Page 53 of Once Upon a Lie

“I’m s-so sorry,” I whisper, my voice stuttering with leftover tears. “For waking you up and—”

“Don’t apologize,” he cuts me off. “You can’t help this. This isn’t your fault.”

For some reason, his words spur a small laugh from my lungs. “And Rita always talks about how great of a pilot Ken is. He doesn’t seem great at all.”

“No.” Shane chuckles softly. “He should stick to AC installation with both fucking feet on the ground.”

Another small laugh escapes my lungs, and it’s a relief that they’re not feeling as tight as they were. “This is normal, you said?”

He nods. “Very normal.”

“And it’ll pass soon?”

He smiles at me. “It seems to me like it’s already starting to pass.”

I reach up to wipe the tears from my eyes. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”

His jaw moves like he’s deciding what to say, but all I get is a quiet “Yeah.” It’s not casual or dismissive, but it’s the kind of yeah that carries history. Somehow, that one word feels heavier than any story he could’ve told me.

My mind flicks back to earlier, when he told me he used to be a cop. That he was fired. Frankly, it surprised me more than I let on.

I don’t know why. Maybe because it didn’t fit the vision I had conjured up for him? Maybe because it feels completely at war with the man who jumped from his balcony to save my life?

Either way, I don’t press him, and I don’t let my thoughts linger on it. Some truths don’t want daylight right away. I’m a walking, talking expert in that right now. Who we were isn’t who we are. At least, it doesn’t have to be.

He sits beside me on the couch, and his hand finds the small of my back. I let it steady me. His palm is warm through the thin fabric of my shirt, fingers splayed like he’s anchoring me to the couch, to him, and to the moment.

For a while, we don’t talk.

He stays there, right beside me, letting me breathe while my head rests against his chest until my heartbeat slows to something less chaotic.

I’m no longer crying, and my lungs feel like they can expand, but my body’s still trembling. It’s the kind of shaking that starts deep and doesn’t stop.

I wonder if he has it in him to wrap his arms around me until I can fall back asleep? It’s a big ask, but I don’t want to be alone in my own head again, and my bones are so tired they feel restless.

“Shane?” I say.

“Yeah?”

I hesitate, embarrassed, but eventually, I just ask. “Would it be . . . weird if I lay next to you? Just for a bit?”

His expression doesn’t change. No surprise. No hesitation. Just a small nod.

“Of course. Come on,” he says.

He stands, scoops me up before I can protest, and carries me toward his bedroom like I weigh nothing. My arms instinctively circle his neck, and it’s only then I realize how warm his skin is against mine.

He sets me down gently, pulls the covers back, and we settle into a comfortable position, where my back is pressed against his chest and his arm is firmly wrapped around my belly, grounding my body and slowing down the tremble in my muscles and tethering my bones.

His breathing evens out deliberately, slow and measured, like he’s guiding mine without saying a word, and it feels like the first time I’ve stopped falling all day.

The faint scent of his soap and clean cotton fills my head, and my body finally starts to relax, the tremors fading one by one.

“Better?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” I breathe. And I mean it. He feels safe. Steady. Like someone I can trust. Like someone I can ask for comfort—without being weak or a failure.

“Good.”