Heating Up the Holidays 3-Story Bundle(82)

Because this isn’t twists and turns, this is skidding and ugly and my feet catching in bricks and the falling snow covering my progress before I am even close to the middle.

I’m not meditating, I’m falling, and getting up and I’m sobbing, right out here in this fucking-stupid empty courtyard and my rough sobs echo off the brick walls all around me, and there is something about that, anyway, about the sound of my ugly crying bouncing around while I fall and kick and skid in this fucking-stupid snow that is right, finally.

The whole world should feel how dumb this snow is, how it covers everything up, how you can’t fucking see anything, how cold it is, how it stops everything, keeps people from living their lives, going to school, going to work, how it can hurt people.

I kick, and I cry, and I even run, my circles smaller and smaller, and then I fall again, a really hard fall, on my side, it takes me right out, shocking me with a whomp of pain and a sudden loss of control.

I’m breathing hard, and my whole side is throbbing, so I just curl up, right where I am, wrapped up in my giant green coat, on the ground, in the middle of the courtyard, and I listen to myself cry and cry, hoarse and loud in the empty courtyard, the snow and crumbled ice painful against my face, the bricks hard and cold against my hip.

And then I’m not alone.

I can barely see him, my eyes so swollen and streaming, and I can’t even process that he’s here, anyway, on the ground next to me, pulling me into his stupid arms, pulling me close to his body and scooting a leg under my hip so I’m not really on the ground anymore.

It’s awkward, and our scraping and hitching and scrabbling against the ground and the broken-up ice is loud, but then, it’s just Evan, all around me, tight and warm.

On the ground, in the courtyard, the snow coming down on us like it means to cover us up in a drift.

I don’t stop crying.

I can’t, I can’t.

But every time I hunch around another sob, he pulls me tighter, and now he’s rocking me, rocking me in his arms, on the ground, the ground I kicked and ruined, and I can feel snow landing in my ear, but nowhere else, because he’s holding me so close to his body, away from the elements.

“Shhh,” he breathes, but I can tell he doesn’t really mean it, it’s just something you say to someone you find weeping on the ground in the middle of a snowstorm. He actually means I can cry as long as I need to, and he’ll weather it with me, right here, right where he found me.

Right where I’m at.

“Shhh,” he says again, and I’m crying so much into his neck and shoulder, it’s wet, and when I try to mop him with my mitten, he stops me and pulls us up to sitting, and hauls me into his lap, my head under his chin.

“You didn’t fasten your coat.”

“I saw you through my office window.”

“Oh.”

“I was taking my coat off, watching the snow, and saw you fall.”

“Okay.”

I can’t seem to say more than inane things, but he just holds me, still rocking, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t start conversation.

We haven’t had a real conversation since we met at the coffee shop. He’s checked in, wanted to meet and talk.

I’ve told him I need to think.

He’s let me think, which means I’ve kept his secret, too.

Now he’s here, and right now I don’t care what’s between us, what’s underneath, not when I need to be held by someone who’s already seen me cry.

I can hear wind rushing through the gaps between the big campus buildings, and the hum of HVAC systems trying to keep up against the cold.

Evan’s breath against my ear.

The crunch of his sneaker against a chunk of ice as he sways with me in his arms.

My arms are folded between us, and finally, I push a little and he loosens his hold around me.

His face is reddened from the cold, his hair has blown everywhere, wet with snow and melting snow.

His eyes look so blue.

His dark brows are all wrinkled up, all worried, and I pull off my mitten, and I put my hand over his forehead. His skin is so cold, my hand is warm, and he closes his eyes while I press away his worry.

I drag my hand down over his jaw, his stubble is soft, long.

I watch my fingers rub over his lips, and he watches me.

I push my first finger against his lower lip, and he opens his mouth, draws in my finger, sucks, and then I close my eyes. It feels more intimate than sexy though it’s a little sexy. I scrape along his bottom teeth as I pull my finger away.

His hands are cold as he traces over my cheeks, and it feels perfect where the tears have burned. He cups my whole face in his hands, and his cold palms make me blow out a breath with the relief of physical comfort.