Page 38 of Because I Liked A Boy
“You won’t,” he says, firm, certain in a way I will never be. He tips my chin up and forces my eyes to meet his. “But even if you did, I’d be right here tohelp put you back together.”
Tears sting my eyes. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” he insists. His thumb sweeps across my cheek and catches the tear before it falls. “And I just did.”
My chest feels cracked open, my ribs not strong enough to cage all of this—his certainty, my fear, the way his presence is the only thing that makes me breathe.
I almost say thank you, but the words feel too small. Instead I whisper, “I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore.”
“You’re not.” He presses his lips gently to my hair, voice low and steady. “Not as long as I’m breathing.”
His phone buzzes again on the table, cutting through the moment. He ignores it, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters.
Hunter shifts, squeezing my shoulder. “Princess. You need a break from your own head. Let me run you a bath.”
I pull back, blinking. “A bath?”
He raises a brow, beaming. “Hot water, bubbles, the works. You’ll feel human again.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet I’m risking my reputation to make sure you don’t drown in your own thoughts,” he says, grinning wide and boyish. “Now come on. Bath time.”
I shove at his shoulder. He doesn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re overdue for one,” he shoots back, already on his feet. His hand hovers, palm open. “Let me take care of you, Princess.”
I hesitate, staring at his outstretched hand. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
His expression softens. “Maybe I want to. Maybe that’s what friends do.”
My throat tightens. “I’m not good at that. Friends. I ruin things.”
“Lucky for you,” he says, wiggling his fingers like he’s annoyed at my drama, “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”
Against my better judgement I slide my hand into his.
He guides me down the hall, turns the taps, finds a candle I’d forgotten I even owned. When he leaves me to it I sink into the warm water, half-laughing, half-crying, because nobody has ever looked after me like this.
Starting Over
When I pad back into the living room, hair damp, skin flushed, Hunter’s sprawled on the sofa, long legs kicked out, head tipped back. The pizza box is shut, his jacket tossed aside like he planned to stay longer than he admits.
His eyes flick open when he hears me. They soften instantly. “Better?”
I nod, tugging at the sleeve of my pyjama top. “Cleaner, at least. You can stop wrinkling your nose at me.”
“Don’t push your luck,” he says with a smirk, then pats the cushion beside him. “Sit.”
I roll my eyes but do it anyway, sinking down beside him. His arm slides across the back of the sofa, not quite touching me, like he’s waiting for me to decide.
This time I don’t hesitate. I lean into him, press my shoulder against his, and let the steady warmth of him ground me.
His voice drops, quiet but certain. “See? Starting over isn’t so bad.”
I swallow and stare at the shadows on the wall. “Only because you’re here.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Too honest. Too much. I almostwant to snatch them back, but his arm tightens and I can’t bring myself to regret it.
