Page 11 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER EIGHT

COLT

I can’t sleep. Not after the way she said my name. Not after how she looked at me in my shirt like she wasn’t sure whether to kiss me or run. I gave her space, watched her pull away with her arms crossed like a barrier, her breath tight in her chest.

After her shower, I cooked steaks and potatoes, we ate, then we went our separate ways.

I lie on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds the house makes. The floorboards groan like they know better, and the air conditioner hums low when it kicks on. And the silence that follows the day we had together? It presses in on me.

As I’m drifting, I hear something, and it’s enough to make me sit up straight on the couch. It’s followed by another broken sound, the kind that doesn’t belong in a dream, unless it’s the bad kind.

I’m standing before my brain catches up to my body.

The floor’s cool under my feet as I step into the hallway.

The walls in here are freshly hung with smooth seams ready for paint.

I follow the sound and hesitate outside of the bedroom with one hand lifted.

Then I hear her again. It’s soft and choked, words that are desperate and too close to a cry.

I don’t knock; I open the door, careful not to startle her. Moonlight filters through the creamy curtains, casting a glow across the tangled sheets she’s twisted in. Her limbs are tight, chest rising in uneven bursts, like she’s running in her sleep.

“No,” she mumbles, head shaking. “Skye. Why? Why?”

My heart stutters.

“Hey,” I say softly, moving to her side. “It’s a dream. You’re okay.”

She jerks once, shoulders tense, but she doesn’t wake.

I sit on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on her arm, and her skin is clammy.

“Sunny, hey.” I brush her hair from her face and try again. “You’re safe.”

She startles hard this time, sits up, gasping like she’s been underwater. Her eyes are wide, wild, like she doesn’t recognize where she is.

“It’s me,” I offer. “Colt Valentine. You’re in my house, remember?”

She blinks at me like she’s still sorting the dream from reality. Her chest rises and falls in sharp, ragged waves.

“Breathe,” I say, holding her gaze. “Breathe with me, all right?”

A beat passes, and another follows it. Finally, her shoulders drop an inch, and she swallows hard.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice raw. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t apologize. I wasn’t asleep.” I shift closer.

She lets out a hollow laugh, then rubs her eyes.

I want to pull her into my arms and ask her what the hell she dreamed about that tore through her like this, but I don’t. I sit there, close enough that she knows I’m not leaving.

“It was a nightmare,” she whispers, and her voice cracks.

“I figured,” I say, watching her through the dim light, noticing her hair’s stuck to her cheek and her hands are still clenched like she’s bracing for something that already happened.

My jaw tightens, but I stay still.

She speaks so quietly that I almost don’t hear it. “No one’s ever really loved me, Colt. Not without needing something in return. Every person who has ever said they loved me has hurt me the worst.”

That’s the moment that undoes me.

I move without thinking, pulling her into my chest. Her body hesitates for half a heartbeat, then sinks into mine like we were built to hold one another.

My hand finds her back, and I hug her tight.

Her breathing slows, ragged at first, then calmer.

Each inhale is like a piece of her is coming back.

“I don’t know what happened to you,” I mutter. “But I’m so fucking sorry it did.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t have to. She stays in my arms, and if she’ll let me, I’ll show her what it feels like to be loved for being who she is.

The silence surrounds us, and I eventually pull away.

“Will you stay with me?” she asks.

My chest tightens by how easy it is to say yes.

“If that’s what you want,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please,” she says, trying to adjust the blankets that are in a heap.

I shift my body enough to lie back, one arm tucked behind her, the other across her waist. She moves closer to me like it’s the only place she’s ever meant to be, her breath evening out.

She doesn’t ask for anything else as she snuggles into me like I’m the only thing holding her together.

Maybe I am. I keep her steady in my arms, the blanket over us both, careful not to let the moment slip.

I lie there, memorizing the way it sounds when she lets her guard down.

If she asked me to stay like this forever, I would, and I don’t know what the hell that means yet.

But I want to find out.

The light’s different when I wake up. It’s soft and golden, slipping in through the sheer curtains like it knows not to wake her too harshly. The house is quiet, except for the faint rustle of sheets as I shift my arm beneath her. She’s still here, but so am I.

Her hair’s a mess, her cheek pressed to my chest, and I swear she fits like she was carved to be next to me. I keep still, not wanting to break whatever spell this is. I don’t even know what time it is, and I don’t care. Holding her sets my soul alive.

She stirs a little, her breath shifting against my skin, and then she freezes as she peels herself off me.

I keep my eyes closed, trying my best not to start smiling. She shifts carefully, trying not to wake me as she slips out of bed. The sheet slides off her legs, and I open one eye in time to see her walking toward the hallway, still in my shirt. Bare legs. Messy hair. Absolutely beautiful.

The morning light catches her at the right angle, and it’s all I can do not to groan like a man who’s about to be ruined by a woman he doesn’t know.

When she’s gone, I lie there, soaking it in. Then I swing my legs off the bed and scrub a hand over my face, wondering when the hell I started liking this feeling. This whole her-being-here thing isn’t just comfortable; it’s right .

I move slow through the kitchen, letting the rhythm of it settle my thoughts. The coffee maker gurgles softly, filling the room with that rich aroma that always reminds me of home. I grab her the pale blue mug she reached for yesterday—and set it gently beside mine.

There’s a comfort in the ritual. Mornings have always been mine, but today, it feels like it belongs to us.

I lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching the sun stretch long across the floor. It pours in from the backyard, cutting through the windows in wide gold streaks. Dust particles dance in it, and I’m wildly aware of her closing presence.

She walks in, revealing enough of her thighs to make my chest tighten. Her hair’s loose around her shoulders, soft and wild, like the dream she left behind. And her skin glows in that sunlight, like she stepped out of a damn painting.

I don’t move. I watch her as she stretches one arm over her head like she got quality sleep.

“Well, hey there,” she says, voice husky with sleep and something else that curls low in my gut.

“You always look like that when you wake up?” I ask, tilting my head.

“Like what?” She smirks.

“Like a damn dream.”

She laughs—really laughs—and I want to bottle it up and keep it forever.

“Careful, cowboy. It’s too early to be flirting.”

“Oh, darlin’,” I say, pouring her some coffee and sliding the mug toward her, “it’s never too early for that.”

She takes the mug, fingers brushing mine. “Thanks. For this. And for last night.”

I nod once, the weight of it still lingering in my chest. “You okay?”

She nods, wrapping both hands around the mug like it’s keeping her steady. “More than okay.”

“How’d you sleep?”

She smiles into her cup. “Perfect once you joined me.”

“Yeah?”

“Better than I ever have,” she says. “Like my whole body finally shut off. It was rest I desperately needed.” Her voice softens on the last word.

“Good,” I tell her. “Happy to hear it.”

Her eyes meet mine, unguarded and bright. “I swear it’s you.”

And damn if that doesn’t undo something in me.

“I do have a question for you, and you can absolutely not answer it,” I say.

We stand there for a beat, her sipping coffee, me drinking her in.

“Okay,” she replies.

“Who is Skye?”

Her body tenses, and she lets out a sigh. “My little sister.”

“Oh. You kept saying her name,” I offer. “Is she … alive?”

This makes her chuckle. “Yes, but I very much want to hurt her right now.”

“Ah,” I say, understanding.

Then she sets the mug down and leans in a little, quickly changing the subject. “So, what’s on our to-do list today? I have to earn my keep since you won’t let me pay you.”

My grin spreads. “Your company is more than enough. It’s been lonely, doing this shit by myself.”

“Even if I don’t have the proper skills?”

She bites her bottom lip, and I can feel the heat building under the lightness of our conversation. The slow burn between us is warming back up like it never cooled.

“Damn right,” I admit.

She turns toward the window, her silhouette outlined in sunlight, and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve waking up to this view of her.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” I say, moving past her.

Sunny watches me disappear down the hallway.

I move into my bedroom, and in the closet, next to my box of journals, I grab the extra one I bought a few months ago.

It’s leather, hardcover, with a heart-shaped brass lock on the side.

I didn’t know why I was drawn to that specific one, but it called out to me, and now I know why.

I move back to the kitchen and step toward her. “Close your eyes.”

“I don’t like surprises,” she admits.

“Oh well. Now, hold your hand out,” I tell her, and when she does, I put it in her palm. “You can look.”

Her pretty eyes trace over the cover, and then she flips through the blank pages. “What’s this?”

“A gift. You don’t have to write anything down.

But when my head’s too full, sometimes, it helps.

You write it, close the cover, lock it up, and you don’t have to carry it with you anymore.

It’s a safe place for your thoughts,” I add, tapping the little lock.

“No one reads it but you. No pressure. Figured it’d help. ”

She stares at it like it’s too nice to touch. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

It’s not just the words; it’s how I handed her something with no strings attached. “I can see the weight you’re carrying. I want to help however I can.”

Her lips part. “I think this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

And that’s the moment I realize she doesn’t need a place to stay. She needs a place to be .

I walk back to the counter as she slides the journal closer, running her fingers along the spine, like she’s thinking about all the things she’d write.

And when it starts to feel like the beginning of something, I hear a knock at the front door.

Sunny’s brows lift.

“Expecting someone?” she asks.

“Nope,” I say. “Are you?”

This makes her laugh. I don’t know who’s on the other side, but I’ve got a feeling that the moment I open it, this perfect morning we’ve shared is about to get complicated.