Page 35 of A Little Crush
“I miss him, too,” Jaxon rasps. “I miss him so much.”
Another sob wracks through me like a whip, and I lean into Jaxon’s side. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I’m so tired. Tired of walking on eggshells. Of tiptoeing around each other or pretending like he hasn’t seen the most vulnerable pieces of me. Even if it’s been years, he knows it as well as I do. He knows what I’ve been through. Knows how hard I broke after seeing my brother’s lifeless body attached to machines in the cold, sterile hospital room. Knows how torn apart I was when the doctor entered the room and told Maverick that Archer was brain dead but would be giving him one final gift before he’d be laid to rest. And when you share moments like that—likethis—it’s not exactly difficult to fall into the same rhythm. The same dance. The same trap.
“I miss you, too, you know,” he rasps. “Fuck, Rore. What I wouldn’t give to go back to before. Before you hated me.”
Shaking my head, I burrow closer to his chest, stealing his warmth as well his words. I don’t know how he does it. How he manages to read my mind and lasso my wants and needs before turning them into his own. It’s as if he knows how to put my mind at ease. How to support and justify and give his stamp of approval no matter how unhinged I feel sometimes. Like right now. When I feel like I can’t breathe, let alone voice my own thoughts. My own feelings. Or the fact that I’ve missed him, too. So damn much. Even platonically, he was my person. And in a way, I think I’m grieving that loss as well. The relationship we used to have until I screwed everything up.
I’m so sorry for screwing everything up.
My vision is blurred with tears as I peek up at him. His strong jaw. His long lashes. His slightly crooked nose after one too many fights on the ice in college. Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I whisper, “I don’t hate you.”
It’s the first fully truthful thing I’ve said since being home. Without my guard up. Without the line I drew in the sand. Without my shame holding me back. Simply the truth in all its messy glory.
“I don’t hate you,” I repeat. It’s surer this time but still as raw.
His gaze drops to my mouth, sparking the realization of exactly how close we are. Something flashes in his pretty eyes, though I can’t place it. Maybe he’s realizing the same thing. I can taste his breath. Mint and alcohol. Probably from the champagne. It brushes against my damp cheeks, proving our woven proximity since I’ve bawled all over his chest. But the funny thing is that if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s about to kiss me. Giving me a look like this. The thing is…I do. I do know better. Hell, I learned from the man himself.
And maybe it’s the tears. Maybe it’s the flashbacks of our past coming to haunt me. Maybe it’s the exhaustion fromtonight’s experience. Honestly, I’m not sure, but I’m too tired to care. Instead, I stay curled beside him, letting his eyes take their time as they rove my tear-stained face when footsteps echo down the hall. They cut through the thick haze shrouding us in our little corner and bring me back to the present. To reality. Slowly, I pull away from Jaxon’s side, turn toward the sound, and find Dodger striding down the hall. When he sees me, he stops short, his attention drifting to Jaxon before he clears his throat and tugs at the top button on his dress shirt. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I squeak.
“You didn’t come back.”
“I know.” My tongue darts out between my lips as I wipe the never-ending tears from my face. “Sorry, I was having a…”—I wave my hand around my face—“a moment.”
His mouth lifts on one side. “No worries. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay?”
The question hangs in the air, so I take a moment to dissect it.
Am I okay? Yes and no. But it isn’t any different than any other day of the week. My brother’s gone. My best friend’s been whisked away by the cutest rockstar ever, and the only man I ever relied on has been cut off from my life for years and is seated beside me with a tear-dampened shirt.
“I’m okay,” I breathe out. Maybe it’s a lie. Maybe it isn’t. But it’s a familiar reality. One I’m well-accustomed to. So, why hate it now?
“You sure you’re okay?” Dodger prods.
“Yeah, Dodge, I’m good.”
“Okay.” Dodger rocks back on his heels, looking unsure. Hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be inside if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
With a deep, shuddered breath, I crumple the well-usedtissue in my palm, adding it to the first while I watch him leave. I’m not ready to follow yet. I should probably freshen up in the bathroom first, but I can’t find the willpower to do anything but sit in a dim hallway next to a man who’s impossible to read. Even so, his words whisper in the back of my mind.
I missed you, too, you know.
Did he?
Even after all these years, did he miss me? Our friendship? Our talks? Or is he simply trying to make me feel better after watching me break down outside my brother’s reception?
“He seems like a good guy,” Jaxon tells me.
He. As in…Dodger. Right.
“He’s actually really great,” I admit. And it’s true. Dodger’s been nothing but a saint throughout this entire ordeal. Letting me take the lead. Going with the flow. I’m not sure I would’ve survived this trip without him, though I keep that to myself.
“Glad you’re happy,” he mutters.
“Thanks.” It’s forced. Awkward. And brings us right back to square one, making me miss the old Jaxon more than ever. “I, uh, I heard about the divorce. I’m sorry.”
