Page 109 of Arrogant Puck

“How do you do that?” he whispers against my lips.

“Do what?” I ask, feeling his breath on mine.

“Make me say things I’ve never told anyone else and… make it hurt less.”

I cradle his head into my palms, running my fingers through his hair. I scratch his scalp, massaging him, lulling him to relax.

My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, breaking the tender spell.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Slater asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

“This morning, I think.”

He stands up, pulling me with him. “Come on. Let’s fix that.”

We make simple grilled cheese sandwiches, working in comfortable silence in his kitchen. The domesticity of it—him buttering bread while I slice tomatoes—feels normal. Even after our intense connection in the bedroom, this feels normal. It feels nice.

On the couch afterward, we settle in to watch Love Island, our hands intertwined between us. He teases me about my choice of reality TV shows, and I defend it by explaining that it’s a direct reflection of the culture today and if we look hard enough, we might find ourselves in the contestants.

“He is really stupid,” Slater claims about five minutes in. The blonde is bickering another a guy over a girl.

“You’re such a guy,” I laugh when I realize that he’s somewhat into this.

“It’s simple. Go after what you fucking want. He’s an idiot.”

I snicker, pressing my lips together.

He places his hand on my thigh and sulks deeper into the couch, watching the show. This easy banter, this simple togetherness—it feels like something I could get used to.

When we finally head to bed, I hesitate at his doorway.

“Stay,” he says simply. “Just sleep. I promise.”

I nod, following him into his room. We lie on top of the covers, fully clothed, his arm around me as I rest my head on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls me.

But I stay awake longer than he does, keeping my distance despite his invitation to get closer. The pills might be gone, but I need to be sure he remembers this tomorrow. Need to know his promises are made with a clear head.

I notice his right hand, lying beside him on the pillow. His knuckles are swollen, split open, dried blood still visible in the creases.

He punched something. Hard.

How did I not notice this earlier?

My chest tightens as I imagine him alone in that equipment room, so consumed with rage and pain that he had to hurt himself to feel better. The thought of him bleeding and angry makes my throat close up.

When I’m certain he’s deeply asleep, his breathing slow and even, I stare at his calm face. He’s angelic like this.

“I’m sorry I won’t sleep with you,” I whisper into the darkness. “It has nothing to do with you. But if you can be patient, and honest, and kind...” I pause, gathering courage. “I would love to. I would love to give you everything.”

I press a soft kiss to his lips, meaning it to be quick and gentle. But his arm tightens around me instinctively, pulling me closereven in sleep, and I realize with startling clarity that I’m falling for him.

Hard and fast and completely out of control.

And it fucking terrifies me.

Chapter 38

The morning light is soft when it creeps through the edges of the blackout curtains. It spills in anyway, faint and warm, just enough to illuminate the edge of Sage’s face beside me. For a second, I think I’m dreaming. That maybe I’m still back in that pit I carved for myself—burned out, buzzed, empty. But then I feel her. Her breath against my chest. Her fingers curled lightly near my ribs. Her warmth, real and steady.

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