Page 34 of Dash

It’sdark when I wake. The only light is coming from the screen flickering in the background. I’m pretty sure I’ve drooled, my neck aches, but worst of all I’m alone.

The space where Dash was sitting before I fell asleep is empty.

Of course, he’s gone.Why the hell would he stay?

I sit up slowly, the muscles in my back and shoulders screaming, but not as loud as the pain in my chest.

You really thought he’d sit around while you drooled on his hoodie?

That ember of hope is doused, as if it never existed.I should have known better. I should have?—

A noise from the kitchen has my head snapping up and a fission of fear splinters my chest.

I’m about to grab something I can use as a weapon when he appears.

He’s carrying a stack of plastic containers against his chest, his tee pulling tight over his muscles.

Dash’s eyes soften as they come to me.

“I was going to wake you once I got everything set up.”

I realise then that my coffee table is overflowing with plates, glasses, drinks, as if we’re about to have a dinner party on the couch.

This time when my heart squeezes, it isn’t in dismay or hurt.

“You did all this?”

He opens the containers, laying them out.

There’s a range of Chinese food that makes my mouth water, and the smell is delicious. My stomach grumbles in anticipation. I can’t remember the last time I had takeout. It’s not usually an expense I can stretch to. Especially not when going out to bars and drinking away my thoughts takes precedent.

“Figured you’d be hungry after you slept.” He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as if taking care of my needs is normal.

I choke back my tears.

No one has ever taken care of me like this. No one ever stuck around long enough to try.

His eyes narrow as I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, my chin wobbling. Don’t fucking cry.

“Dayna?”

Fuck. I glance away so he doesn’t see my pathetic breakdown, but he doesn’t let me. His hand wraps around my nape, soft, not caging but present, and his thumb strokes under my jaw.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t point out that I’m weak for getting upset.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise.”

Before I can form a reply, he shocks the shit out of me by leaning forwards and pressing a kiss to my forehead. It’s not brotherly or familial.

It’s sacramental, like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched in his life. And fuck, for once I allow myself to lean intoit, to take comfort and care where it’s offered, even if I don’t deserve it.

When he pulls back, I resist the urge to tug him into me, to fall into his arms.

He studies me, and I wait with my breath caught in my chest. Is he going to leave now? Was I too much?

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