Page 82 of Beautifully Messy
Seven.
Dread coils deep in my stomach.
Six.
Five.
The noise swells around us, the room’s energy electric. All I feel is what he’s expecting.
Four.
Three.
Two.
The room erupts as the ball drops, voices rising in celebration. Mason’s hands tighten. His mouth crashes into mine. His lips taste of champagne and control. I choke on the memory of the deck. The revulsion is instant and total. I pull back, breaking the kiss, and throw myself toward the nearest people—Jules, Tom, anyone but him. Searching. But I don’t see the man I’m looking for. Ivy stands with her friends, laughing, nowhere near James when midnight struck.
I slip outside onto the back deck in desperate need of fresh air. Cold air whips around me, the scent of pine and distant smoke riding the breeze as I take a deep, steadying breath, gathering my strength for the next steps forward.
“Having a good New Year’s?” His deep voice comes out of the shadows. He’s leaning against the side of the house near the stairs, already out here. “Wanna come over here, away from all those windows?”
I smile and close the distance. James settles a blanket over my shoulders, his hand resting on my elbow as he leads me down the stairs, away from prying eyes.
“I heard you talked to my mom.”
“Yeah, we had a great conversation. I loved her. I’m going to help.”
I don’t tell him the rest. How Vera’s words burrowed beneath my ribs and haven’t let go since.
“You took my breath away tonight.” His voice is silk against my neck. “I love the haircut. Any reason you decided to do it?”
I exhale slowly, my fingers tracing the sharp, smooth line of his jaw. That lopsided grin spreads across his face. Without thinking, I let my fingertip press gently into his dimple.
“Any reason you shaved?” I counter, my touch featherlight, tracing the warmth of his skin.
His eyes find mine. Dark, hungry, and so damn soft. “Felt like it was time.”
I suck in a breath. “Me too.”
“I don’t want to push you, but tonight is about new beginnings.” James captures my hands, interlacing our fingers. “Sydney, let me be your family. You, me, and Anna.”
His grip tightens around my fingers. “I’m in love with you.” He lifts our clasped hands and presses his lips to the back of my hand. “Please. Trust me. I’m yours.”
I stare into his eyes, and I feel it: certainty. I know what I want. I can take his hand and walk away from a life that has been more about surviving than living. I don’t have to fear it if we both choose it. And he’s shown me repeatedly that he’s choosing me.
Leaning my head against his chest, I breathe in his cologne, warm spice and something I could live inside forever. I feel his heartbeat against my body and give myself a moment to find the words.
But as I open my mouth—
“Syd, you out here?”
Mason.
Ice floods my veins. I jerk back instinctively.
Mason catching us would be catastrophic. The memory of his hands on the deck, the way he grabbed me, flashes through my mind. What would he do if he caught us?
Panic grips my insides.
