Page 74 of Built to Fall
I stay quiet for a moment, giving her space. The way her chest moves quickly up and down with her every breath is enough to show that sleep isn’t just elusive—it’s a battle she’s been losing, night after night.
She’s told me enough about it. How it’s been like this since her mom’s funeral, and how she feels the need to run from her thoughts. I also have a good feeling her ex-boyfriend has something to do with how she acts about this.
“Calm down,” I say, trying to keep my voice as soft as I can manage. “You’re okay. Just go put some pajamas on and get yourself ready for bed.”
I need her to trust me enough to relax in my presence, and I know better than to push her right now. The last thing she needsis more pressure. But I have the inevitable feeling that she’s spiraling further every time she tries to force herself into some kind of normalcy without giving her body the rest it needs.
From what her roommates have told me, that’s all she seems to be trying to achieve:normalcy. But it doesn’t seem to be working out for her.
She nods, retreating to the bathroom for a long couple of minutes, and when she returns, she looks no more relaxed than she did when I found her on that running path.
“Lie down,” I tell her, pulling the comforter of my bed back. I’m doing everything in my power to make this as compelling as possible, but I still have no idea if it’s going to work or not.
Reluctantly, she eases beneath the covers as if they’re going to bite her. She lies stiffly on her back, eyes trained on the ceiling.
I linger near the foot of the bed for a minute, watching her pretend to settle, and then I move to sit on the edge of it. It gives me flashbacks to how I spent most of my nights growing up. Sitting on my sisters’ beds because they were both extremely anxious. Helping them get to sleep was my number one priority before I ever made it to my own bedroom for the night.
“My sisters were both older than me and terrifyingly convincing, so they could persuade me to do pretty much anything they asked,” I murmur, not really planning to say it until it’s already out there. I’m somewhat hoping that telling her small details about myself will help her to trust me. “They were both bad sleepers. Abby used to have nightmares, and Claire—she was always anxious about school and stuff. Couldn’t shut her brain off. So, I’d sit on the edge of their beds and scratch their backs until they passed out.”
Lina doesn’t say anything, but her eyes flick toward me, that same guarded look still on her face. I wait for the snark, the pushback. But it doesn’t come.
Instead, she slowly turns onto her side so that her back is now facing me. She pulls the blanket up around her shoulders and says so quietly I almost miss it,“Will you?”
I know it’s likely her desperation for something to actually get her tosleepdriving her to ask, but it still knocks something loose in my chest—that permission, the tiny ounce of trust.
Shifting, I rest my hand lightly between her shoulder blades, fingers brushing gently across the fabric of her tank top. Light, slow. No pressure, just movement.
She doesn’t react at first, and I wonder if it’s too much. If I’ve crossed some invisible line we never talked about. But then I feel it—a breath, deeper than the others, and then another. Her body, little by little, starts to release its tension. Her shoulder drops, and her fingers uncoil where they’d been gripping the blanket.
Meanwhile, I try to keep my own breathing steady. Trying not to think too hard about the way her hair smells like eucalyptus and the way her skin emanates warmth from beneath my fingertips.
This was supposed to be about helping her sleep. That’s all. But something about her being here, in my bed, trusting me enough to let her guard down—it messes with my head more than I’d like to admit.
She’s not just some friend. She’s not some lost cause I’m trying to save.
She’sLina.
And I don’t know what the hell to do with the way that makes me feel.
“Thanks,” she whispers after a few minutes, her voice thick with sleep, slurring around the edges.
I keep tracing slow circles across her back. “Night, pretty girl.”
She’s asleep five minutes later.
And I stay right there, sitting beside her in the dark, my hand resting against her spine like maybe I can protect her from whatever’s chasing her—even if I can’t protect myself from the unwarranted feelings that sneak in, quiet and stubborn, refusing to leave.
CHAPTER TWENTY
GRANT
“You’re like a human furnace. I woke up sweating.”
Lina doesn’t even open her eyes. “You could’ve asked me to move instead of dramatically dying of a heatstroke.”
I snort under my breath and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. Her hair’s all over my pillow, and one of her legs is tangled with mine. She’s still tucked into my bed like she owns the damn place.
We’re supposed to be friends,I think.Friends don’t usually wake up cuddling.
