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He could have gone back to his place and buried himself beneath reports until morning. Instead, he walked through my door armed with the worst thing that could have happened this evening.

He chose here.

He chose me.

Fuck’s sake, this isn’t my usual territory.

I get to my feet and Bryce tenses as I approach, expecting another confrontation.

Instead, I take hold of his coat.

“Take this off. Now.”

“What?”

“Your coat. Take it off.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re staying. Of course you’re staying.”

Bryce stares at me.

A few weeks ago, I would’ve helped him to the door, lied to myself and called the emptiness afterwards freedom.

But not now. I can’t do it.

I don’t want to.

“Stay, please,” I say.

The request leaves me exposed in a way that being naked never has. It gives me a different type of squirm in my gut.

Bryce unbuttons his coat. I slide it from his shoulders and drop it over a chair. Then I pull the loose tie from his collar.

“I have work tomorrow,” he says.

“Your reports won’t die of neglect overnight.”

“I have an early start.”

“Then leave early. You’re still staying.”

His gaze searches mine.

“You want me to stay? Honestly?”

The question is a loaded weapon.

I could dodge it. Tell him I need company for some whisky or help finishing up the Elite Cheese. But I don’t.

“Yes,” I say.

One word.

Simple, honest, and horrifying.

Bryce’s expression softens.