Page 75 of Words We Didn't Say

“You lift weights?”

He snorted. That was a no. “Boxing, mostly. Punching something helps blow off some of the frustration when there’s drama around the office.” His smile pinched. “It’s just a dumb thing the therapist recommended.”

“You…” A rock lodged in my throat.Therapist?This was news. Big news. I’d shared so much with him, spilt my guts, and he hadn’t said a word. “You see a therapist?”

The knife clattered to the chopping board. Zach’s head bowed, his hand plunging into his hair.

“Hey.It’s okay.” I wrapped my arm around his waist and encouraged him to snuggle closer. “You can talk to me.”

“I don’t see the therapist anymore,” he said. “It was a few years ago. I, um… I tried to…” His body slumped into me, his weight pressing me into the counter. “Chris made me see someone after Mum got sick.”

I never thought much about my mother. Memories of her were misty. Maybe a smile or the faint smell of a freshly baked cake, but I could have imagined that because the one photo I’d seen had been the two of us on my second birthday. But I knew whatit was like to lose my mother. I understood the gut punch that left you hollow. I knew why Zach took those big breaths to fill up the space gnawing inside him. I knew.

“Zach, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s hard to talk about. I can think about it.” He tapped his temple. “But if I try to make the words come out, it—it doesn’t always—”

“Shh.”I feathered my fingers into his hair, gently stroking his head, my own pulse calming as some of the tension seeped from his muscles. “You don’t need to say more. Your mum’s okay now, right?”

He nodded. “She’s in remission.”

Cancer. Holy hell. “Areyouokay?”

“You’re here. I’m okay.”

I was there, but what should I do toshowhim I was there in moments like this? The right words, the right actions—I had no idea what they were. No one had taught me. I did the only thing I knew. Falling back into old habits, I arched on my tiptoes to capture his lips. Short and sweet kisses melted into long and luxurious.

Zach knew the steps to our old dance, too.

Ragged, uneven breaths jumped in his chest. He pulled back. Dark eyes intense, mouth not quite smiling, he snagged the belt of my dress and tugged me across the room. Strong arms lifted me. Goosebumps prickled my skin when cold wood stuck to my thighs as I awkwardly bumped onto the dining table.

“Eden.” A stubbly cheek pressed to mine. “Let me make you feel good.” His big palm crept up my thigh. Stopped. Squeezed.

A promise, if I said yes.

I wanted to, but…

Should I?

20

She said, “You chose her.”

Eden

I shouldn’t have saidyes.

I did anyway.

Conflicted, my heart twisting in my chest but the rest of my body needing—demanding—Zach to smother all my senses until there was nothing in the world except him, I captured his mouth in another kiss.

My hands slipped under his T-shirt. I was desperate to feel every bit of his skin that my greedy fingers could find—the warm, rugged ridges of his back, his chest, the patch of crinkly hair on his abdomen leading down… I sighed. Yeah, I knew where that led, and I wanted my hands there, too. I yanked at his belt.

“Eden, that’s not—” He tore his lips off mine. “Slow down.”

“Do you really want that?” I whispered the question as I rocked my hips, rough denim rubbing against delicate lace.

Zach groaned into my neck. Tension coiled tight in his muscles, his back rigid, but he didn’t want to slow down. He jerked me closer, a possessive hand weaving into my hair, fingertips pressing into my neck. No, slowing down wasn’t what he wanted at all. A shiver rippled down my spine, the world blurring with the graze of his teeth down sensitive skin and every insistent squeeze of his hand on my thigh. But the sensation muddled. Memories collided from all directions.

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