Page 46 of Your Second Chance
He trailed his hand down the side of my body, gentle and slow, until it came to rest on my stomach. His palm stayed there.
“Sleep, love. Go to sleep, and I promise, tomorrow everything will feel better.”
With his body wrapped around mine, his heartbeat steady against my skin, the chaos in my mind dulled to a quiet hum. Everything felt safe. Normal. Okay.
It was a fragile kind of peace, but it was enough. Enough to allow my eyes to drift shut and trust that the darkness wouldn’t win.
18
nova
I hadn’t slept through the entire night in... God knows how long. Probably not since moving to London. No, if I was honest, it was long before that. Even back when I was with Austin, every night felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for the next disaster.
Fuck.
Austin.
The name alone made me feel like a rock had settled on my chest. I needed to call him. He deserved to know the truth—that he had a daughter on the way. He didn’t deserve me, but this truth? It was his.
“Ugh,” a very British voice groaned beside me, and something hard jabbed into my thigh, pulling me out of my thoughts like a slap of cold water.
“What the—” I bolted upright, clutching the covers to my chest.
For a brief, blissful second, my brain failed to process reality, and then it hit me.
Ollie. Ollie had stayed over last night.
Wait. Ollie hadstayed overlast night.
I froze, darting my eyes to him as he stretched lazily, completely at ease in my bed. My very naked self was still under the covers, and I clung to them as if they could shield me from the embarrassment.
“Oh my god,” I yelped, teetering on the edge of the bed, but not daring to get up because, well, naked.
With sharp and amused eyes, he trailed his gaze over me as he propped himself up on one elbow. He looked ridiculous—smug and perfect, his messy hair like he’d walked off some magazine cover. And his tattoos... God, his tattoos. They weren’t random or trendy, like mine... they were intentional, detailed patterns, like art etched into skin stretched over the kind of muscles you only saw on statues or in dreams.
“I slept the entire night,” I muttered.
“You did.” That stupidly smug grin spread like he’d personally orchestrated my sound sleep.
I blinked, trying to piece it together. “Oh wow. I feel... good,” I admitted, the words almost foreign on my tongue.
For a moment, I forgot about Austin, about everything. There was only Ollie, lying in my bed like he’d always belonged there.
He scanned my eyes and stood, rounding the bed until his rock-hard chest faced mine. Instinctively, I pulled the covers up higher.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured.
I nodded, unable to speak, and then he pressed his lips against mine.
It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was steady and sure, and I melted into it, my shoulders relaxing, my hands releasing the covers slightly as his warmth seeped into me. It wasn’t the kiss; it was the way it felt. Safe. Warm. Trusting.
That’s what Ollie was—trust. He wasn’t a fleeting moment or a distraction. He was steady, a constant, something immovable in my messy, chaotic life. He didn’t run when things got hard. Hekept coming back, over and over, even when I rejected him. Even when I didn’t know how to let him in.
He still kept coming.
“Come on, love,” he murmured. “We’ve got to get going. We’re going to be late, and I need to get new clothes, otherwise I’ll embarrass myself.”
“New Clothes? Get going?” I furrowed my brows in confusion. “What’re you talking about?”
