Page 186 of The Lies We Play

His. Mine.

Both too fast.

He lowers himself carefully, like even now he is thinking about my bruises, my ribs, the places the season marked me. His face presses into my neck. His mouth is hot there. His hand still holds mine.

I don’t let go.

Neither does he.

We stay like that for a long time, tangled, slick. Trembling, the room too bright around us, the sheets ruined, my body open and spent beneath his. His heartbeat pounds against my chest. Mine answers just as hard.

It occurs to me, slowly, that I am happy.

After a whileHalston lifts his head.. His eyes move over my face in that searching way that should annoy me by now, but never does.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod.

He doesn’t accept it.

Of course, he doesn’t.

“Creed.”

I swallow. My throat feels raw from breathing, from wanting, from being known this closely and surviving it.

“I miss her, but I’m okay,” I say.

His thumb moves over my knuckles.

The words are not enough. I can tell by his face. He needs the truth, and somehow, after all of that, I still try to reach for a safer one.

I fail.

“I’m better than okay,” I say. “I’m fucking alive.”

His face softens so fast I have to look away.

He kisses my forehead.

It should not undo me. It does.

Then he eases out slowly, careful even with that, and I wince as my body protests the loss before it registers relief. Halston notices. His hand goes to my hip, rubbing once, a quiet apology. He rolls to the side and pulls me with him before I can make some useless comment about needing a formal recovery plan.

I let him.

We lie facing each other, legs tangled, our breath starting to even out. He keeps one hand at the base of my spine, fingers tracing slow circles that make my body go warm in a different way. Not exactly aroused. Held.

That word moves through me before I can stop it.

Held.

I close my eyes.

Halston is the first to speak.

“So,” he says, voice rough. “How do you feel?”