Page 22 of Tangled Hearts (Mended Hearts #4)

Eli

“ D o I like Nic, Kassie?” She stares at me, mouth open and panting, and tongue hanging out. No help, as usual.

“It’s not that I think he’s like… anything special, right?” I say, glancing at her again as I take off my eyeliner for the night. “He’s just really hot. And he gives the best cuddles.”

She whines. “Not better than you, of course.” Her tail thumps on the floor, and then she’s standing up and trotting out the door of my room and into the hall. Fucking traitor.

I turn back to my reflection with a huff, leaning closer to the mirror, using another makeup wipe to remove my highlighter.

It’s not that I’m, like, catching feelings for Nic or anything.

That would be stupid. And kind of impossible.

Sure, he’s stupid-hot, and he smells so good, and he’s got this kind of magnetic energy that you can’t help but want to bask in. That doesn’t mean anything, though.

I sit back in my seat and blink at myself. Or maybe I’m just delusional .

It doesn’t matter either way. Nic is so far above and beyond my league that even if I did like him—which I don’t—he’d never see me that way.

Sure, he’s not really what I expected, and he’s way nicer than I gave him credit for. And he’s fun. But I’m just… me. He’s probably just being nice. I can’t let myself believe it might be more than that.

When I’m done taking off my makeup, I change into something more comfortable. I’m not putting on an oversized t-shirt to give Nic room to put his hand up it if he chooses. That would be dumb. No, I’m doing it because it’s way more comfortable to lounge around in.

I look at myself one last time in the mirror, running my hand through my hair quickly.

My soul almost leaves my body when I step into the living room.

Nic’s stretched out on the couch. He’s got the remote in his hand, a foot planted on the floor, and his other leg resting against the back of the couch.

He looks comfortable, both literally and like his stomach would be the perfect place to rest my head. My throat goes dry at the thought of lying between his legs and snuggling into him. I can’t help it that I’m a slut for cuddles, alright?

He catches sight of me and smiles. I’m pretty sure I was supposed to hate his smile, but I don’t. Not even a little. “Hey, doll.”

My heart skips a beat. I love when he calls me that. I probably shouldn’t. It almost definitely doesn’t mean anything. “Hey,” I croak.

I’m gearing myself up to ask if cuddling is on the table again for tonight when he gestures me over. “I was thinking we could switch up our position a little.”

My stomach does a flip. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking you could lie here.” He pats his stomach. “Might be more comfortable. It’s okay if you don’t want to. ”

My feet carry me to him before I can even think, and he chuckles when I climb onto the couch between his legs. I feel a bit like a baby deer, all knees and elbows and no fucking coordination. But when I get there, I don’t really know what I should be doing.

He stares up at me, and I stare down at him. Do I just… lie down? How do I do this?

He laughs, which has my cheeks heating, but before I can yell at him for picking on me, he hooks an arm around my waist and drags me down.

I collapse against him with a soft grunt.

We’re basically chest to chest, and he moves me a little, adjusting me until my head is resting over his heart.

The proximity, his scent, and the feel of his warm, solid body under mine has my cock hardening, and I’m so incredibly thankful that my hips aren’t touching him and are safely on the couch instead of near him.

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

I nod because I don’t trust my voice.

He toys with the back of my shirt, his fingers playing with the hem. “May I?”

I nod again.

His hand’s under my shirt in a heartbeat, and if I wasn’t lying directly over his chest, I’d probably miss the way he lets out a quick breath at the first touch. I’d definitely miss the racing of his heart. Why is his heart racing? What does that mean?

Like the last two nights, his hand explores me. He never goes beyond my back, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Good, I think. Probably anyway.

“Do you want to watch some Grey’s?” Nic asks, breaking the silence.

“Sure.” Does my voice sound strange to him too, or is that just me ?

Nic turns on the TV, starting it from where we left off last night. Or at least, where I assume we left off. It seems I have a bad habit of falling asleep on him. “Can I ask you something?”

Nic hums, and I can feel the vibration of it against my head. “Yes.”

“Are you carrying me to bed at night?”

He pauses. His breath stops, and his hand stops. The only thing that continues is the rapid beating of his heart. “I have, yes. I tried to wake you the first night.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t really know what else to say.

His hand goes back to stroking. “No need to be sorry. I don’t mind.”

We sit in silence for a minute, and I can’t help but melt into him. It’s just that his touch feels so good, and God, I really fucking like this. More than I should.

“It’s kind of nice,” I say softly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “You hear about it, right? Like you fall asleep on the couch and your parents carry you to bed. I never had that.” When I play that back and realize how it sounds, my stomach sours. “Not that I think you’re like my parent carrying me to bed. That would be weird.”

His light chuckle echoes through the room. “I didn’t think you meant it that way.”

“Good.” God, imagine if he thought I looked at him like a parental figure. Gross.

His fingers are exploring the scar on my shoulder blade. I can almost feel his curiosity, but he hasn’t asked about it. “That scar came from my bio dad. He threw a glass at me. It broke, and the glass got stuck in my skin. ”

Wow. Way to trauma dump on the poor man. “Fuck, Eli,” he breathes.

“I had to get stitches. I was young. Eight or nine, maybe. He told them I fell.” Why am I still going on about this?

Nic’s arm wraps around my waist and he squeezes. Something about it makes me feel a little lightheaded, but not in a bad way. In a good way.

“You didn’t deserve that, doll. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t respond. Really, what is there to say?

I bring my hand up, letting it rest in front of my face on his chest, then close my eyes.

At some point, we have to stop doing this, right?

At some point, I’ll have to stop falling asleep on him.

But not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to take what I can. What I probably don’t deserve.

Today when I walked into Safe Haven, I did it with a pep in my step. I checked on Lexi, played a couple of rounds of Go Fish with her, helped Sasha with some admin stuff, and visited with Dad for a while.

There’s no pep now.

“Why can’t we do more?” I ask, frustrated beyond belief.

“The courts decided unification was best,” Sasha says. I know she’s just as mad as I am. But it still feels like a dismissal.

“It’s bullshit,” I blurt out.

Dad squeezes my shoulder, and when I look at him, his brown eyes are filled with the same heartbreaking rage I’m feeling. “I know it’s hard, Eli, but this is sometimes how things work out.”

“I hate it, though. Jaime was… God, Dad—he was beat all to hell when he came here. He’s just now getting better. ”

And now he has to go back to his shitty parents. To a mom who swears she’s going to protect him—who swears his dad isn’t allowed around anymore. We’ve seen it a hundred times. He’s happy now. Thriving. But before long, he won’t be.

Maybe that’s just the cynic in me.

“Run me through it again,” I say, even though it’s unnecessary.

“Layla filed a protective order. Between that and the parenting classes she’s done, along with the court-mandated home safety checks, the courts feel returning Jamie to his mother is the best outcome.” Sasha sounds just as put out as I feel.

Foster care can be bad, don’t get me wrong. There are foster parents in it for the wrong reasons, and it’s not always the best option. I’ll be the first to admit that. But I truly believe that Jamie is not better off going home with his mom.

He’s finally sleeping well. He just started talking to his foster dad, when before he flinched away from all men.

Even me. Me less than Dad, but still. He’s making huge strides in his recovery.

And now they’re going to send him back to the same environment that left him hurt and afraid of his own shadow.

“He told me last week he felt safe,” I whisper, throat aching.

“I know, kiddo.” Dad wraps an arm around me, pulling me toward him. I let myself go, pressing my face into his chest. “We have to have faith that his mom is on the right track. She’s never hurt him, and their visits have gone well.”

“No,” I say, letting out a bitter laugh. “She’s never hurt him. She just sat back while someone else did. To me, that’s just as bad.”

“I know,” Dad repeats, his voice thick.

These are always the hardest on us. Both of us.

There’s nothing that will make us spiral like seeing ourselves reflected in a child.

In a perfect world, we could protect them all.

We could keep them all safe. We could hide them away from the world, help them heal, and never, ever let them go back into the same environment that hurt them.

“I’ve talked to her, Eli,” Sasha says, trying to reassure me. “I think she’s serious. I think he’s going to be okay. That doesn’t mean I like it—not at all—but I do think he’s going to be alright.”

And what if he’s not? What then?

What happens if he comes back into our care with fresh bruises?

Even worse, what happens if he doesn’t because no one checks on him?

What if no one cares anymore, and he falls through the cracks?

They’ll do checks on him for a while, but when they stop, what then? Does Layla invite dear old Dad back?

Will he repeat the abuse, continue to hurt Jamie?

I don’t have answers. Dad doesn’t either, and neither will Sasha. I know that.

I also know all my thoughts are in Dad’s head too. I know he’s wondering the same things, stressing about the same risks.

The phone rings, and I almost jump out of my skin. Dad and I both stand, leaving to give Sasha privacy for her phone call.

Outside of her office door, Dad gives me a hug. I sink into his embrace, letting myself take comfort from him.

I wish Nic was here.

Wow. What a fucking thought.

“Do you want to come home with me tonight, kiddo?” Dad whispers into my hair. “You can sleep with me and Beck.”

A sad smile forms on my lips. “No. I’m going to Uncle Holden’s with Nic for dinner tonight.”

Besides, I really want to get home to Nic. Something about his quiet comfort just… settles me. Dad squeezes me a little tighter. “If you change your mind, you can show up anytime, okay? I know days li ke this are hard. Especially when the outcome isn’t what any of us were hoping for.”

I nod, then step out of his hold. “I need to get home. I don’t want to make Nic late for dinner. He’s working really hard to build his relationship with Hold. I don’t want to mess that up for them.”

Dad cups my face, tilting my head back until I look at him. “It’s not on you to maintain their relationship.”

I know that, but still. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Dad studies me for a second. “Alright, kiddo. I love you. Let me know if you need me tonight, okay?”

I tell him that I will and step out into the parking lot.

In my car, I just sit for a second, trying to get my thoughts in order, trying to keep myself calm. By the time I’m on the road, my eyes are burning. I won’t cry. I refuse.

Only I’m not sure if I can help it. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to force away the emotion.

My chest hitches, though, and a sob breaks free.

My hands shake where I’m gripping the steering wheel, and my heart aches.

It’s not fair. The world isn’t fair, but this especially isn’t fair. Nothing about it.

This drive is taking forever, and it’s worse because I’m having to drive slowly since everything is so blurry. I just want Nic. I want him to wrap his arms around me. I want him to tell me everything will be okay. I want to feel safe again. And he makes me feel that. He makes me feel so safe.

I can’t stop my thoughts from straying to Jaime. To the memory of him coming into Safe Haven. How scared he was.

And now he’s going back. Back into an environment that I myself barely survived.

I know this reaction is probably a manifestation of my own trauma.

I know I shouldn’t try to project my trauma on Jaime, but that’s the funny thing about triggers.

They don’t give a fuck if it’s something happening to you that’s triggering you or not.