Spinning Out(The Blackhawk Boy #1)(16)

I sit on the edge of the bed and skim my fingers over his forearm.  "Arrow, wake up." My words are too soft, I know, but I'm afraid I might  startle him and make the nightmare worse. I speak a little louder this  time. "I'm here. It's okay."

He moans softly, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders as his  head stops thrashing and lolls to one side. With each inhale his  breathing grows steadier, and his face relaxes until I feel like the  nightmare has passed and I can leave.

Removing my hand from his forearm, I stand.

"Mia," he murmurs. This time his eyes flutter softly. "Don't leave." He  reaches out and his fingertips brush mine before dropping back to the  bed.

I don't know if he's awake at all or if he'll remember this in the  morning, but I can't resist the pleas of a defenseless Arrow, so I lower  back down to the edge of the bed.

"Thank you," he says. When he wraps his arm around my waist and guides  me into bed with him, I don't resist. My heart practically trembles with  every beat, and tears surge into my throat at the feel of his warm  chest against my back and his arm around my waist. But when I give  myself permission to let him hold me, to stay and close my eyes, I find  sleep is closer than it's been in months.





What am I supposed to do?

Mia is in my bed and in my arms, and I have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do about it.

Vague flashes from last night come back to me. The nightmare. Mia's soft  voice. I'd taken a damn sleeping pill and thought I'd dreamed her. Why  else would she have come so willingly into my arms?

But here she is, and this is definitely not a dream. This is me with a fucking hard-on holding the girl I can never have.

I prop myself up on an elbow and look down at her. Her face is cast in  shadows, and I wish there were more light so I could make out all her  features, so I could memorize the shape of her lips and the flush of her  cheeks as she sleeps.                       
       
           



       

It's a dark, clear-sky night. The kind of night when I like to go out  behind the barn and away from the lights of the main house and stare up  into the stars until I forget I have a body. Until I dissolve and am  nothing but this emptiness floating in the infinite space between here  and forever.

But with Mia in my arms, I don't want to become nothingness. I want to  be here, to relish the feel of skin touching skin, to hear her moan and  see the flash in her eyes before she gives over to the pleasure and  comes apart.

Not trusting myself, I remove my hand from her stomach and back away as  much as I can without shifting the mattress. It would be so easy to  touch her right now. In my bed. In the darkness. I don't need light to  memorize her. I'd use my tongue to trace the shape of her lips, my open  mouth to explore the curve of her hip.

The darkness is the devil on my shoulder, whispering permission to do  everything I can't. To wake her and kiss her. To hold her hands and look  into her eyes as I slide into her. I'm haunted by the catch of her  breath, the arch of her neck as she moans, and I want it all again.  Touching her would give me wings that could pull me from this hell.

But the reprieve would be temporary, and when I fell back down, I'd drag her with me.

I trace the length of her neck and swallow hard. "Mia." Her name is a strangled sound tearing from my throat. "Mia, wake up."

She jerks upright and the blankets fall to her waist.

Don't go. "You need to leave."

"I'm sorry. You . . ." She shakes her head and climbs out of bed. "You asked me to stay."

Because I need you. "I was dreaming."

"Right." She stumbles toward the door, taking all the warmth from my bed  with her, and I feel so fucking weak because I'd swallow my pride whole  to call her back to my bed. To beg her to give me one night. One hour.  One minute in my arms.

But Brogan will never be able to ask her for that again, so why do I think I have the right?

"It's not your job to check on me in the middle of the night," I say.  "Don't confuse me with my baby sister." When she opens the door, she's a  silhouette against the hallway light, and I roll over in bed so I don't  have to watch her leave.

"I don't blame you, you know."

That word. Blame. That word makes my chest ache. It weakens the barriers  that keep all my thoughts trapped inside. I swallow and slowly roll  back to face her. Her back is to the hall, and her arms are wrapped  tightly around her stomach. "Blame me for what?"

"For hating me," she whispers. "I know you hate me and I don't blame you, but I wish . . ." She turns her head.

"You think I hate you?"

She shrugs. "You don't have to pretend otherwise. We just need to find a way we can live together when-"

I throw back the covers and leap out of bed, stepping forward, moving  closer before I can stop myself. Then another step, because I'm drawn to  her scent and her heat, crave it like a marooned man craves water. "I  don't hate you," I growl. I should stop there. The wall between us is  for her more than me. But I can't stop thinking about her response when I  told her she didn't die that night. "Death would be easier."

The words stole my breath and trapped my lungs in a vise-a feeling I relive again and again every time I remember them.

"You don't have to lie," she says. "I see it in your eyes, Arrow."

"I don't hate you," I repeat, grinding the words between clenched teeth. "I want you."

Her gaze jumps to mine and her breath catches, her lips forming a little O of surprise. "You . . ."

"I want you." My eyes have adjusted to the light, and I rake my gaze  over her-the dark tank top with the skinny straps that fall off her  shoulders, those little cotton sleep shorts that make me crazy, those  dark brown eyes full of more goodness than I deserve. I can't have that  goodness. I shouldn't even stand this close. Mia deserves more than a  fuck-up, more than this ugliness I'll never escape, and yet-"Death would  be easier."-I step closer. "I lie here and think about you on the other  side of my wall. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to leave  you to sleep alone in that bed? I want to climb in beside you."

In the back of my mind, I hear my counselor from rehab. Don't expect  more from your willpower than it can handle. You're human. You have  weaknesses. Stay away from the things you crave, and you'll never have  to be stronger than those weaknesses.
                       
       
           



       
Drugs were never my weakness. But Mia . . .

Her tongue darts out, leaving her bottom lip wet. I take another step  forward and skim my knuckles against her waistband. "I want to slip my  hand into these fucking mind-scrambling cotton shorts you sleep in and  remind you that you're still alive."

"Arrow." She breathes in my name like it's air, and I want to be closer  so she can breathe in all of me. I'd give her my last breath if it would  fix this.

"I want to take off your clothes." I grab a fistful of her shirt, then  release it. Now that I've started, it's like I can't stop. "I want to  spread your legs and see if being inside you could possibly be as  incredible as I remember."

She draws in a ragged breath and lifts her arms to the side. "Then do it."

I flinch. She offers her body while her mind is full of sadness. "I  can't," I say. "Because more than any of that"-I swallow hard-"I want to  be worthy of half the attention you give a dead man." But I'm not.

I step back, and she grabs my shirt in her fist before I can retreat another step. "Don't," she says.

"Mia . . ."

"Don't say things like that to me and then walk away."

"I shouldn't say things like that at all. We both know it." I close my  eyes and take a deep breath, drawing in her sweet scent, leaning into  her heat. "And I have to walk away. Just like I should have that night  at the lake."

She releases my shirt. "You are worthy," she says, and rushes from the room.

You are worthy. I hold my breath because out of Mia's mouth, the words  feel true, and I want to cling to that feeling as long as I can.





"Where are your books?"

Bailey plops down on the couch next to me and leans her head against my  shoulder. We used to sit like this all the time. For one semester, I  kind of felt like a normal college student, living in this apartment  with Bailey, attending classes at Terrace, going out with Brogan. But  death is expensive, and any emergency fund I had was drained by Nic's  funeral, and then there was the issue of tending to Dad. The day after  we buried my brother, Dad's lights were turned off for nonpayment, and I  found out he hadn't paid rent on the trailer lot in almost a year.