Page 85 of Breaking Point

The line is silent for a few moments. I sigh, ignoring Crew’s eyes on me. “Okay, Button. You’re safe? Not hurt?”

“Yes, Dad. I’m safe.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I hear him sniffle. “Okay. There’s a gala- Well, a dinner at the Rebren in a couple of weeks.Maybe you could join me. We could go together. Maybe talk. Over dinner," he rambles.

“Maybe we can talk about it when I get back. I’ll call again soon.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah,” I say, the words plucking at something painful. “Goodnight.”

I toss my phone aside, falling back against the mattress with a sigh. Frustration, sadness, confusion, and a messy bundle of other emotions threaten to spill out of me, so I force my eyes closed, inhaling.

Crew is rustling around in the bathroom again, but this time, he reappears with a small kit in his hands. I bounce when he sits next to me, holding out his palm.

At first, I’m confused, but when his eyes flicker toward my hand, I realize it’s because the burn is still an ugly red welt on my palm.

I huff. “I’m-”

“Going to let me help you,” he argues, and at his persistence, I slowly sit up and offer him my hand.

He unfurls the tape and gauze to reveal the weeping wound. His hand cups mine as he reaches into the first aid kit and grabs a tube of ointment and a fresh covering.

“Does this hurt?” he asks.

“A little.”

I hiss as he gently swabs cream into the burn. I blow out a breath, watching the look of concentration on his face as he begins wrapping my hand.

“There.”

Crew’s touch is firm but gentle, and I shiver when he runs his thumb over my wrist, right over my pulse. The touch is gone as soon as it comes, and I watch as he turns his back, disappearing into the bathroom again.

He strolls to the couch, rolling his neck as he sets his bag on the ground. He's made a routine of unlatching his holster, stashing his pistol nearby.

The longer I stare, the guiltier I feel.

“Will you please sleep on the bed tonight?”

“Here’s fine.”

“Your feet were hanging off the couch all night and you’ve been rolling the crick in your neck all day,” I reason. “There’s more than enough room.”

He looks at the empty space beside me, silently turning over the proposition.

Is it smart to sleep in the same bed as a man who’s watched me orgasm?Probably not, but neither is wasting half of a perfectly usable bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor in protest if I have to,” I say, throwing my legs over the side of the bed just to show him I will.

I know the exact moment he gives in because he shakes his head, damp hair falling into his eyes. “Scoot over.”

I do, burying beneath the covers as he stands and flips off the light. In the dark, I can make out the outline of his body as he lays next to me. He pulls the covers to his torso as I hold my breath, trying not to think about the fact that we’re inches apart. I lie on my back, wiggling to get comfortable.

We’re quiet for a few moments, and I force myself to shut my eyes. He turns to face me. Somehow, we’re even closer now, and I blow out a breath as a sudden wave of heat washes over me.

“Fuck, Liv,” he grounds out. “You’re practically a furnace.”

“I can’t help that I’m hot,” I say, and I’m so glad he can’t see how red I turn at the implication. My breath catches as he shifts again, but this time, I hear the distinct sound of him removing clothing. My heart skips a beat. “Are you-?“

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