A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)(28)

When I ran on the island, I had a mantra that flowed through my head in beat to my pace. It went: I-am-do-ing-fine.

I-am-do-ing-fine.

I-am-do-ing-fine.

I would repeat it thousands of times as I peeled off the miles, and habit makes it consume my overwhelmed thoughts. Six miles isn’t enough to kill off the flashes of despair that begins to hit me like sucker punches.

My friends all turned against me.

My father drugged me to shut me up.

Everyone thinks I’m a whore who asked three guys to f*ck her at the same time.

Drew just sat there during the video and let them hurt me.

My own mother didn’t make time to be here my first few days back.

The ache rises up beneath my collarbone, a bubble of pain that will burst and hurt, tearing through my fragile chest like napalm. I know Drew’s behind me, but he’s keeping a respectful distance between us. He must be soaked completely through that suit jacket. Serves him right.

I start to laugh at the thought but my breath chokes in the middle on a sob that is so big it feels like I’ve swallowed the planet. Like it’s a big ball lodged in my throat, something that I can’t breathe around. It’s cut off all the air and I am dying, gagging, unable to breathe or think or— I fall, staggering off to the side, slipping between two bushes down a small little grass-covered hill. I roll on my side, then over and over, three times, until I stop. I only stop because of inertia.

And I still can’t breathe.

Drew’s above me in seconds, stripping off his suit jacket, putting it under my feet and saying my name, over and over, so soft it’s like butterflies kissing my face. He’s unbuttoning his dress shirt and bunching it up, putting it under my neck. I stare, eyes fluttering, scaring away all the beautiful little soul mates who were kissing me moments ago.

Tears form in my eyes and pool until they break, pouring down the sides of my face, dripping into my ear. I roll on my side, hip grinding into a small stone in the grass, and I pull my muscles in, becoming a tight little egg, as if I could form a shell around myself and never let the soft, vulnerable parts touch air.

Wouldn’t that be nice? Too bad it’s impossible.

“Lindsay? You hurt?” Drew’s fingers hover over me. I can tell he wants to touch me, and God help me, I want him to as well. I’m sick, aren’t I? Wanting someone so desperately who betrayed me?

I cannot let go of that thought.

I try and I try and I loop, infinitely perplexed by how something so simple can take over my mind. Easy, right? Walk away. Don’t look back. He’s an * and I am worth more. So much more.

Why do I miss him so much? Why do my instincts override my own self-preservation?

The sob finally breaks open, bursting like a bubble that gets too big, the surface tension stretched until it cannot hold. My body shakes, the effort to stay so curled up getting to me. I press my cheek against the palm of my hand and just break down.

I fall apart.

I die.

Not literally, but it feels like it. Too many pieces of new information. Too many expectations. Too much isolation and too much pain being so close to Drew with a thousand questions and nothing but sheer torture between us. And four years of silence.

His hand touches my shoulder, the gesture kind, and oh, Lord, please forgive me, but I turn toward it, seeking comfort. Seeking a shred of humanity in this sea of nothing but pain.

He reaches for me and sits on the ground, pulling me into his lap and soon I’m in his arms. I collapse. I thought I already had collapsed, but it turns out there’s another layer. Drew smells so good. He’s hot and sweaty and it’s a little stifling, sniffling into his chest. I don’t care. He smells like Drew. The old Drew. The Drew I knew a lifetime ago. The man I loved with every fiber of my being until he turned into someone I didn’t recognize.

Someone who didn’t protect me.

His fingers caress my back, right where my ponytail rests between my shoulder blades. He’s whispering low, soft sounds that are meant to give me comfort. I take it all in, my sweat-soaked shirt pressing against his ribs, my bare calves scratching against the wool of his suit pants. He’s warm and has arms like walls, tight and muscled, a fortress where I can finally, desperately find sanctuary and safety.

“It’s okay, Lindsay,” I realize he’s murmuring. “It’s okay.”

It’s not. It’s really, really, not okay. In fact, right now my entire life is the opposite of okay. But his crooning is so sweet, so needed right now, that I let him say all these words that I know aren’t true just so I can spend a few more minutes in his arms.

My mouth betrays me.

“It’s not okay. It’s never been okay,” I mutter into his white, cotton shirt.

He stiffens, muscles going tense. Drew’s sigh feels like an admission of guilt. “I know. I—I just don’t know what to say to make this all better for you. I hate seeing you like this. I hate knowing you’re coming back to all the bullshit and you don’t know anything about what you’re in for.”

I sniffle. That’s a lot to take in. My fingers clutch the sweaty fabric of his shirt and I stay still, hoping he’ll say more.

He doesn’t.

If I close my eyes and just listen to his heart beating double time, with my ear pressed against his chest, can I make the world go away? Can I hold time in check like this? What if we had a pause button? A big old red button you could push when life turned into a giant tornado of pain.