Unbreakable (28 page)

“Please, everything is fine. I was just upset, and I needed to cry it out. It’s out, and I’d really like you to leave now.”

Placing his foot over and onto his opposite knee, he leans back farther on the couch, making himself comfortable. Patting the cushion next to him, he looks back up at me. “Sit down.”

I contemplate for a few seconds, before I sit down, making sure that there is plenty of room between us. I figure, if I can talk to him for a few minutes, he’ll be satisfied, and I can get him to leave so I can go to bed and finish my mini breakdown.

“Happy now?” I ask angrily.

“Not yet. Tell me why you were crying.”

“It’s personal. Please, just let it be.”

“I can’t just ‘let it be.’” His voice is full of intensity, and his eyes are a deeper shade of blue. I can’t deny how good-looking he is, and my pulse quickens just a little bit. Swallowing hard, I glance at the letter on the end table and then look back to him. He notices where I was looking and turns his head to look at the letter.

“Is that what upset you at the restaurant?”

Nodding my head slowly, I can feel my lip quivering. “Yes. I found a letter in my purse that I didn’t know was there. I recognized the handwriting, and I just needed to leave. I wanted…needed to be alone when I read it.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Does it matter? Jesus, you’re being really nosy.”

“Who’s it from?” He sits up straighter, and suddenly, I’m wondering if he’s going to reach for the letter.

“Gabe,” is all I respond.

“Ex?”

“Yep.”

“Is that why you left California?”

“Partially.”

I can feel the stinging of the tears behind my eyes again. My heartbeat picks up even more. I can feel my pulse in my neck, and my throat is dry.

“What other reasons?”

The tears I’m fighting to hold in are suddenly falling down my cheeks. My eyes are turned down, looking at my hands folding in my lap. The tears that have fallen have sprinkled my folded hands. I watch a stray tear roll off the top of my hand, over my knuckle, and fall into my lap. Suddenly, there is a gentle finger, wiping another falling tear. Looking up, Landon has shifted himself considerably closer to me. He is holding his hand just near my cheek. Stilling himself, he looks at me as if asking permission to continue wiping my tears.

When I don’t respond, he takes another swipe at my cheek with his long, gentle fingers, but this time, after he wipes my tears, he rests his palm on my face. Tilting my head, I let my cheek fall into his hand. Closing my eyes, more tears continue to spill down my face. Gasping for air, my chest heaves with sobs. Pulling me into him, he wraps me in his arms, squeezing me gently, and I cry. I release the emotions I’ve kept locked inside, but mostly, I cry for Gabe.

“Talk to me,” he whispers.

“I can’t.”

“I want you to trust me,” he whispers.

“I don’t trust anybody.” I pause to swallow. “Including myself.”

There are no other words spoken between us as I lie in Landon’s arms, but no words are necessary. I find solace in the comfort and safety of his arms. I close my eyes and soak in the contentment of lying with him.

Opening my eyes, I realize that I’m lying on top of Landon and that he is asleep underneath me. I raise my head slowly and pull myself off of him. I stand for a few moments above him, and notice how peaceful he looks, and I am conflicted with whether I should wake him or not.

The large clock that hangs on the wall in the kitchen tells me it’s three in the morning. There is no way I’m going to wake him at this hour to send him home. I grab the soft, teal blue blanket that hangs over the back of the couch. Opening it, I lay it as gently as I can over him, hoping I don’t wake him.

Leaning over him, I can’t help but look at his beautiful face. His sharp jaw line is covered in a five o’clock shadow. It’s the perfect amount of facial hair to give his face, that rugged ‘bad boy’ look. His full lips are slightly parted and perfectly shaped. I can’t help but think about how handsome this man is lying on my couch.

I take the steps upstairs to my bedroom quietly, as not to wake him. Lying in bed, I see the words from Gabe’s letter running through my mind. Silent tears slide from my eyes, and down into my hair. I miss him more than I ever thought possible. Even with the handsome stranger asleep on my couch downstairs, I know it’s Gabe who still holds my heart.

Reaching my arms above my head, I stretch and roll onto my side, filling the entire length of the couch I’m lying on. The littlest hint of sun is peeking through the wooden shutters. Looking at the blanket that has been carefully laid on top of me, I have to assume she was okay with me staying here. Propping the throw pillow under my head, I wonder when she finally woke up last night and moved to her room. Falling asleep with her on my chest was amazing.

I can still smell a light hint of her perfume on my shirt, and it reminds me of holding her last night. She felt perfect lying in my arms, and across my body. It was so hard to hear and see her cry, but listening to her breathing settle as she calmed down in my arms, and the slight whisper of her breathes as she fell asleep on top of me, caused an emotion in me to surface that I rarely see—compassion.

I see that folded letter lying on the table in front of me, the one that clearly upset her. It would be so easy to reach over and read it, and for a minute, I contemplate doing just that. Turning my head, I glance up the stairs and see that there is a door that is slightly cracked, and I wonder if that is where she is.

Sitting up, I decide to not read her letter. I want her to tell me, in her own words, with her sweet voice, what happened. Pushing myself off the couch, I wonder if I should just leave before she wakes up, but something inside of me won’t let me leave just yet. There is a pull, a desire I’ve never felt before. I
need
to see her.

Quietly taking the stairs, I find the door that’s cracked slightly open and peek inside. There on the large bed, she lies on her side. A purple comforter pulled up to her chest, her arms securely holding it in place. Her long dark hair has been pulled high into a ponytail, and she looks so peaceful as she sleeps. Her face has returned to its olive tone and is no longer covered in red patches from crying.

I know it must have been late when she came to bed, but I want to talk to her. She is lying on the right side of the bed, and there is just enough room to slide onto the left side of the bed without touching her. I realize this is brazen of me to just slide into bed with her, but I’m not going to touch her, yet.

Walking across the wooden floor, I gently lower myself onto the bed. I don’t pull the covers back; I lie on top, and pull the blanket that is at the foot of the bed over me. I’m propped on my left side watching her sleep, and I can hear her steady breaths telling me she’s sound asleep. My presence hasn’t disturbed her yet.

I lie here for almost an hour. I watch the minutes change on the clock, wanting so badly to reach out a few short inches to touch her. I can almost feel how soft the skin on her arm is as my hand hovers over where I want to run my fingers. It would be so easy to lean in and press a kiss to her forehead or her cheek. She rolls slowly to her back and throws her arm up over her head, causing the comforter to drop to her waist. She’s wearing a light grey tank top that her large breasts are almost spilling out of. I’m instantly hard as I think about taking each of her nipples in my mouth, running my tongue around each hard bud. Fuck. She’s not ready for that yet, I remind myself.

Unsettled in her new position she keeps moving her legs, I can tell she’s not comfortable, or she’s beginning to wake. Leaning toward her, I whisper in her ear “Good morning, baby girl,” With no warning, she sits straight up and screams.

“Jesus Christ, Jess. It’s just me. Calm down.” Her hands are covering her face, and she’s now breathing erratically, almost hyperventilating. Pulling her hands down, she glares at me, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, and she looks ready to kill.

“You can’t just climb into my bed and think that I’m not going to freak the fuck out.”

“Did you just say ‘freak the fuck out?’” I actually laugh.

“It’s not funny. I’m serious.”

She’s so cute. Her ponytail is a mess, and she pulls the comforter up higher over her chest to cover herself.

“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely. “I woke up downstairs and wanted to make sure you made it to bed.” I realize I’m smirking as I say this. “So I peeked in your room, and you were curled up on your side of the bed, so I just laid down next to you. No harm intended.” I raise both of my hands to show I’m sincere.

Throwing herself back onto her pillow, hard, she grumbles and pauses before she speaks. “I appreciate you checking on me last night, and I appreciate you checking on me this morning, but you can’t check up on me all the time. I don’t
need
you.” The last sentence came out as a whisper. Those four words she just spoke, ‘I don’t need you,’ hurt. She does need me, she just doesn’t know it yet.

It is rare that I am speechless or hurt, but I am both. She continues to lie there with her eyes fixed on the ceiling and her arm laid across her chest with her hand over her heart. I can see her pulse in her neck beating rapidly.

“Why are you afraid of me?” I know this is a loaded question. Shit, I’m nine years older than her. I’m pushy, aggressive, and have intentionally gone out of my way to make her uncomfortable.

“I’m not,” she whispers.

“Look at me,” I order, my tone is more aggressive with her. Slowly, she turns her head to look at me, and her beautiful green eyes fix on mine. My pulse quickens as I reach out to run the front of my hand over her cheek. She closes her eyes when my fingers brush over her cheek and swallows hard.

“I know you don’t need me, but what if I need you? I wish you would give me the chance to just know you,” I stammer. I’m not a man that spills my heart out to women often, or ever, but there is something about the innocence of her that makes it easy to just put my thoughts out there. She stares at me with no emotion on her face.

“What are you thinking?”

She doesn’t say anything as she blinks her eyes slowly.

“Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and gently tugs at it with her teeth. I can’t take my eyes off of her mouth. Leaning in to her, I’m so close I can smell the remnants of the perfume she wore last night, along with the sweet feminine smell of her skin. Our noses are within centimeters of each other. I can feel her breath on my lips. I hover my mouth over hers, and her eyes open wider.
She wants me to kiss her.

I never make a move to kiss her, but our eyes hold each other’s. I whisper, “Will you trust me?” She shakes her head no and closes her eyes again. “Why?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” Those words tear me apart. She slowly opens her eyes, and I see her chin quivering lightly. Instead of pressing my lips to hers, I lower my mouth to her forehead and give her the lightest kiss. With my lips on her forehead, I can feel her body trembling, and her breathing is quick and shallow. She’s fucking afraid of me, and I have to prove to her, and myself, that I’m not going to fuck her and leave her. I won’t be
that
guy with her.

Pushing myself up quickly, I hop off the bed. “Get up and get dressed. Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Why?”

“We’re going to breakfast.”

“There is no way I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” Her lips pucker out like she’s pouting.

“You’re beautiful. Just throw some clothes on and brush your teeth. We’re leaving in fourteen minutes now.” I flash her a big smile. Pushing the thick purple comforter off of her, she pulls her long, tan legs out and hangs them over the side of the bed.

Turning to leave her room, I mutter over my shoulder, “Thirteen minutes now, baby girl. Hurry up.”

As I’m closing her door behind me, I hear the pitter patter of her feet run across her bedroom floor. Waiting for her downstairs, I eye the letter on her table again. Whatever is written on that piece of paper is the source of much pain for her. Just as I’m reaching for the letter, I hear her door open upstairs. She comes bouncing down the stairs in a pair of worn jeans that have small rips on the front thighs, and a tight green tank top. Her wavy hair is piled on top of her head where a few loose strands have fallen out. She grabs her purse off the counter and slings it over her shoulder.

“You’re not going to need that.” I smile and point to her purse. She looks at me and scrunches her forehead, looking perplexed.

“I need my purse if we’re leaving.”

Walking over to her, I slide the purse off her shoulder. “Give me your phone and your ID.” Looking at me suspiciously, she pulls her ID out of her wallet and hands it to me along with her cell phone. Sliding both of them into my back pocket, I reach for her hand and lead her to the door.

“Wait, do you have sunglasses?” I stop abruptly at the door.

“Yeah, in my purse. Let me grab them.” She releases my hand and walks back to the table. Digging through her purse, she pulls a case out, and opens it, sliding a pair of small Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses onto the top of her head.