All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(59)

He bought his ticket for that late-night flight as they wove through traffic and streaked along straightaways, then managed to send Marcus a quick message of reassurance despite the rough ride.

Going to fix this. Don’t worry.

He wasn’t talking about his career. But his best friend likely knew that already.

ALEX SHOWED UP at her duplex just before one in the morning. Which was only appropriate, since they’d often gone for their nightly walks around that same time.

It was a sign, he decided. A definite sign.

When she answered his peremptory knock and repeated doorbell-ringing, she didn’t look like she’d been sleeping. She did, however, look like she’d been dragged backward through several different circles of hell.

“You look like shit,” he told her. “Being away from me doesn’t suit you.”

She did not seem especially impressed by his opening conversational salvo. Lips in a thin, tight line, she merely stood in her doorway and looked up at him, eyes puffy and red-rimmed from traveling fatigue.

“Such a terrible hostess.” Dramatically sagging under the weight of his very light suitcase, he shook his head at her. “But if you require a lesson in appropriate etiquette, I’m here to assist. According to Miss Manners, you should invite me in, lest I collapse on your front porch from exhaustion. It’s the only polite thing to do.”

On second thought, perhaps that wasn’t the best advice, given Lauren’s overly generous nature.

Quickly, he clarified, “But if any other dude shows up at this hour of the night, don’t invite him in. He could be a miscreant. Or a vampire. Although maybe that’s covered under the miscreant umbrella?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then moved to the side of the doorway and waved him in. “Just shut up and come inside, Alex.”

Once he did, he found himself oddly unsure what to do with his hands.

Given his druthers, he’d tug her close. He’d wrap her in his arms and hold her, basking in her proximity, reassuring himself that whatever relationship they’d formed hadn’t simply ended.

Wren was absurdly, wonderfully round. Abundant, despite her diminutive height. She’d be soft and warm under his hands and against his body.

He wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel her.

But his proposal would impose the same old barrier between them, so he needed to keep his hands to himself. Accordingly, he set his small suitcase on the wooden floor and lowered the handle, then folded his arms across his chest.

Wren had changed into one of those faded, oversized tees she used as nightgowns, and her bare legs appeared especially pale against the darkness of the living room. The only light filtered in from the bedroom, where she’d apparently turned on a lamp.

They were alone in her house at night. Her bed might be rumpled. Welcoming.

He caught himself studying her legs again, and quickly glanced away.

They stood there in her small, dim apartment, staring at each other for a long minute. He blinked first, because of course he blinked first. Lauren was a fucking machine. A Terminator, as he’d once informed Marcus, albeit a very short one.

Finally, as if on cue, they spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” they both said, and frowned at one another.

Then, in unison once more, “You shouldn’t be sorry.”

More frowning.

“You first,” they both said, and Alex couldn’t help it.

He laughed until his eyes were wet again, and the crushing weight in his chest had lessened enough for him to draw something near a full breath.

When he calmed, there was still no levity in her expression or those lovely eyes. Then again, she hadn’t heard either his apology or his plan yet, so he wouldn’t count that as defeat.

“Because I’m nothing if not a gentleman”—he polished an imaginary monocle—“please speak first. While keeping in mind that if you apologize for anything, I may have to murder you. Thus proving my point: You shouldn’t let strange men into your apartment.”

Not even a lip twitch. Dammit.

“Murder me as necessary, but I need to say it.” Her voice was gravelly, hoarse, and entirely determined. “I’m so sorry you endangered your career because of an insult to me. As soon as I understood that was even a possibility, I should have resigned and told Ron to find you a new companion.”

If she took one of those Which Gods of the Gates Character Are You? quizzes, she’d definitely be Atlas, the poor bastard. No question about it.

“Jesus Christ, Wren.” He heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Why are you so determined to be a martyr? I’m not sorry I caused problems for myself. I’m sorry I caused problems for you. Along with a few other people, but they’re not my priority right now. You are.”

Her brow furrowed even further, which he hadn’t thought physically possible. “What do you mean?”

“You needed time before deciding where to work next, and you needed money to buy you that time.” He hung his head. “When I lost my temper at Ron, I took away your extra time and income, and I apologize. You have every right to be angry with me.”

She held up a palm, her expression twisting in distress. “You were trying to avenge me, Alex. Because you were upset on my behalf. How in the world could I be angry at you for that?”

God, he wanted to roll his eyes so damn much. But he couldn’t, not with her obvious confusion and remorse and … whatever else was carving deep lines into those distinctive features.