Page 81 of Fault Lines
“Because you’re better than that. You’ll walk away with no doubts if you do things your own way, not his. Then, whatever happens, you’ll know you did everything you could. No regrets.”
I smiled, for real this time. “I love how you can even save me from myself.”
He squeezed me closer. “Believe me, come Thursday, I won’t be saving you from anything. Not even myself.”
We both laughed, and the sound was such a relief after everything. I burrowed into his chest, warm and safe, and finally drifted to sleep. This time there were no dreams at all, only the steady comfort of his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I woke to the warmth and weight of a chest beneath my cheek—a steady heartbeat, a scent I did not recognize as Cam’s. For a moment I lingered there, stretching my limbs languidly, savoring the rare treat of not waking up alone.
“Good morning,” said a voice that was not Cam’s at all. Nate’s, deep and gentle, filtered through the haze of sleep, and I blinked my eyes open to find him watching me with those storm-cloud eyes of his. Memory, sharp and unwelcome, rushed in with the morning light.
There was the ache of last night, the conversation, the comfort, and underneath, the hurt. I frowned, already feeling the familiar pinch in my chest.
“Don’t do that,” Nate murmured, his hand rubbing slow circles along my back, grounding me. “Don’t let him steal your Sunday. I know it hurts, but you’re going to be okay. Promise.”
Dragging myself out of the comfort and into the reality of morning, I rolled away, feet searching out the cold of the floor as I padded to the bathroom and shut the door softly behind me. I shouldn’t have stayed. I pressed my forehead against the wood, exhaling. It might have felt like justice, tit for tat after what Cam had done, but I didn’t want to become that person, either.
Last night, when I’d reached for Nate and he had gently refused, I’d been grateful—even more so now. If we’d crossed that line, the regret would have drowned me. No, I wanted tofinish this season of my life with my dignity intact, able to look myself in the eye and say I’d fought clean. Cam might have blown past boundaries, but I didn’t have to. Still, the weight of having stayed the night—with Nate, of all people—even with nothing happening, was already heavy enough.
I splashed water onto my tired face and studied myself in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes, hair wild and unruly—a mess through and through. Maybe, after seeing me like this, Nate would come to his senses and realize he didn’t want any part of this train wreck. I dried my face and headed out, half-expecting him to be gone.
But there he was, in the kitchen, back turned as he fiddled with the coffee machine.
I paused, taking him in. Absurdly, I’d woken next to his bare chest, but I hadn’t truly looked until now. Nate hadn’t struck me as the muscled type, but there it was—the smooth slope of his back, each muscle sharply defined against his skin, the outline of his arms taut as he reached for the mugs. When he turned and faced me, I had to swallow, because, well, his abs were almost comically perfect. Rows of neat, defined squares—a map of discipline and time.
I blinked, surprised.
“Livi?” Nate asked, brow arched like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I shook off the daze. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”
He grinned, amusement bright in his eyes. “Coffee?” He held up a mug. “Unless you’d rather stand there staring at me some more.”
My cheeks heated immediately. “Sorry.”
He laughed, the sound easy and warm, pouring coffee into two mugs and sliding one across the counter to me. “Don’t be. It’s nice to know the gym isn’t a complete waste of time.”
I eyed him, pursing my lips. “You work out?”
He shrugged. “Turned the guest room into a gym. Easier than paying for a membership and dragging myself back and forth. I just finish a workout and hop straight into my own shower.”
“Smart,” I admitted, sinking into a chair, grateful for the coffee. I took a sip and realized he’d already fixed it exactly the way I liked. Another thing Cam had never bothered to remember. It did something strange to my chest, feeling seen like this.
Nate sat down across from me. “When do you expect him home?”
I glanced at my phone. “Three, I think.”
He nodded. “Good. We’ve got hours to fill.”
I hesitated, some small, loyal voice urging caution. “Maybe I should just go home.”
“Why?” He blinked at me, genuinely puzzled. “Something you need to do?”
I shook my head. “No, but…”
He cut me off. “You’ll just end up sulking, counting the minutes until he gets there—and then you’ll be miserable all over again. Why not cut out the agony and hang out with me?” He grinned, his dimple flashing, and the resistance in me fizzled.
