Page 44 of Trade It All

There’s nothing rushed in it. Nothing careless. Just… attention. And it does something to me that I don’t know how to explain. By the time he turns the water off, I feel lighter. Not just physically. Like something inside me has shifted into a place that feels… right. He wraps me in a towel before I can reach for one, drying me off with the same quiet focus, the same care that’s been there since he carried me in. And then I’m back in his arms again. Carried. Held. Like it’s the most natural thing in theworld. He brings me back to the bed and lowers me down carefully, like I might break if he moves too fast, like he’s not willing to risk it.

I watch him for a second as he moves around the room, everything about him calmer now, steadier, like he’s settled into something just as much as I have. And when he comes back to me—I don’t hesitate. I let myself sink into it. Into him. Into this. Because for the first time in a long time—everything feels exactly where it’s supposed to be.

The quiet stretches. Not uncomfortable. Not heavy.

Just… still in a way that feels earned, like neither of us is trying to rush out of what just happened, like we’re both sitting in it long enough for it to settle into something real.

I’m curled into him, my cheek resting against his chest, his hand moving slowly along my back in a rhythm that feels absentminded but constant, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn’t stop. My body feels loose, my thoughts slower than usual, like everything sharp has been dulled down into something softer, something easier to hold.

And for a minute—I let myself stay there.

I let myself not think about anything outside of this room. Outside of him. But it doesn’t last. It never does.

“What happens next?” The question slips out before I can stop it, quiet against his chest, but it shifts something immediately, the stillness between us tightening just slightly.

His hand stills for a second before he moves, guiding me up with him until we’re both sitting against the headboard, the space between us changing without disappearing completely.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice steady, but there’s something more focused in it now.

I pull my knees in slightly, my fingers curling into the sheets as I try to organize something that doesn’t feel organized at all.

“I mean… us,” I say, glancing at him, then away again, because it’s easier to say it when I’m not looking directly into his eyes. “We still work together. Everything that made you not want this before… it’s still there.”

My voice dips slightly at the end, quieter now, because that part matters more than I want it to.

“And I’m still with Tyler.” The words feel wrong the second they leave my mouth. Smaller. Weaker. Like they don’t hold the same weight they did yesterday.

“The fuck you are.” His voice cuts through it immediately. Not loud. But sharp enough that it pulls my attention right back to him.

I turn toward him, startled by it, by the certainty in his tone, by the way there isn’t even a second of hesitation in it.

“You don’t have to tell him it’s over for it to be over,” he continues, his gaze locked on mine, intense in a way that makes it hard to look away. “The second he started treating you like that, it was done. You just hadn’t caught up to it yet.”

My chest tightens. Not because I don’t hear him. Because part of me does. Too much.

“We’re together.” He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s already decided. Like there’s no complication sitting behind it at all.

And the way he looks at me—like there isn’t a single reason this shouldn’t work—it does something to me that feels dangerously close to hope.

And that—that’s what snaps it.

Frustration rises fast, cutting through the softness that had settled in my chest just minutes ago, pushing me upright before I even realize I’m moving.

I stand, the shift sudden enough that the air between us changes immediately, and it’s only when I feel it—the way his gaze drops, the way something darker flashes in his eyes—that I remember.

I’m naked.

Heat rushes up my chest, my hand moving quickly, grabbing his t-shirt from where it was tossed earlier and pulling it over my head without thinking, the fabric falling down my thighs in a way that barely covers anything but feels like something.

Like armor. Like distance. I throw my hands up, frustration spilling over now that it’s there, now that I can’t push it back down.

“Why do you get to decide that now?” My voice isn’t quiet anymore. It’s not yelling. But it’s sharp. Hurt wrapped in something stronger. “I tried before,” I push, my chest rising and falling a little too fast now, everything catching up at once. “And you just… couldn’t do it.”

The words hang there, heavier than I want them to be, but I don’t take them back. I can’t.

“Why do you get to decide right now is the time?” I continue, my gaze locking onto his, not looking away this time. “Because of Tyler?” That one stings coming out. I feel it. But I don’t stop. “Did you sleep with me because you felt sorry for me?”