Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(59)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“Oh, Jill. I’m so sorry for your friend,” he says, and he reaches across the bed, but doesn’t take my hand. Just rests his near mine. All he wants is to comfort me, but I don’t deserve it. I swipe a hand across my cheek.

“He’s gone. He’s gone because I didn’t love him enough.”

“No,” Davis says firmly. “No. That’s not why he’s gone. He’s gone because he had an illness. He’s gone because he needed help and he didn’t get it. He’s gone because there were other things at play in his head, and in his heart. He’s not gone because of you. You did everything you could.”

“But it wasn’t enough!” I shout, and slam my fist into the bed. Then in a low voice, laced with pain. “It wasn’t enough.”

He inches closer. “And it might not ever have been enough. You might have knocked on their door every day. You might have warned them every day. And it still might have happened. But you told them. You did what you were supposed to do. And I’m not blaming them, no one’s to blame. But you tried and they didn’t see what was happening, and even if they did they might not have been able to stop it. That’s the absolute f**king tragedy of all of this. That far too many people feel things only inside themselves,” he says, and he taps on his chest to make his point. “And they don’t tell anyone. They don’t share. He was going through something awful in his head and his heart and he didn’t know what to do. And now you are. And you’ve been beating yourself up for years over this, haven’t you?”

I sigh, a long, low keening sigh full of years of regret. “Yes,” I whisper.

“But you have to let it go. You have to move on.” He reaches for my hand, and I hate and I love that contact from him is what I need. I hate it because I can’t rely on anyone. And I love it because I want to rely on him. I let him take my hand and when he does, I don’t feel numb anymore. I scoot forward and throw my arms around him, bury my head in his chest, and let all the unshed tears fall, until his shirt is streaked with my regret.

“You have to forgive yourself,” he whispers as he holds me tight, rocking me gently. “Life is tragic. I know that firsthand. But things happen. And this happened. And all you can do is keep on living, because you did do everything you could. And sometimes everything you can do still isn’t enough, but that’s life. And that’s death. And that’s the way it is.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, as if I can hold in the one thing that’s still gnawing away at my heart. “But what if I can’t love you like that? What if I can’t love you enough? What if it happens again?”

He places his fingers under my chin and makes me look at him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, the slightest trace of a smile on his face. “Jill, when I said I can’t imagine being without you, it’s a figure of speech. It’s because I don’t want to be without you. It’s not because I’m going to kill myself if I can’t. I like myself too much. Trust me, I won’t go quietly from this lifetime. I will be kicking and screaming. I will be fighting and working and loving until my last dying day. I want you, and I want you to be mine. But you have to know I only want you if I can have you, all of you. I want your body, and I want your heart, and I want your mind, and I hope you feel the same,” he says, then takes a beat to make sure I’m still here, still listening.

I meet his gaze head on, and he keeps going. “But if you don’t, I will survive, and I will keep on living. You don’t have to put me on a pedestal and love me from afar like you did with Patrick so you wouldn’t get hurt, and so you wouldn’t hurt somebody,” he says to me in the most tender gentle voice. But one that cuts through all my defenses and walls. One that understands deeply how I’ve lived my life for six years. I’ve never told a soul why I thought I loved Patrick, and yet he understands, because he knows me better than anyone ever has. “Because we will hurt each other, and we will fight, and we will argue. And sometimes it’ll be less than perfect. But it’ll be real. Every second of it will be completely real.”

Real.

That word echoes in my mind, and in my body, and all the way through to my heart. To my frozen, make believe heart that’s been on standstill for six long years. That’s been protecting me, and saving me from the possibility of heartbreak, the possibility of pain. But Davis is right. I did everything I could, and I can’t keep punishing myself by living a life of make believe. I might do it on stage, but I don’t want that when the curtain falls. I want a real life, and real love, and real pain.

I fidget with the collar on his shirt then play with top button. I am all nerves, but also determination, as I let go and place my hands on his cheeks, looking at him. My throat feels dry and raspy, and no amount of acting, or singing, or running has ever prepared me for what I’m about to say. I’m winging it, improvising and going completely off script, as I speak from the heart.

“I think I’m in love with you too,” I whisper.

He plays with a strand of my hair as he raises an eyebrow. “You think?”

I nod, and manage a smile. “Fine,” I say in a faux begrudging voice. “I know.”

Then I wrap my arms around him and everything—Every. Single. Thing.—about this moment hurts and feels right at the same time.

“Will you spend the night?” I ask. “But just to sleep. That’s all I can do right now.”

“Of course.”

I undo my ponytail as he takes off his shirt and jeans and leaves them on a chair in the corner of my room. He’s wearing only snug black boxer briefs, and even though I’ve been so ready to get him undressed, I’m glad he is right now but for a different reason. So I can feel the closeness with him, the connection between us with his warm body next to mine, skin against skin, as he joins me under the covers, holding me near all through the night.

Chapter 22

Jill

“I like your casual shirt, but you looked pretty good the other night in a tux too,” I say as Davis buttons his shirt the next morning. “I don’t think anyone has ever looked so good in a tux before.”

“Because it’s tailored for me,” he says with a sly smile.

I pretend to smack my forehead. “Of course,” I say and roll my eyes playfully. “Of course you own a tux.”

“What? You think I’d rent one?”