Page 103 of Worth the Shot

Sleep doesn’t come easy, but every time I surface from whatever half-dream I’m in, I look down and she’s there, curled into me, my arm around her. And even though my face feels like it’s been lit on fire and then punched out again, I don’t move. I don’t dare. Not when my whole entire life is wrapped up in my arms, sleeping peacefully and safe.

At some point, exhaustion wins and I drift under again. When I finally wake for real, pain buzzes through my cheek and temple like an electrical current. The headache is blinding. But it all disappears the second I see her. Delaney Collins, in nothing but my sweatshirt, standing at my kitchen island, barefoot, scrambling eggs like she’s lived here her whole life. They don’t make painkillers stronger than her.

The morning light pours through, sending golden rays that cast over her so perfectly, almost angelic, and suddenly I don’t care if my face falls off. I’d break a hundred bones just for this view. She hears me adjusting and turns immediately.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Her smile is unguarded and bright in a way she saves for almost no one but me. “I’m making eggs, but I have everything ready to make you a smoothie if you’re hungry.”

I get up slowly because one wrong move will send lightning through my skull, and because the last thing I need is her nurse voice scolding me again. Although, it is pretty fucking hot. Come to think of it, maybe that’s exactly what I need.

I walk to her, hands shoved into my sweatpants pockets because if I don’t restrain myself, I’ll be touching her in places we can’t come back from without thinking. I stop behind her, leaning in just enough to rest my chin very lightly on her shoulder. My good side. She melts back into me, her body relaxing into mine.

“You sure I can’t just eat those?” I murmur.

She turns off the stove and spins, suddenly facing me and her mouth is inches from mine. Close enough that I can feel her breath warm against my lips. My pulse spikes so hard I see stars. I want to kiss her so badly, but my mouth still doesn’t work. The world narrows to her, the scent of my own sweatshirt on her skin, the way she looks at me like I’m not broken or bruised or terrifying to look at. Like I’m just…me. Her eyes trace my face, unhurried, and for a second I wonder if she’s going to say something sarcastic to break the tension like she always does. But she doesn’t. Instead her hand lifts, just barely. The back of her fingers slowly sweep the side of my jaw under the mess, so gently it feels like an apology and a confession all at once. The graze sends chills across my shoulders.

“I know it’s not pretty,” I whisper, voice rough and embarrassingly vulnerable.

Her brows pull together, expression soft but fierce. “And yet,” she breathes, “you’re still the most beautiful human I’ve ever met.” Her hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers slipping into my hair. I have to close my eyes for a second just to survive it. The world goes quiet except for the thundering of my own heart. Suddenly all my reasons, all the lines I’ve drawn, all the ways I’ve tried to protect myself, her—they’re gone.

“Delaney…” My voice cracks.

Her thumb strokes the hair at my nape, and her voice comes out barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

She looks down, pulling her hand away. I’m terrified of what she’s going to say.

“My conversation with Matt brought back old ghosts I never dealt with.”

My lungs stall out until she finally continues.

“I thought, for a second, what if I make the wrong choice? What if you leave? But the more time I spent thinking about it, the more it became clear that all I was doing was making you question us. And I hate that you ever had to, because God, Bren…” She falters, and I grab her hand, holding it in mine to remind her I’m here for her, even when the hard things involve us. Then she says, “All I ever do when you’re not around is miss you. And seeing you like this? It’s physically hurting me.”

She closes her eyes like she’s trying to will away the pain etched across my face in the form of bruises and dried blood.

“My heart has always belonged to you, Brennan. All of me does. Always you.”

She steps in closer, barely a shift in space, just enough that her forehead brushes mine. Her eyes flick to my lips and she hesitates, remembering the stitches, the swelling, the pain. Then, with agonizing care, she leans in and presses the softest kiss to my uninjured cheek. It barely counts as a touch, just the slightest brush of her lips, but it detonates something low in my chest. Like every breath I’ve held for the last week finally explodes outward. When she pulls back, she looks terrified and brave at the same time.

“I love you, Brennan,” she breathes against my mouth and it sends chills down my spine. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

The world around me starts to finally spin again.

“You won’t,” I whisper.

I guide her arm around my back, gentle as hell, and the other follows instinctively, slipping around me like she belongs there. I pull her in, cradling her against me as close as she can be without hurting either one of us. She settles into me fully, her cheek against my chest, her breath warm through my shirt. It’s the kind of moment that makes you stupid enough to believe in fate.

I lower my chin to the top of her head, breathe her in, and whisper. This time quieter, more certain and meant for her and only her.

“I promise.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Delaney

I don’t move for a long time. I stay right there, pressed against his chest, wrapped up in his warmth, breathing in that familiar mix of pine and mint that feels like it’s stitched itself into my ribs. His heartbeat thumps steady beneath my cheek, strong and alive and unbelievably comforting after the night I thought I might lose him. Even if it was just for a second, it felt like a lifetime to me.

My fingers are curled into the fabric of his white T-shirt, hanging on like my life depends on it and I tell myself it’s just for balance. It’s definitely not. When he whispered I promise something in me cracked, just slightly. A small, quiet fracture right through the part of my heart I’ve spent my whole life sealing shut with fear and sarcasm and clinical detachment. And now I can feel those cracks letting something warm seep in. I pull back only enough to look at him. Just one inch. His good eye meets mine instantly, the other slightly opened and I realize he looks exhausted. Bruised, broken, and yet, somehow still…him. More him than ever.