Page 148 of Before You Fell

He is beautiful.

He always has been. I remember noticing it when we were teenagers, how it happened gradually and then all at once, the way boys do when they stop being boys. I remember thinking it was inconvenient back then.

It’s more inconvenient now because he is more beautiful than I remember.

But as I observe him, I also see the man who made me seem disposable after giving me the one night I had wanted for years. The man who broke something in me so cleanly that I didn’t even feel it go until I was already on the floor.

And I see the man who stayed outside my hospital room. Who drove me to rehab without making a big deal of it. Who sat on my couch today and watched me with those eyes and didn’t perform once.

All those men wear the same beautiful face. And that is the fucking problem.

Goldie would tell me that beauty is just good lighting over bad habits and that I should stop confusing the man I remember with the one standing in front of me now.

I force myself toward the kitchen.

I take a glass down from the cabinet and turn on the faucet. The water runs loudly in the quiet. Loud enough to wake someone if they were listening. I turn it off fast and lift the glass to my mouth.

The kitchen light flicks on and I flinch so hard that water spills over my fingers.

Phoenix stands in the doorway, hair a mess, black T-shirt wrinkled, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Barefoot. Sleep rough around his eyes. Too fucking beautiful for a man who has been unconscious on a couch.

He looks at me. Then at the glass. His eyes catch on my shirt and a smirk tugs at his mouth when he reads the faded Static Hearts across my chest. His gaze travels down my bare legs, slow enough to register, before dragging back up. I see the way his jaw tightens afterward. The way he forces himself to stop.

“Are you okay?” His voice is gravely from sleep.

I observe him over the rim of my glass. “You scared the shit out of me.”

His mouth does that thing that’s not quite a smile. “You didn’t answer the question, Wills.”

“I’m getting some water.” I lift the glass and take a sip.

“I can see that.”

“Then why ask?” I set the glass down harder than I intend to. “You know what, don’t. I don’t need you standing in my kitchen at two in the morning, checking on me like I’m on suicide watch.”

Phoenix doesn’t flinch. He just looks at me.

“I asked you to stay because I didn’t want to be alone. That doesn’t mean I need you to monitor my water intake. If I wanted a babysitter, I would have called my mom.”

Phoenix steps further into the kitchen. Not too close, but close enough that the air shifts. “Good thing I’m not your mother, then.”

I lift the glass again and take another drink. He observes me. His eyes perceive everything I endeavor to keep hidden.

“I’m fine, Phoenix.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

“You implied it.” My voice rises before I can stop it. “I’m so tired of everyone asking me if I’m fucking okay. Mom asks every time I speak to her. Jax hugged me today like I might disappear through the floorboards. Jett watched my face every time someone spoke too loudly. Cruz pretended not to notice, which was somehow worse than if he did.” I stop and breathe. “And now you’re sleeping on my couch because I asked you to, which I already hate myself for, because I hate everyone seeing me like this. As if I’m something that needs monitoring."

Phoenix stands still.

I shift my gaze away because if I keep looking at him, I’m going to cry. And I have not come this far to cry in my kitchen in front of Phoenix Stone at three in the morning.

“Wills.” He steps closer when I don’t look at him. “I’m not here because I think you’re weak.”

My throat hurts as the emotion in me builds.

“I’m here because you asked me to stay.” His voice is quiet. There’s no performance in it. Simply Phoenix being straight with me, which is rare enough that I don’t quite know how to handle it. “And I’m trying real fucking hard not to screw up the first decent thing you’ve trusted me with in a long time.”