My chest heaved in and out. Each breath was a painful reminder that another person in my life was unreliable. I didn’t blame him, but I did. I didn’t hate him, but I hated all the shitty situations and decisions he’d ever made. “Oh, Blakely,” Decker cooed before wrapping his arms around me. He pulled me into a sincere hug, and I nestled my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting smell. “Did your dad say these guys were dangerous? Are they going to come after you?” Decker asked while holding me.
“I saw one of them staring at us as we drove away. I don’t think they’re going to come after me. But I don’t really know,” I said.
“Should we call the police? Do you know what these guys looked like?”
I squeezed him tighter before answering, my words were muffled because my lips were pressed against his pulse. “I told Dad we should call his parole officer, but he said she wouldn’t be able to do anything. I feel so helpless,” I explained.
Decker placed his hands on my shoulder and put me at arm’s reach. Bending over, he peered into my eyes as if trying to gauge the pain within their green depths. “I’m gonna figure something out, okay? Lance and I have been talking about taking you to Chicago. Maybe it’s time we take a weekend trip. Get away for a little bit and give your dad time to get out of town. In the meantime, I have a friend on the force that could possibly help us. I know you’re worried about your dad, but you are my priority.”
I couldn’t meet Decker’s gaze anymore. It felt too intimate, too important. So instead, I looked down at the ground and let hope bleed out of my lungs on an exhale. Decker was giving me his air. “What about Dad? Who’s gonna make him a priority?” I asked.
“He’s a grown man, and he’s going to make himself the priority for now. I’ll talk to Lance as soon as he gets home, and we will go to Chicago. You’ve already missed two days this week, might as well miss a third,” Decker said while giving me a pointed stare I could feel in my bones. He used his index finger to lift my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye once more.
“Are you going to tell Lance?” I asked. “Dad didn’t want me to tell anyone.”
“Why did you tell me?” Decker asked, avoiding the comment about Lance.
“Because even if things have been weird between us, I trust you. I’ve never had someone I could run to when I was upset.”
Decker’s thumb brushed across my lips like he was praising them for the words I’d said. I had to force myself not to open up and taste his skin. “You trust me,” he replied, awe painting his tone. “You can trust Lance, too. You can tell him, or I will. Either way, he cares about you and deserves to know what’s going on.”
On a whim, I wrapped my arms around Decker’s neck and stole another hug. I claimed his confidence and comfort as my own, letting the heat of his skin bolster me as I trembled in his arms. “Okay,” I whispered.
I felt Decker’s lips press against my forehead, and I closed my eyes to revel in the feel of his lips on my skin. It felt warm. It felt like home. It felt like safety and contentment and happiness. I had never had someone that was like a safe place to land. My life was full of turbulence, and Decker was like my calm in the eye of the storm.
“Blakely, you’re killing me here. I hate seeing you like this,” he murmured.
“I hate feeling like this. I’m worried about him.”
“We got this, okay?”
“Okay. What if they go after you guys, too? I don’t know how these things work. I don’t know what these men are capable of.”
Decker gave me a confident grin. “I’d like to see them try. Come on, Blakely. We won’t let anything happen—I won’t let anything happen. I care too much about you for that.”
Those words reminded me just how much Decker and I needed to discuss. We needed to talk about what happened last night and what was building between us. We needed to figure out how to stop this inevitable pull.
But we didn’t bring any of it up. Decker guided me to the couch and sat me down, threading his fingers through mine as he pressed his body to my side, offering wordless solace as I stared at the television. “When did you say Lance would be back?” I asked.
“I don’t know. He’s very picky about his beer, goes to a local brewery across town to get his pretentious IPA.”
I laughed. That seemed like a very Lance thing to do. We sat there in silence for a moment. Our skin kept brushing, but I wanted more.
It wasn’t until his pinky finger caressed the outside of my knee that I caved. “I need you, Decker,” I whispered as I crawled into his lap, draping my legs over his thighs. I wrapped my arms around his neck, curling my body against his chest.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a soft voice.
“I just need a minute,” I rasped. I was sad and stupid and scared. I was reckless. I was redundantly predictable, using a vulnerable moment as an excuse to cling to Decker Harris for dear life.
“One minute, Blakely. That’s it.”
I trailed my fingers up and down his chest. He gasped. I nestled closer. He stiffened. I breathed him in and moaned against his skin.
He kissed me.
He consumed me.
He tasted my soul and asked for more.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he groaned against my lips, the tenor tone vibrating against my mouth. His sweeping tongue invaded my moans with fervor, making me grow hot with shame. I shouldn’t kiss him. I shouldn’t do this, here, now, anywhere, anytime.
I tore my lips from him, and it felt like severing a limb. Phantom pain rocked through my body. “I’m sorry,” I whispered while shaking my head. Here I was, fucking up our precarious relationship once more. “You’re trying to comfort me, and I jump your fucking bones. What is wrong with me? Dad is on the run for his fucking life, and I’m here doing this,” I hissed before gesturing between us then slamming my palm against my forehead. I went to move off his lap, but Decker held me still, his arms like steel cages locking me in.
“Nothing is wrong with you,” he cooed before gently removing my hand from my face. He gently kissed my palm, peppering affection along the lifelines grooved into my skin while keeping his eyes locked on me. “Not a single”—kiss—“damn”—kiss—“thing”—kiss—“is wrong with you, Blakely Stewart.”
“We should stop,” I murmured.
“We should,” he agreed.
“Are we going to?”
“No.”
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. His arms wrapped tighter around me, crushing my bones against his hard muscles. “What about Lance? Your job?” I prodded.
“We’ll figure it out. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t even know what this is.”
“Let’s not define it by nothings and somethings anymore,” I whispered. I didn’t want this to be a momentary lapse in Decker’s judgment. It felt like this brief allowance of intimacy was a slow-moving train wreck. Once the metal crunched and the tires screeched, he’d remember why this wasn’t a good idea. Decker was simply triggered by his hero complex. He was motivated by the idea that this time, he could step in front of the metaphorical bullet, and I was selfish enough to let him. I couldn’t handle the disappointment if he declared anything tonight then went back on it tomorrow. I’d already lost one person with good intentions today.