Page 48 of Every Heartbeat After

“Oh.”

I wad up my clothes and open the door. Pete’s red-faced and grimacing on the other side. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize.” I smile awkwardly and cling tighter to my pajamas. “Good night, Pete.”

“Night, Tess.” He says it quickly, but with no less warmth, as we swap places in the restroom and the door once again is shut between us.

One step into the bedroom and I have to fight back the instinct to gulp like an out-of-her-depth movie character. Kit sprawls on top of the covers wearing nothing but gym shorts that leave very little to the imagination. One arm is slung over his eyes. His skin, looking so soft to the touch, is a deep shade of tan from a week spent in and around the water.

How has it only been a week? Time—which so often folds in like an accordion for me, making years feel like days—stretches out instead, turning a few bright moments into an entire history.

With each rise and fall of his chest, his muscled abdomen ripples. My gaze dips lower, to the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his waistband, and the bottom drops out of my stomach.

“You okay over there?” Kit mutters without removing his arm.

“Um, yes.” I shuffle a few steps into the room. “Your dad needed the restroom, so I’ve gotta change in here. Just keep your eyes covered, okay?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Tess, do you think I’ve never seen boobs before?”

That sobers me up. I kick his foot where it dangles over the edge of the bed and he yelps. “It’s truly a miracle that you convinced someone to marry you.”

“Guess that’s why I’m divorced,” he replies, voice melancholic. It sucks the heat right out of the room, and any satisfaction I’d been feeling at my snipe dies a painful death in my hollow chest.

I clear my throat and, with my back to him, begin unbuttoning my blouse. “Things seemed to go well today. Your parents were really happy to see you.”

His responding grumble is noncommittal.

My bra tumbles onto the pile of my crumpled shirt, followed by my shorts and underwear. I slip on a pair of drawstring shorts and a matching navy-blue top. “The way you talked, I half expected to be met with burning pitchforks. Here they are letting us sleep together in sin.”

That gets him to remove the arm. He sits up on both elbows and quirks a brow. “Does that mean there will be funny business after all?”

I spin to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “No. And stop avoiding the subject.”

His gaze travels over me slowly, so much so that I feel it as it goes, warming me from the inside out. His irises are still more midnight than hazel. So dark I couldn’t read his thoughts if I tried. He presses his lips together and shakes his head, suddenly staring through me rather than at me.

“My parents never wanted me to marry Courtney. Thought I was too young to be making such a big decision, when I had my whole life ahead of me.”

I perch on the edge of the bed, one hand propped close enough to his leg that the hair tickles my fingertips. “And what’d you say to that?”

He snorts softly. “That I was the same age they were when they got married, and it seemed to be working out for them.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. “Never pegged you for a romantic.”

The ceiling fan rocks overhead, rattling in its frame. Kit stares up at it, and I stare at him, wondering how we both aren’t blinded by what we see. Him, the yellowish light overhead. Me, the tender devastation chiseled into his features.

“Dad told me the night before the wedding that if I went through with it, then it better be forever. That marriage is sacred, and he didn’t raise me to be a man who walked out on his family.”

My throat becomes sandpaper, coarse and biting as I swallow. Since the first time we met, I’ve sensed that, despite not really knowing me, Kit could see deeper into me than anyone else ever had. Now I’m finally seeing him—if not to the core, then very damn well close.

He’s a man who lives to please others, and does so under the pretense of keeping them safe. Perhaps that’s why he feels so familiar. We both know a thing or two about performances.

“Kit.” I rest my hand on his shin. “Have you ever considered that it’s not your parents you’ve disappointed?”

His gaze envelops me like a hand grasping onto a life raft. “Who else?”

“No one.” I shrug. Then, more gently, I add, “Maybe yourself.”

We stare at each other for a long while. Eventually, when I’ve memorized the few flecks of gold still visible in his eyes tonight, I move on to studying his face. The dark stubble. The high cheekbones and well-maintained brows. His nose, which is bent slightly in the middle and discolored in a way that looks permanent.

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