely, and that realization stops me cold.

When did I start thinking of myself as lonely rather than alone?

When did I start needing someone else’s energy to feel something?

When I walk back to the bedroom, her eyes are closed. I place the water on the nightstand and stand there for a moment, just watching her. Her breathing has evened out, her face relaxed in sleep.

Yeah, she’s fast asleep in my bed, in my room, in my sanctuary.

And for the first time in years, the silence doesn’t feel empty.