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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

JULIET

I thought sharing a bed with Ford would mean waking up wrapped in his arms.

Wishful thinking.

It shocked the hell out of me when the sound of purring woke me, and it wasn’t my chest Lodhi was curling up on. Then my insides flip-flopped when I rolled over and found him snuggled up on the broad muscles of the man who made me come not once, but twice last night before reminding me what it could be like to make love with someone.Not to mention the three additional times he had me screaming his name before finally letting me sleep.

Everything about last night was raw and real, yet somehow held a magic that doesn’t seem possible.

And now hell has frozen over because Lodhi has chosen Ford’s chest instead of mine.

I reach out and scratch the space between my cat’s ears, silently mouthing what a good boy he is.

Ford’s right eye pops open, and he looks at me, then back at Lodhi. “Is he going to claw my nipple if I move?”

I laugh, glancing down at where Lodhi’s paw is precariously close to Ford’s sensitive peak. “I think you’re safe.”

“Are you sure? He’s been known to be an asshole where I’m concerned.”

“Lodhi? An asshole to you?” I tease. “Never.”

Ford arches a brow and levels me with a silent plea for help.

“Here,” I concede and take Ford’s hand in mine, guiding it so together we pet my sometimes-feral orange tabby cat.

Lodhi leans into our touch and surprisingly, when I move my hand away, he allows Ford to keep petting him.

“Maybe we’ve turned over a new—ow!” Ford yelps as my cat digs his claws into his chest and jumps off the bed.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle my laugh. “It’s progress.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Ford grunts, rollinghis eyes. “But only if you come over and take his place.”

Shaking my head, I slide across the softest sheets I’ve ever had the privilege of sleeping on and cuddle into Ford’s chest.

“Good morning,” he rasps, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I like having you here.”

“I like being here.”

It’s wild to admit, but I do. This feels right. Or at least what I think right feels like. I’m still learning, but just like Ford and Lodhi, it’s progress.

Ford cranes his neck, presumably looking at the clock on his nightstand, and lets loose a weighted sigh. “The bus will be here in less than an hour.”

What he really means is, it’s tomorrow and reality is here.

He pulls me tighter against his naked torso, breathing me in, and I will this moment to last just a little bit longer.

“If you want to wait, we can?—”

“No, Ford.” I know he’s going to give me an out. I just don’t want one.

I press a kiss to his chest and lift my head so he can see me when I speak. “I’m ready to talk. I already know how I feel.”

“You do?”

“Mmmhmm.” I smile and I swear the moment he sees my lips lift, his own twitch with the need to do so too.

But he waits—just like he always does—for me to meet him where he is.

Maybe Willow was right. Maybe we are idiots in love. Neither one of us willing to put it out there until we were sure the other was ready to hear it.

The sound of buzzing fills the space between us as Ford’s phone comes to life on the nightstand.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I really need to hear what you were going to say next, but I should make sure it’s not my agent with information on the article.”

Untangling myself from his arms, I roll away so he can grab it.

“Fuck.”

Well, that doesn’t sound good. Couldn’t reality give us just a little break this morning so we could figure things out?

“Who is it?” I ask, shifting under the covers so I’m sitting up.

“I—” Ford chews his lip like he’s unsure if he should tell me, but ultimately decides to spin his phone around so I can see the name.

Mariana Cruz.

My mouth goes dry and all the butterflies that were flying high seconds ago fall flat with a thud into the bottom of my gut.

“Why is my mother calling you?” My voice is barely a whisper, low and deadly.

“Juliet I—let me explain.” Ford stumbles over his words, which only makes me think he’s guilty. Of what? I’m not sure, but it involves my parents. The parents he knows I haven’t been ready to speak to.

My eyes dart from the phone back to his concerned stare. “You better do it fast, because if I know my mother, she’s not going to stop calling until she gets to say her piece.”

It’s one of the lovely qualities I’m happy I didn’t get from her. I can’t count the number of times I wanted space or needed time to think but was awarded none. My mother was always there, insisting she had the right answers.

“She hasn’t stopped.” Ford winces. “She calls every other day.”

Every other day. He gets calls from her. Every. Other. Day.

My jaw tightens and my words come out harsh and gritted. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been dodging her calls.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s been lying to me this whole time. Well, not technically. But lies of omission are still lies.

Questions race through my mind, and I can’t stop them from pouring out in rapid fire.

“Does she know about us?”

Ford shakes his head. “No.”

“Does she know you found me?”

“No.”

“But you were in contact with her before?”

“From the moment they realized they couldn’t find you.”

“And you didn’t tell me all this time?”

“I tried to,” Ford snaps, anger in his tone. He quickly swallows it and sighs. “You said you didn’t want me to bring them into this and you weren’t ready.” He looks down and runs a hand through his hair. He tightens on the strands at the nape of his neck and exhales. “I wanted to respect your wishes, and then I didn’t want to mention it and it seem like I was pushing you to reach out to them.”

“But you still kept it from me,” I argue, but I feel just the tiniest hint of wind leaving my sails at his persistent need to protect me and respect my boundaries.

God damn him.

The phone goes quiet, only to start buzzing again two seconds later, my mother’s name again lighting up across the screen.

“You have to answer it,” I say, but Ford only shakes his head.

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

Do I want him to?

Between last night, and the article, and now this—everything is happening so fast.

I close my eyes and breathe. It’s an attempt, if only a feeble one, to slow my racing heart and allow myself ten seconds to think so I don’t fall into a spiral.

That’s progress, right?

Shit.

Is that what my life is now? A series of progress moments?

Will I ever feel like I did last night with Ford when we were lost in our own little world? Will there ever be that moment where I can confidently say this is where I’m meant to be?

I can hear his voice in my head telling me the answer.

Only if you stop running.

Fuck, I’m so mad at him, and then he has to go and infiltrate my consciousness with little nuggets of wisdom I can’t unhear now that they’ve been put out in the universe.

I have to stop running.

Exhaling a steadying breath, I open my eyes to find Ford studying the phone.

It’s no longer buzzing, but we both know it will start again. If not now, then tomorrow.

“I want to call them.”

He looks up at me, trepidation in his deep blue stare. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this, Juliet. We’ve got enough we’re up against.”

“No more running.”

Ford’s eyes soften, and he reaches over and grabs a shirt from the pile of clean clothes at the end of the bed that I haven’t been able to break him of. “In case you want to FaceTime them so they can see you’re alright.”

I take the shirt and slip it on, tears wellingin my eyes.

I’m going to see my family.

Suddenly, I don’t feel ready.

As if reading my thoughts, Ford slides up next to me and wraps his arms around me. “I know you’re mad at me for keeping this from you, but I’m here if you need me.”

He presses a kiss to my temple and slides from the bed, slipping on a pair of boxers. “Do you want to use my phone or yours?”

“I can use mine.” I glance at the nightstand where my phone sits. I might have a new number, but my mom’s number is still programmed as one of the saved shortcuts. It felt wrong not to, just in case anything happened to me.

“Okay.” Ford grabs his bag from the floor and his suit from the closet. “I’ll check in before I leave.”

“I can go to my roo?—”

“It’s fine, Juliet.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I like the idea of my bed being the last place I see you before I leave.”

My heart stutters, torn between the need to call my parents and spending what little time we have left hashing things out with Ford. At the same time, I’m not sure I’m ready to say all the things I need to say to him. Not after the bomb dropped this morning.

I’m still falling for him.

Hell, I’ve already fallen for him.

But I also know I need space to think. I want to get all my ducks in a row with my parents, and figure out how I feel about the article so that when he gets home, I can say with my full chest what comes next for us.

“You’re gone for six days, right?”

Ford nods. “Three in Detroit. Three In Philly.”

“Okay,” I say, settling on a plan. “We’ll talk when you get back then.”

“I’m not sure I can go six days without talking to you,” Ford admits, wearing his heart on his sleeve. I open my mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand, stopping me. “But I can settle for texts. I just need to know you’re alive, and eating, and not suffering in bed because of a flare-up.”

I understand. The thought of not talking to him when he has become the person I turn to is a little unnerving. And while I think the space will be good, I think some check-ins would be nice. “I promise to text you.”

“Thank you.”

Awkwardness lingers between us until he takes his first step toward the door. Then it’s too much. The unyielding connection between us pulls tight, and I find myself jumping from the bed and racing for him.

He doesn’t think twice, scooping me up in his arms and nestling his nose in the crook of my neck. “I love you, Juliet.”

I inhale the salt and musk on his skin, committing it to memory before he slowly sets me down.

I don’t return the sentiments.

I can’t

Not until I’ve talked with my parents and make sure my heart is where it needs to be.