Page 85 of Worth the Shot

Seeing those words makes my heart flutter in my chest.

I throw myself back into his bed, burrowing under the blankets and straight into Brennan’s sweatshirt. A fresh one I unintendedly stole off him the other night when we were at Emma and Shayne’s. The three of us were sitting on the back deck after Luca insisted on Brennan reading him his bedtime story.

The air was cold in that late-February way where winter refuses to release its death grip. Brennan finally joined us, letting out a breath the second his eyes landed on me. Always on me first, every time he walks into a room, or in this case, out of one.

I didn’t say I was freezing because I didn’t have to. He knew. He always knows. One second I was just sitting there, laughing at something stupid Shayne said, and the next, his arms were sliding under mine, lifting them so he could pull his sweatshirt over my head, the same way he’s done so many times I’ve lost track. He brushed the hair from my face and kissed the top of my head. Barely a moment that was so mundane someone else might’ve blinked and missed it. But I didn’t. Because it was the first time he kissed me, even if it was only my forehead, in front of them and no one reacted in a ridiculous way. I didn’t flinch or overthink or even feel exposed or on display. It just felt natural. Solid. True.

I pull the collar closer now, inhaling the same scent that clings to his bed sheets and it smells a lot like home. And in this mess, this chaos, one thing is painfully obvious: I know exactly where my heart is. Where it’s been. But facing Matty again?

A tiny, traitorous part of me wonders if seeing him will stir up feelings I thought I’d buried. But when I sit with that long enough, I realize it isn’t about him at all.

It’s the fear of losing Brennan the same way.

The fear of letting myself have this and trusting it completely, only to find myself standing in the wreckage all over again. I want to believe that what we have is different. Stronger. Regardless of how little time we’ve spent together in the grand scheme of things, this feels like something so much bigger than I’ve ever felt. But the thing about emotional spirals at nine in the morning? They’re exhausting.

Eventually the anxiety burn-out kicks in, and the warmth of Brennan’s sweatshirt, the weight of the blankets, and the hum of the heat vents lull me under again. I sink into sleep the way a drowning person slips underwater: slow, quiet, resigned and hoping that when I come back up for air, the world will feel less like it crashing down on me. I don’t know how long I’m out, but the next time I surface it’s to Brennan wrapped around me and the muffled sound of my phone ringing.

“Hello?” I mumble, half-asleep and disoriented, not entirely sure what dimension I’m in right now.

“Are you sleeping?” Emma says, not at all hiding the judgement in her tone. “It’s almost two o’clock.”

“Not anymore,” I mutter, my voice rough as I rub at my eyes. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could maybe come hang out with Luca for a little bit?”

“Of course,” I say, even though part of me wants to stay exactly where I am.

I drag myself upright, barely. Beside me, Brennan groans and rubs a hand over his face.

“Where ya going?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Emma’s,” I whisper, immediately sinking back down beside him. “I’m gonna hang out with Luca for a bit. You stay here and sleep before you have to leave.”

He pulls me into him, and I melt on contact.

“Gonna miss you when we’re away this week,” he murmurs, tucking himself closer against me. “A lot.”

“Me too,” I whisper back.

“Take my truck. I’ll have Shayne pick me up for the airport later.”

My chest tightens a little at how easily he says things like that. Like taking care of me is second nature now.

I kiss him hard, trying not to think too much about the fact that he’s leaving again.

“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth.

Before I walk away, I steal one last glance at him stretched out in bed, sleepy and relaxed, and my chest aches a little.

Dramatic but unfortunately true, I miss him already.

“Woah,” Shayne says the second I walk in, eyes wide.

Can’t say I blame him. I’m in Brennan’s sweatshirt, pajama pants, and my hair is in a tangle mess from Brennan’s hand being in it all night. We were up late, so we only really got a few solid hours of sleep.

“SHAYNE,” Emma snaps, smacking him square in the chest, and I silently thank her for her service.

“Sorry, I just—damn, girl. You look like someone dragged you out from under a collapsed building. Maybe Emma can remind you how to turn the shower⁠—”