Page 224 of Nyx

He's stiff as a board beside me, but I don't offer him the chance to leave. I give myself that one selfish act as I turn to my side. The warmth of his skin presses against me, and then he untangles his hands and lowers his arm. The second it wraps around my back, I release a long sigh, and sleep takes over.

I don't know how long I slept, but the sun is bright in the room when I wake up.

I know he's gone before I look over at that side of the bed, but it doesn't stop my eyes from confirming it.

Sleep did more than rejuvenate me physically. I feel like a brand-new person. My wounds aren't healed. My trauma hasn't suddenly vanished, but I feel different.

Kayla had no idea that last night was going to be her last. I know without a doubt that if she had a crystal ball that told her what her future held, she would've made different choices.

I have a clear picture of how I don't want to live going forward, and despite what the outcome may be, I know I can't just stay in my head wondering what everything means like I did when I slinked away into the night after Nyx and I had sex.

I know now that if I have questions, I should vocalize them.

If I want something or have expectations in my life, I shouldn't hesitate to ask for them.

I have no idea what tomorrow is going to hold, so the only way to truly live is to live in the moment I've been given.

I run to the bathroom, wash my face and brush my teeth, put on clothes more acceptable for mixed company, and head to the bedroom door.

The second I step out into the hallway, I see Nyx coming around the corner.

He's slowly carrying a cup of coffee in his hands, watching the top instead of looking in front of him as if he's trying not to spill a drop.

I freeze, shocked to see him heading back in this direction.

In my mind, I had already decided that he bailed from my room the same way I had a few days ago.

He didn't desert me. He went for coffee, and I know it's for me because he doesn't drink it.

Tears once again threaten as I accept just how sweet, kind, and thoughtful this man is.

It doesn't matter how many lives he has taken or how much blood has coated his hands. I know without a shadow of a doubt that he cares for me and will only ever touch me with softness.

"Oh," he says as he looks and spots me frozen in the hallway. "Shit."

I grin, watching him grow frustrated with the coffee that spilled over the top with his sudden stop.

"I mean, dang," he mutters.

"You had it right the first time. Let me grab something to clean that up."

I don't head for the kitchen where I know there are cleaning wipes. Instead, I opt to go back into the room and grab a rag and cleaning solution from under the bathroom sink. Facing the masses feels like the very last thing I want to do right now, even though I was willing to risk it to hunt him down.

"I can do it," he says as he steps inside the room as I exit the bathroom.

He places the cup of coffee on the dresser and holds out his hand.

I pull the rag closer to my chest. "I can clean up a spill, Nyx."

He shakes his hand, indicating he wants me to hand over the supplies. "I made the mess. Let me take care of it."

I hand over the cloth and bottle of cleaner, the scent of freshly brewed coffee drawing more of my attention than it has a right to.

He heads out of the room, and I angle toward the life-saving liquid.

Warmth spreads through me, the coffee filling a void inside like it always does. I don't know if I'm just really in my feelings after all that has happened recently, but holding a cup of coffee made by someone else is hitting me differently this morning. It speaks of care and attention, a certain kind of devotion that I've never had the chance to experience in life.

Or maybe I'm just in my head too much about it.