Page 49 of Still Missing You

Dylan looks up, and his face softens when he sees I’m awake.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “How are you feeling?”

The concern etched into his features, real and unguarded, twists in the center of my chest. I clear my throat and smirk. “Like I got into a fight with a staircase and lost.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Staircases are known for their viciousness.”

I snort despite myself, then immediately regret it when I feel a twinge in my knee. Dylan notices—he always notices—and frowns.

He sets the book aside and shifts closer, careful not to jostle me. “Your pain meds are due in about half an hour,” he says. “I can grab them.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, then sigh. “I mean, yeah, okay. In half an hour.”

He studies me for a moment, eyes searching my face. “You okay otherwise?”

Not, how’s your knee. Not, do you need anything? Otherwise.

I look away, staring at the ceiling. The cracks in the plaster form a jagged line that reminds me unpleasantly of the stair railing.

“I was a jerk earlier,” I say.

Dylan blinks. “You were exhausted and worried. We both were.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” I mutter.

Silence settles heavily between us, not uncomfortable, per se, but loaded with all the things we need to say.

I force myself to keep going. “I shut you out. I could feel myself doing it, and I did it anyway.”

He shrugs. “You’re frustrated.”

That’s putting it mildly. I tip my head back, and my gaze meets his. “The lines are blurring,” I admit. “Between what’s real and what’s not. Between us.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Hope, maybe. Or hesitation. Maybe both.

“For me too,” he says carefully. “For a while now.”

I shift so I’m sitting up against the headboard, mirroring Dylan. “That’s a problem,” I say, even though I don’t want it to be.

Dylan exhales. “If this is about playing at being together—”

“It’s more than that,” I cut in. I hesitate for a moment, then launch into what I’ve been feeling before I can change my mind. “Last night, when I saw someone in the room... all I could think about was him getting to you.”

Dylan stills.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” I continue, words coming faster now, like a dam crumbling. “What could’ve happened? What could he have done, and I couldn’t stop him? I couldn’t even catch him because of my knee giving out.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Dylan says immediately. “Besides, I’m not exactly helpless here. It’s not your job to protect me.”

“I know that logically,” I tell him. “But logic doesn’t mean much when I can’t stop thinking of all the ways that situation could have turned bad.”

Dylan shifts closer, and his shoulder is warm against mine. “But it didn’t go bad. You woke up, chased him out, and got hurt doing it. Hell, you even had the forethought to copy Matthew’s files to your computer, so stealing the camera bag was for nothing. All in all, I count it as a win.”

I look at him, really look at him, and the sincerity in his gaze steals my breath.

“There’s something else,” I say. My pulse pounds in my ears. “This act between us... sleeping together... maybe we need to stop. It’s starting to feel too real.” The words taste wrong the second they leave my mouth.

Dylan’s eyes slide to me, his expression inscrutable. “You don’t want it to be real.”