Page 86 of Get Me to the Starting Line

You’d think, as a thirty-one-year-old woman, I’d be able to control my impulses.

Not when it comes to Julien.

I all but forced him to come live with me, for fuck’s sake. Did I even ask him? No, I didn’t. I drove him to my house and didn’t let him leave. Jesus, I’m a control freak. And I’m definitely the one who initiated the contact. Even though I knew better.

And that orgasm . . .

“No sex,” I repeat back when Caleb stays silent, waiting for confirmation from both of us. Julien nods once. I know I just agreed, but I was kind of hoping Julien would put up a fight. Is it me? Was all of this a turn off?

Caleb leaves us with care instructions and then we’re heading back to the car, Julien grunting his disapproval at having to use a wheelchair. We had an epic staring battle that I won, which is why I’m hauling his ass back to our apartment.

My apartment.

This man has said maybe six words in four hours. One of them was “Levi.” I took that to mean I should leave him to go get my son. But I wasn’t going to abandon Julien, so I called Maggie who informed me they were already planning to turn grandkid day into a sleepover.

I’d been on the verge of talking to Maggie about my predicament, needing some motherly advice. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but then Julien uttered anotherword—“fuck”—and I had to go.

The apartment is pitch-black when we get back. When I turn on the lights, all I can do is fixate on the couch, imagining Julien’s hands sliding over me, his eager mouth, his rough beard, every sensation tingling through my body.

When I take a chance and sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye, he’s also staring at the couch, a frown on his face. He’s been so shut down, and I don’t know what it means. This feels very much like when I first met him, and that stings more than it should.

“Do you want help getting to your room?” I ask, cautious with my tone and my words.

He surprises me by nodding once. He’s wearing the brace prototype I made for him and seems to be moving a bit easier. I can’t take a lot of his weight as he drapes a heavy arm around my shoulders, but I do what I can.

It occurs to me that using crutches instead would have made things easier for him.

The narrow hallway forces us to walk so close our legs brush and our sides press together. Even though the hallway is short, it feels a mile long as we slowly make our way to his door. I ease it open and step in. It’s meticulously neat, like I knew it would be.

You’d hardly know anyone lives here.

“Do you want to change into pajamas?” I ask, helping him sit on the bed. He shakes his head and manoeuvres so he’s lying down. He must find something interesting on the ceiling and is still not speaking. I have no idea what’s going on in his head.

“I’ll be right back,” I say before darting out of the room.

I slump against the white wall of the hallway, taking comfort in the fingerpainting Levi did in daycare. My emotions are too close to the surface. If he has regrets, I don’t think my heart can take it.

I was serious when I said I was scared he would hurt me. He’s so quiet, leaving me to let my mind run amuck and spiral into worst-case scenarios.

What should I do? What does he want? What the hell do I want? I take a moment to breathe and collect myself before getting Julien a glass of water, his meds, and one of the disgusting protein shakes he likes.

He hasn’t eaten in a while, so I want him to have what he needs without having to get out of bed.

Once I bring it all back, he tracks my movements as I set everything up on his bedside table. I arrange it all in perfect rows, labels all facing the right way.

When I can’t stall any longer, I straighten and rub my sweaty palms on my pants.

“Okay, uh, just yell if you need anything,” I say, feeling so awkward. He’s staring intently like he wants to say something. When he doesn’t, I whisper a quiet “good night” and turn to leave.

“Leah,” his hoarse voice calls. I stop, not turning around.

“Look at me,” he says.

Those three words.

Aren’t those words part of the reason we’re here right now? He says them so differently than before—not as a demand or out of lust, but almost pleading. I turn, feeling dizzy.

If he can stay silent then so can I. I wait for him to say something, anything.

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