Page 27 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

I peel myself off the bed and walk over. Every part of me wants to touch her, rest my hand on her back, taste her skin. But I don’t. There’s too much intimacy in the room already, and I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to stop myself.

She points to where the waterfall will go, gesturing at swaths of color blocked on the painting. “I wish I had a photo, but it’s still clear enough in my mind for this round.”

“We can stop in Little Rock to print them.”

She twists to smile up at me. “Thanks. I’ll search online later.”

“I’ll do it.” I’m already yanking my phone from my pocket. “I’ve got nothing else to do.”

When the screen lights up, I stop short—three missed calls from Mom.

The last several hours have been overwhelming. From the blown tire and new flashback complication, to kissing Josie and learning she feels the same as me, to the B&B and Tim’s stories. Through it all, I hadn’t thought of my phone. Or Mom. Or Ava.

I stumble on my way to the door, the guilt too much to bear. I need air and space and a way back to a version of me I recognize. If something’s happened to Ava while I let myself get distracted from the mission, I’ll never forgive myself.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Everything okay? ”

I freeze with my hand on the door handle, my back to the room.

I can’t turn around. Not when I’m about to lie to her.

If she heard the truth, that I’m falling apart for the second time today, she’ll want to help, and the steel cage that holds me together would crumble along with me.

The way I see it, “Yes,” is the only viable answer.

Flinging open the door, I stalk toward the exit and out into the cool night air. It feels good on my flushed skin, and I breathe it in before tapping Mom’s number on my phone.

She picks up on the first ring. “Hi, baby.”

“Mom.” I brace for impact. “What’s wrong?”

“First, Ava loves the photos and wants more.”

“Is she okay?”

She sighs, sounding more worn out than usual. “We’re back in the hospital.”

My heart tumbles into my stomach.

“She has an infection, but they hope we caught it early.”

“You knew something was off with her. I’m glad you didn’t wait.”

“Yeah, but something like this is more complicated with her treatments. Her system can’t take much more.”

“What can I do?”

“You know the answer to that. Don’t worry about us. I have friends who’ve offered to help, and Raidyn is coming tomorrow.”

“What about her job and kids?”

“Your sister has it all under control.”

“No doubt, but I should be there. ”

“Hayes, this is what Ava wants. Please stop feeling bad about it.”

“How would you feel if she told you to stay away?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “That’s not what she’s doing.”

My fingers press into the bridge of my nose, attempting to soothe the pulsing ache there. “I’m sorry. I feel so helpless.”

“That’s one thing you’ve never been. Where are you?”

“Just outside Little Rock.”

“Did you do anything exciting today?”

I know what she’s doing, and although I appreciate the effort to lift my spirits, I’m not in the mood. “We hiked to a few waterfalls near Memphis.”

And I kissed Josie. What was I thinking?

“That sounds fun.”

“I forgot to take a photo, but I’ll get some from Josie and send them soon.”

“I’m glad she’s with you.”

After months of worrying and losing sleep, this setback in Ava’s progress sends all the negative emotions rushing back to the surface.

They snuff out the stitch of hope and peace I wrangled together after my spontaneous decision to test my connection with Josie, and I can’t summon the words to agree.

Sensing it, Mom ends the call. “Send those photos when you can and have some fun. We love you.”

I shove the phone in my pocket and take off down the street. Exercise usually works the nastiness out of my system, and I’m desperate to reclaim a sense of control again.

I run twice as far as my normal workouts, pushing hard for something to change inside me. When I finally loop back to the B&B, I’m soaked and trembling, feeling worse than before.

I pace the lawn, waiting until I can breathe without needing to scream. Without an end in sight, I give up and head inside.

The last thing I expected to find was Josie curled up on the couch, hugging her knees, while the B&B owner comforts her with a pat on the back. They both set down coffee mugs and rise to greet me.

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” the woman says, giving Josie’s arm a squeeze before retreating down the hall.

“Hi,” Josie says timidly, her arms crossing over her chest.

I wouldn’t blame her if she were angry with me. I’d been gone for hours and never checked in. Never even told her I was leaving.

I slowly close the door and step into the sunken living room where she seems stuck to the floor.

“You’re really hard to read,” she says. “And you don’t owe me any explanations. But you’ve been by my side for three straight days. When you disappeared, I didn’t know what happened or if you were coming back . . . if you were hurt.”

Her voice cracks, ripping me in two. But she repairs my jagged pieces by wrapping her arms around my torso. Her cheek presses against my chest, emotions quaking through her.

“I’m sorry.” I press a kiss to her hair, wishing everything was different.

That Ava had had a breakthrough instead of yet another scare.

That I’d called or texted Josie before I ran off.

That I could be in two places at once and not feel like I’m walking a tightrope, teetering between wants and responsibilities, happiness and numbness. “I should have told you.”

“Did you go for a run?”

“Yeah. Sorry for the sweat, too.”

“I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re back.”

Taking hold of her shoulders, I gently separate us and bend down to see her face. “I would never leave you to fend for yourself. You know that, right?”

She nods, but a part of her that’s still scared to believe lingers behind.

“If there’s an accident . . .” she starts, but I quickly cut off the thought.

“There won’t be.” I pull her back to me, realizing I’m an even bigger jackass than I thought.

She’s not only reacting to me, she’s remembering everyone who’s ever left her. Like a jackass, I didn’t think about how my actions could trigger her fears. Particularly her fear of abandonment.

Before I met her, Jordan would tell me about how she’d react to the things he or her boyfriend did. As someone who faced danger head-on every day with a trained short memory, I thought her actions were dramatic .

Then, Ava got sick and the possibility that we may lose her became too real to manage.

My entire life didn’t feel like mine anymore and everything changed.

Including me. Having lost both her parents at a young age, dealing with foster care, and caring for her teenage brother alone, it’s no wonder she has a short fuse. I understand now. Understand her.

“I’ll wear the cowboy hat tomorrow if you’ll forgive me.”

She leans back, managing a tired smile. “I forgave you the second you walked through that door. But since you offered . . .”

I don’t deserve to hold this woman, but I’d do anything to keep that contentment on her face.

“You got it. Hat stays on all day.”

We walk back to the room, arms around each other. Her paints sit on the table without tops. The overhead light still glows as if she’d left in a rush. Blame twists in my gut again.

And then I notice the rest.

The queen-size bed—just one—and no couch.

I’d been too tired from my Tim Talks about town gossip to pay attention to the room.

My heart takes off. She won’t let me sleep on the floor and knows better than to offer to take it herself.

I’d been looking forward to possibly getting a good night sleep in an actual bed with blankets and pillows.

I’ll soon have half of that wish. With Josie next to me in that small bed, close enough to touch in one of her barely-there pajama sets, I won’t sleep a minute .

“Can I brush my teeth before you take a shower?” She moves to her open suitcase at the foot of the bed and pulls out clothes.

Bringing in our bags . . . another thing I blanked on and left her to deal with.

“I didn’t say anything about a shower.” But it sounds nice. “Are you saying I stink?”

Her face scrunches. “I did get a whiff of you up close.”

“And you hugged me anyway?”

“Of course. Your hugs are your third-best quality, and I needed one.”

“Third? What’s second?”

Pink instantly appears on her cheeks. “Your kiss is a close second behind your heart.”

“Hmm. I’m good with that.” Placing a hand on her hip, I lean in to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome . . . for what?”

“For forgiving me when I didn’t earn it.”

Before she can respond with her unwavering belief in me, making it worse, I spin her and point her toward the bathroom.

◆◆◆

She’s already under the blanket when I step back into the room. The lights are low, only a small lamp on the bedside table glows, casting the room in a honey-gold warmth. She tracks me as I move, her eyes heavy with drowsiness . . . or maybe something more dangerous .

I toss the towel aside and rub at the back of my neck. Tension burrows deep between my shoulder blades, the kind that even a five-mile sprint couldn’t touch.

“You okay?” she asks for the second time tonight.

I’m standing three feet away from a woman I’ve been trying like hell not to fall for, about to climb into a bed with her. No. I’m not okay.

Not wanting to lie for the second time tonight, I toss the blanket back. She shifts to make space for me, letting me get by without answering. No doubt she can sense the truth.

As my body hits the mattress, my mind takes off—spinning through every memory I’ve stored of her and wondering how I’m going to keep from making more.

Listening to the innocent songs of crickets chirping outside, my fingers twitch on top of the blanket, aching to reach for her.

I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.

Then, she takes the decision out of my hands and rolls toward me, resting her hand on my chest.

From that one touch, my entire body comes alive.

She’s so close I can feel her exhales on my neck, bringing my thoughts back to her kissable lips.

I want to kiss her again.

A tilt of my head could end this torture.

Maybe one will be enough.

I lean in and she welcomes the idea, but we both move as if the bed might implode if we go too fast. The first touch is teasing at first—barely anything. But the second her tongue brushes mine, my flimsy restraint vanishes.

Pushing up to an elbow, my other hand frames her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone to find a better angle. Her fingers clutch and twist my shirt, demanding. I want to give her that. Pin her beneath me. Taste every sound she makes and bury myself in her until nothing else exists.

But I stop.

Not because I don’t want her. God, I’ve never craved anyone more. But I have to stop. The timing isn’t right. Convenient, yes, but all wrong in our new situation.

Her forehead rests against mine, eyes closed, breaths coming faster than they were a moment ago.

“You’re hard to resist,” I murmur.

“No one said you have to.”

“I did.”

“We’ll work on changing that, too.”

I grin despite myself and fall onto my back, tucking an arm under her. She rests her head on my chest and drapes a leg over mine.

For the first time since talking with Mom, the tightness in my chest eases. The noise in my head fades. There’s no panic. No guilt. No expectations.

Listening to her breaths syncing with mine, it’s not exactly peace I feel. But it’s the closest I’ve come to it in years.

And I have her to thank for that.