I gulp. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, to be honest.”
“What’s your routine like before bed?” His voice changes to authoritative. I’m definitely with Dr. Pearson now. “Strenuous exercise chasing Jacob around the house? Drinking wine or anything?”
But the details he gives are definitely Dax. He knows me so well, and his kindness makes me feel even more guilty for the horrible things I said to him.
The way I lashed out at him when he’s been nothing but generous and considerate.
“I just think a lot.” My hands fidget in my lap, not used to this side of him. He’s checked me out before, but I didn’t know about his feelings then. We hadn’t slept together then. It feels different now. Clearing my throat, I continue, trying my best not to focus on his hands gripping my knees. “The days are busy with errands, visiting my mom at the winery, Jacob’s school activities, adjusting to my new job. So, after he goes to sleep, I’m left with my chaotic thoughts.”
“Clara,” he says with so much emotion that my stomach flutters. He drops his hands and peers up at me, his expression conflicted. “One of my friends is the head of psychology. I can try to get you an appointment if you need to talk to someone—it’s no trouble.”
“I’m sorry.”
He stops, his eyebrows furrowed. “What for?”
I rise on trembling legs and stand before him, wanting him to hold me. The emotions from before my short nap come crashing back, pulling the tears from me again, but slower this time. “I’m sorry for blaming you. That wasn’t fair.”
Standing, he reaches out and squeezes my upper arms, his jaw working back and forth like he’s contemplating what to say. He’s indecisive, which isn’t like him, and it makes me sick.
I’ve made him question me too.
“I know you’re hurting. I know you need someone to blame. With my parents’ accident, I blamed the EMTs, doctors, and even the drunk guy in the waiting room. I screamed at the mailman that week too. I even pushed you away for a while. But don’t blame me for this.” His voice cracks. “Don’t make excuses because you’re scared of how I feel about you.”
I hesitate. “That’s not…”
He tilts his head to the side, a sympathetic smile on his lips, but his eyes hold a sadness I’ve never seen before. “It is.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms in comfort. “I wasn’t planning on telling you. I’d gone along with the lie for so long that it became true and automatic. That we were just friends, and we were. But the other night was… everything.”
“And you wanted more this whole time?”
He slowly nods, like he’s letting it sink in.
I blow out a shaky breath, my gaze landing on his lips, and the room feels like it shifts. I’m suddenly very aware that this is Dax’s bedroom.
A large bed.
Soft sheets.
Alone with Dax.
Pain still swirls around us like a desert storm, but there’s something else here—a chemistry I don’t know how to ignore anymore.
Not after I know what it feels like to be touched by him.
But where do we go from here? It was one thing when I thought we slept together in the spur of the moment. If that were the case, we could navigate this new part of our relationship together. But with his feelings now, he’s light years ahead of me. We’re not on the same page. How can I catch up?
“We kissed once. Do you remember?”
“Of course,” I breathe.
“I hadn’t planned on that.” He chuckles, rocking on his heels. It makes him seem vulnerable. It does something to me that I haven’t felt in a long time.
Affection.
Want.
Need.
All of those feelings for Dax.
He scratches the back of his head, making him look like he did when we kissed for the first time all those years ago. Another lifetime ago. “I sat by countless times while you dated one asshole after another. I held you and gave you tissues after each of those relationships ended. You swore off men every time, yet you took them back or moved on to the next dickhead.”
I close my eyes. How silly I was. Starved for attention. I was seventeen and made poor choices. That’s not to say I wasn’t a good student. I just wanted it all—the grades and academic recognition as well as attention from the “hot” guys at our school.
I thought I was too much for this town—that it was holding me back. Serial dating was my way of acting out until I finally left.
But that’s not to say I didn’t often think about my kiss with Dax. Before I met Mitch, I thought about it a lot.
“I didn’t want to be another dickhead on your list,” Dax whispers, but he might as well be yelling. “I refused to hurt you the way they did, and being eighteen and reckless, I knew I would eventually hurt you, albeit unintentionally. I was determined to stay in your life, so I kept my distance. Until one night—”
“Prom night.”
“Your date danced with every girl but you, while I ignored my date to sit with you and throw popcorn at the back of Mr. Davis’s head.”
“We were dipshits.” I shake my head.
“That we were.” His blue eyes shine when they meet mine. His smile slowly fades, and the sad nostalgia from before visibly consumes him again. “You were beautiful, in a black dress that flowed down to your feet. The red in your cheeks from the hot-as-hell gym, but you got cold once we stepped outside. You were too cute with my sport coat wrapped around you. I couldn’t help myself anymore. I had to kiss you.”
My breath hitches as I realize that night from his perspective. All this time, I thought that kiss happened because of the heat of the moment.
Like the other night.
“When my lips met yours, I changed. Everything changed.
