Page 33 of What Hurts Us

Before my brain could make sense of what my body was doing, I was crossing the room on silent feet and kneeling at her slide. Layla had her knees tucked up by her chest and was facing the back of the couch. Slowly, I wedged my arms beneath her and lifted, pulling her against my chest.

My tibia sang as I rose to my feet. The ricocheting reminder of the paces my PT team had put me through made my head spin, but Layla never stirred. Never sensed anything but safety and security.

That’s what I could give her. I had nothing else to offer. A woman like her? Smart, funny, painfully beautiful, with a tender heart—she’d be selling herself short with a bastard like me.

I let myself indulge in the feel of her soft curves against me as I carefully carried her up the stairs. When I edged the door to the guest room open with my foot, I was hit with the scent of her perfume. Warm and feminine with a sexy edge. The bed had been made in a rush, the covers still mussed.

Layla’s cheek pressed against my chest as I laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her body.

“Cal?” she murmured. Her lips were turned down in a frown, brows furrowed. But her eyes never opened. She never woke.

Tenderly, I brushed her hair away from her face and cupped her cheek. It had been ages since I’d felt a woman’s velvet skin like that. “Get some sleep, honey.”

12

LAYLA

Callum Fletcher was carrying me up the stairs.

Holy freaking smokes, Batman.Callum Fletcher was carrying me bridal-style up the stairs.

Maybe I was hallucinating. That had to be it. It was the melatonin I’d popped as soon as I walked in the door. I fell asleep on the couch before I could finish off the cereal I’d poured.

I had been scooped off the cushions and was now being cradled against a warm expanse of chest that seemed to have been chiseled out of marble. He smelled like cedar and warm spices.

Cal let out a quiet grunt as he eased up the last few steps. I couldn’t believe he carried me up the stairs, given the condition of his still-healing tibia. Sure, he was a few inches taller than me and twice as wide—all muscle, broad shoulders, and narrow hips. Still, I was not a small woman.

I topped out at five-foot-nine. Five-ten if I was in my flight boots. I was in that awkward middle ground where I didn’t have bombshell curves, but I certainly wasn’t a waif either.

My shoulders always felt a little too broad. My boobs were average, and given that I crushed them with a sports bra, they erred on the smaller side. My waist was boxy with wide ribs and narrow hips. There was no gap between my thighs.

But Callum cradling me against his chest like I was light as a feather—it made all those insecurities disappear. I wanted to lay with him, curl into his arms, and sleep like I didn’t have a care in the world.

I waffled in the twilight zone for a moment as he laid me down on my bed and pulled the thick patchwork quilt up to my shoulders. “Cal?”

I wasn’t sure if I’d said it or thought it.

Right when I thought he would walk away, Callum cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking across my skin.Back and forth. Back and forth.“Get some sleep, honey.”

Honey.I liked that one.

* * *

I tiptoed down the stairs,still wiping sleep from my eyes as I moved like a zombie toward the kitchen. I was fairly convinced that it hadn’t been an exhaustion-fueled dream and that Cal had carried me up to bed.Convinced and turned on by it.

Any time he initiated physical contact, my stomach flipped, and shivers slid up my back.

I glanced at the coffee table.Huh. No cereal bowl. Maybe I had dreamed it all.

But the moment I stepped into the kitchen, that hypothesis changed.

My cereal bowl had been washed and was now drying in the dish drainer. Droplets of water still clung to the blue-glazed porcelain.

The clock on the microwave said it was an hour before dinner. Cal was home tonight. Or at least he was off work. I didn’t actually know what his plans were. We hadn’t gotten very far into figuring out how this worked. Sure, we were faking it. That much was clear. But I didn’t know if that meant living as if we didn’t exist to each other when we didn’t have to be “on.”

A plan began to take form in my mind. I’d scout out the kitchen for more than a cereal bowl, make a quick grocery run, and cook dinner. It would be a small thank you considering he saved me from the skid-mark motel room I would have been stuck in.

From what I had observed thus far, Cal survived on sandwiches, takeout, and an absurd amount of freezer casseroles in aluminum pans.

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