Page 31 of Befriending the Bear
No, tonight, in the darkness with the storm passing over, I held him and let myself imagine this could be something real. Something lasting. Something worth the risk of hoping for.
11
CALLOWAY
Iwoke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle waves. The first thing I noticed was warmth—not just the ambient temperature, but the solid presence of another body against mine. The second was the absence of fear. For the first time in seven years, I’d woken up in bed with someone, and my first emotion wasn’t guilt.
It was…gratitude. Fraser had shown up because he’d been worried about me, had stayed when I’d asked him to. He’d allowed me to lean on him without making me feel weak even once.
No, I didn’t feel guilty. I felt deeply grateful that somehow, despite myself, I’d managed to make a friend.
Fraser was still asleep, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. We’d shifted in the night, moving from a respectable separation to this tangle of limbs that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm against my back, and I let myself have this moment—one stolen moment—before reality crashed in.
Pale morning light filtered through the curtains. The storm had passed, leaving behind that peculiar stillness that alwaysfollowed violence. Water dripped from the eaves, and in the distance, the sound of a chainsaw told me people were already at work on fallen limbs and trees. The power was still out—no hum of appliances or electronics—but with light outside, it wasn’t so bad.
I should move. Should extract myself before Fraser woke and we had to acknowledge this shift, this crossing of carefully maintained boundaries. But his arm tightened slightly, and he made a soft sound that might have been contentment, and I was lost.
“Good morning,” he mumbled against my hair, voice rough with sleep.
Heat flooded my face. “G-good m-m-morning.”
“How are you feeling?” He didn’t move away, didn’t create distance.
How was I feeling? Warm. Safe. Hopeful. Terrified. “B-better,” I said, which was both true and wildly insufficient.
“Good.” His thumb moved in a small, absent circle against my ribs, probably unconscious but devastating in its tenderness. “Storm’s passed.”
“Y-yes.”
We lay there in the growing light, neither acknowledging the intimacy of our position nor moving to change it. It felt like a held breath, a moment suspended between what we’d been and what we might become.
“I should check the damage in your yard. Make sure your trees are okay.”
“In a m-minute,” I said, surprising myself with the request.
He hummed in agreement, settling back against me. His body was solid and warm, and I could feel the places where life had marked him—the tension in his right leg, the careful way he held his weight. We were both damaged goods, carrying our histories in flesh and bone.
“Calloway?” His voice was carefully neutral.
“Y-yes?”
“Do we need to talk about this?”
My heart rate spiked immediately.This.Such a small word to encompass the way we’d found each other in the dark, the way we fit together like puzzle pieces worn smooth by time. The way I wanted to turn in his arms and?—
No. I couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t want that.
“I know this is c-complicated. I’m s-s-sorry if I?—”
“Hey.” He shifted, encouraging me to turn so we were facing each other. His hair was mussed from sleep and there were pillow creases on his cheek. He looked soft, approachable, and dangerously dear. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“I asked you to st-stay.”
“And I’m glad you did.” His green eyes were serious, searching mine. “But I don’t want this to change anything between us. I don’t want you to feel…embarrassed or guilty, maybe, and pull back again. Nothing happened that can’t be undone, and I don’t want to lose your friendship over this.”
I stared at Fraser, this man who’d broken into my house in a storm because he was worried about me. Who’d held me through a panic attack without judgment. Who was now offering me honesty wrapped in such care that it made me ache, but in the best way.
“I d-don’t know what I’m d-doing.” The words scraped raw in my throat. “I haven’t…since M-Marcus… I don’t know how to do this anym-m-more. Friendship or…”
