Page 100 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“It will be over soon.” He pulls me closer.
I rest my head against his chest. His heartbeat lulls me into a sense of security.
“Promise?” I murmur.
“I can’t promise anything… but whether it’s the end of it all or the end of this chapter, I promise to be there with you.” His lips press to my forehead.
I close my eyes, savoring the sweet warmth that fills me.
“I’m going to bed now.” I slouch against him.
“All right.” He detangles himself and slowly steps away. “I’ll be across the hall if you need me, but… try to get some rest.”
I want to ask him to stay—again. Not just for a moment but for the night. No matter how brave he thinks I am, I don’t dare to get the words out.
“I’ll try.” I smile weakly.
And I do try.
Caldwell returns to his room. Like the first night in this house, and like every night before it, sleep never comes.
I toss and turn, huff out sighs, and get lost in my thoughts instead of losing myself to dreams.
What if we’re too late? What if the night we spend sleeping is the difference between finding the killer and them getting away? What if Caldwell and I can never repair our relationship? What if he isn’t to be trusted after all?
And if that’s the case, what do I do with my yearning heart? He’s in the next room, and I would be lying if I said my thoughts didn’t drift to him most frequently.
The way he holds me is imprinted in the back of my mind, and…
I need him. Not for a moment, but for the night—and long, long after that.
I tiptoe to his side of the hall, knuckles rapping lightly against his door, praying I don’t wake Margaux instead.
He answers, opening up for me, and my jaw is on the ground.
His glasses are crooked as if he lazily perched them on his face just to see me. Messy hair and heavy eyelids make him look adorable—no, he looks more than that. The vision of him in front of me elicits thoughts of sharing a bed—waking with him next to me and of him disheveled after an evening together.
None of that is what has me gripping the doorjamb and swallowing my desire. His chest is bare. The only thing covering him is a pair of dark boxers slung low around his hips.
I forget to speak, blinking, taking in the sight of him.
“Are you all right?” he asks with urgency, pushing his glasses up his nose.
I breathe in deeply, managing a head bobble before I can properly respond.
“Yes,” I say. “I, um… I couldn’t sleep.”
It was either this or stare at the painting in Professor Cruz’s office. Maybe that would havebeen a better idea. I fight the feeling that my presence is unwelcome and that I roused him from his sleep.
“Me neither,” he says with a sleepy smile. “Do you want to come in?”
“I—I shouldn’t.”
What had I come here for, then? I wasn’t expecting to see him like this, and I don’t want to interrupt his sleep. How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself now? My pulse races, and I turn away, prepared to go to my room and shut off my mind.
At least I can try. Sleeping in this new condition will be harder. The hammering of my heart has me feeling wide awake.
I don’t make it a step away before he grabs my wrist with a tender touch. He always holds his strength back for me.
