Page 28 of By Your Side
She looked down, twisting the edge of her sleeve between her fingers. “Do you ever wonder if there’s another version of you somewhere—one who didn’t get broken somewhere along the way?”
“Sometimes,” I said. “But I like this version of you and me. I’m glad I’m here for you tonight, Paige. I love that you’re letting me be.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn’t brush it away. Instead, she let it hang there, shimmering in the soft glow emanating from the end table lamp. “I’m so tired of trying to be small for people who don’t even see me anymore.”
“Then don’t,” I murmured, my voice as soft as I could make it. “Let them miss out. Let them regret it.”
She let out a sigh, a sound half sorrow, half relief, and finally—finally—she reached for my hand. Her grip was tentative, but it was warm. I squeezed back, grounding her, holding on for both of us.
“Maybe I’m allowed to want more,” she said, her voice trembling at the edges but steadier than before. “Maybe I’m allowed to need things too.”
“Yeah,” I told her, my thumb tracing gentle circles on her skin. “You absolutely are.”
“I think I know that now.” Her mouth twisted. “Took a divorce, therapy, and half a bottle of tequila with Piper, but I know.”
“You don’t have to be small with me,” I said before I could stop myself.
“I’ve never fallen apart like this. If Eli were here with me right now, I’d be shoving everything down. The fear, the worry, the horror of those minutes when I didn’t know where my baby girl was.”
“I’ve got you, Paige,” I promised her. “It’s okay to let go. Get it all out.”
She stilled. Her gaze held mine, and I saw it there—just for a heartbeat—that flicker of knowing as she recognized the fact that I’d always seen her and liked her for exactly who she was.
“I’m scared,” she whispered. “Not just of Eli and his stupid plans. Of everything. Of what happens next. Of wanting something again.”
My throat tightened. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
She let out a shaky breath and leaned back into me again, this time resting her hand over my heart like it was the only solid thing in the room.
“You always feel like home,” she said softly. “With you, I can breathe. You’re safe, Hunter. You didn’t push me or crowd me. You just knew what I needed. You always do.”
She looked up at me then, her voice quieter. “Do you have any idea what that means to me?”
My pulse stuttered. “I know you, Paige. I’d never want you to do something you weren’t ready for.”
She didn’t say anything else.
So I sat there and held her until the tea went cold on the table, and the weight of everything she’d carried finally started to melt away.
We didn’t speak after that.
There wasn’t anything else that needed to be said.
She stayed curled against me, one hand resting lightly over my heart, her breathing growing steadier with every passing minute. The distant creaks of the house settling, and the low tick of the wall clock, counting down the seconds, were the only sounds in the room. I didn’t move, tried to be as still as possible. She needed me. She needed peace. But mostly, she needed some damn rest.
After a while, her fingers slipped, and her hand slid down to rest between us. Her weight shifted ever so slightly, heavier now.
I glanced down.
Her eyes were closed. Long lashes brushing the soft skin beneath them. Her mouth parted slightly in sleep, her face finally free of tension.
She’d fallen asleep in my arms. And god help me, I wasn’t about to wake her. Carefully, I adjusted us both, only enough to lean back into the corner of the couch, one arm tucked around her shoulders, the other cradling her legs across mine. She didn’t stir, just breathed a little deeper.
She smelled like lemon, spice, and that lavender laundry detergent she always used. But more than anything, this felt right. Holding her like this felt more right than anything I’d ever experienced.
I let my head rest back against the cushion.
The living room faded into a gentle blur. The only light came from the little lamp in the kitchen, casting everything in warm gold. Outside, the breeze shifted the porch chimes, soft and slow as I drifted off to sleep, feeling more at home than I ever had in my life.
