Page 25 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

Hayes

A variety of four-letter words come to mind and collide into one silent fuck me . How do I keep getting myself into these situations?

Josie is on her knees before me . . . again.

Touching me . . . again. And wearing my shirt with barely anything underneath.

Yeah, I saw the thin lace masquerading as underwear.

It covered only a fraction of her flawless ass.

The wet bra left nothing to the imagination, and I couldn’t get that shirt on her fast enough. For my sanity.

Is there anything sexier than a naked woman wearing a man’s shirt? No, there absolutely isn’t. Not when it’s Josie in my shirt.

She cleans and wraps my cut, taking her time like she’s torturing me for my cop-out answer about our non-kiss last fall.

She wanted me to be vulnerable. To show her more of me as I did before the swim, but I couldn’t.

Once was enough, and I’m still reeling from the few out-of-character confessions I managed to assemble.

Not to mention the mind-numbing vision of her nearly bare.

I’ll never get that picture out of my mind. Add it to my collection.

“All better.” She admires her work, then raises her eyes to mine, holding there like she has more to say. She must decide against it and the potential repercussions. With a hard swallow, she backs away without a word.

It takes everything in me not to pull her back. She’s respecting my boundaries, and I need to let her.

“Thank you. Ready to head out?”

“Sure, but can you give me a moment to change?” Her tone is guarded, her light dimmed, and it's all my fault.

I lift off the van to let her pass, but something has me reaching for her instead.

Maybe because I sense she could use a hug, or maybe I do.

Whatever’s fueling it, maintaining our boundaries is the farthest thing from my mind.

I pull her against me and sink into the warmth.

It’s probably wrong. But how can it be when it feels so right?

Her arms tighten around me, hands splaying across my back like all is forgiven. I’m not sure I deserve that, but there’s no denying how much it means to me.

Maybe Mom is right. Maybe we should explore our connection. Maybe I should stop sending mixed signals.

My hands move to her elbows, and her head falls back to see me. Every time she does that, looking at me like I can do no wrong, air snatches from my chest. And touching her only intensifies it. I’m suffocating in her and all we left unspoken .

I didn’t know how desperately I needed that hug until it was over. “I’m sorry for being short with you earlier.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I made you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry.”

My hands glide up her arms to rest on her shoulders where my thumbs trail under her jawline. Mixed signals are shooting off left and right, but I can’t help myself. She’s so delicate, touchable.

Her head slowly shakes, and the words to tell her I feel the same are nowhere to be found. That would be a continent outside that comfort zone she keeps testing.

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” she whispers. “It was nice.”

“You might have to push me again.”

“Happy to.”

◆◆◆

Josie’s beside me, legs curled up on the passenger seat, sketchpad balanced on her thighs.

She’s humming, half-singing as she brings the waterfall scene to life, half bringing up random topics to fill the silence.

I don’t always respond. I like the sound of her voice too much and how it tethers me to the present.

“I’ve never had a desire to go to Ar-Kansas,” she says, laying on a heavy country twang, as we pass a mile-marker sign for Little Rock.

We're laughing at her ridiculous accent when a loud pop cracks through the air like a gunshot. The van jerks to the side and my hands clamp down on the steering wheel to fight the pull. I guide us off the road, my erratic pulse stealing control of my brain.

Josie sits up fast, clutching her sketchpad to her chest. “What happened?”

But I’m not in the van anymore.

Instinct has taken over, and I’m back in the endless desert. Heat waves lifting off the sand. The sharp tang of metal and fear in the back of my throat. The clear sky promising a peace I won’t find here.

Bullets kick up dirt around me, bodies hitting the ground, and Jordan—

I’m back in the chaos, numb and drowning in a day I thought was my last. It was for many of my brothers, and it almost was for Jordan.

If I hadn’t dragged him down behind an armored vehicle at the exact second I did, the raining bullets from the artillery, twice the size of anything we had on hand in the ambush, would have pinned him in the crossfire.

The gunfire never took a break. It was deafening. Too terrifying to think. Too overwhelming to be a Marine. We all regressed to being delicate humans, and I feel it all over again.

There’s a sudden weight in my lap, and I brace, thinking it’s gear. Or worse, someone’s dying body.

It’s warm, familiar, and rocking me gently

Arms come around me—one cradling the back of my head .

“You’re okay,” someone says. A whisper at first, then firmer. “You’re okay.”

A new scent covers me—peach, maybe—replacing the dank musk of blood, smoke, and gasoline.

“Josie?”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathes out. Her fingers are in my hair now, her other arm still holding me like I might break. “You’re in the van. In the U.S. You’re okay.”

With the inviting sound of her voice, I crash back to the present and bury my face in her neck, melting into all she represents. Life. Freedom. Safety.

My tremors don’t register until she calms them with a press of her lips to my temple, murmuring something I can’t hear but feel in my bones.

I lose track of how long we stay like that, and it doesn’t matter. She didn’t run. She didn’t panic. She just gave everything I needed without hesitation.

I’ve spent years building walls made of steel and silence, never wanting to appear weak. But she saw all that’s cracked within me and stayed to glue me back together.

“How did you know what to do?” I ask once my heartbeat slows, and my surroundings sharpen again.

“I didn’t. I just gave what I would have wanted . . . if it were me.” Her fingertips brush at the hair stuck to my damp forehead, eyes searching mine. “Does this happen often?”

“No. I rarely leave that mindset or let my guard down. There’s no time for flashbacks when you’re always in war mode. ”

“That's unbearable. And unhealthy.”

“Apparently. I’m only here because the Medical Officer forced me to take leave. I’ve been running on fumes lately.”

“I’m glad they did that.” Her thumb traces the side of my neck, feather-light, and that’s when I realize where my hands are—gripping her hips tight enough to leave a mark.

I let go, instantly feeling the loss.

“What can I do to help?” she asks.

“You already do it every day. You’re doing it now.”

She presses against me again, arms circling my neck—not because I’m broken, but because I’ve finally stopped pretending I’m not.

Knowing this embrace will never be enough, I throw open the door and climb out, Josie still wrapped around me. Her legs cling to my waist, arms looped tight behind my neck. The roar of the highway fades to nothing. All I can hear—all I can feel—is her.

I carry her around the van, away from the rush of passing cars, and press her against the side panel. Both palms slide down my chest. Her eyes flick to my lips then flutter closed.

“Please, Hayes,” she breathes, the plea unraveling something deep inside me. “Put me out of my mis—”

I don’t let her finish. My mouth crashes into hers, silencing her with the kind of kiss I’ve been trying to outrun for days. There’s nothing soft about it—just hunger and desperation. Days of fighting the urge to break this rule have come to an end in crash and burn, soul-stealing fashion.

There’s no coming back from this. Jordan might never forgive me. But I can’t go on pretending she isn’t everything I’ve been missing. Everything I need. Everything I want.

She lets out a sound—half gasp, half moan—and it wrecks what’s left of my self-control. My hands grip her hips, pulling her tighter against me, and her legs squeeze around me.

And in that moment, I know . . .

She wants this just as much as I do.