Unforgiven(25)

“Thanks,” I say quietly. The doors open and everyone begins to exit. I stay firmly rooted in the corner, letting everyone off first. Jonah stays put behind me the entire time, his hands still holding me firmly on the hips.
“After you,” he says, nudging me toward the open elevator doors. He releases my hips, but grabs my hand and pulls me gently out of the elevator and down the hallway.
“I’m fine, Jonah. I’ve got this.”
“You’re not fine. You’re drunk and were swaying all over that elevator.”
“I said I’m fine.” I pull my hand from his and fumble with my clutch to get my key out. Jonah pulls his keys from his front pocket and tosses them at one of the guys standing outside his door.
“Let yourselves in,” he says as he pulls the clutch from my hand and unzips it.
“Jonah!”
“Lindsay, quit acting childish and let me help you.” He opens the clutch and pulls out the key, tossing the black leather clutch back to me. I of course miss catching it, and it falls to the ground, spilling my license, credit cards, cash, and those little white pills that have become my best friend everywhere. He pauses as he looks at everything spilled on the ground, then bends down to pick up the scattered contents. I scramble to my knees to grab the pills, but he’s too quick for me.
“What are these?” he questions me, reaching out and picking up a couple of the white pills. He studies them, then closes his long fingers around the pills. I stay silent, reaching for the cash and my license that are still lying on the ground. “Tell me you aren’t mixing pills with alcohol, Lindsay.” I remain silent as I stuff the cash and license back into my clutch. His large hand wraps around my wrist and squeezes me tightly, causing me to gasp.
“Answer me,” he bites out. “I know what those are. Tell me you aren’t taking those with alcohol.”
“Why do you care?” I whisper.
“Because that’s what those assholes do.” He nods his head toward the door of his condominium. “And they’re fucking stupid,” he says, releasing my wrist and running both of his hands through his hair.
We sit for a moment in silence, looking at each other, both contemplating what to say, what to do next. In one quick movement, he stands up and holds out his hands for me take. I reach out and let him pull me to my feet. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me toward him and into a hug—and I let him hug me and hold me while I fall apart in his arms.
I cry because I’m sad and embarrassed, but mostly because I’m angry at myself for using pills to hide everything I’m feeling. Jonah holds me while I cry, his grasp firm and tight. He’s silent, but sometimes no words are needed, just the presence of a friend when you’re coming unglued and a firm hug are all you need.
“Come on; let’s get you inside,” he whispers against the top of my head. I nod and sniffle while I swat at tears that continue to fall from my eyes. He keeps me close as he unlocks the door to my condo and reaches in to flip on a light. A single hanging light flickers to life above the kitchen island, and I kick off my heels just inside the door. Jonah stands and watches me for a moment before closing the door and turning the deadbolt.
“Go. You have people at your place waiting on you.” I begin pulling off my earrings, bracelets, and necklace, piling them up on top of each other on the granite island.
“I’d rather be here—with you,” he says quietly.
“I’m just going to shower and go to bed.”
“No. Talk to me,” he says as he crosses the kitchen and takes a seat on the oversized sofa.
“Jonah, I’m tired… and I’ve had a lot to drink.” I hiccup as if on cue. He smirks at me, then pats the cushion next to him.
“Sit.”
My bare feet pad against the wood floor and I throw myself down on the couch dramatically. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You.” His voice is direct, firm. His dark brown eyes drink me in. He watches my every move.
“I’m very boring, I promise.”
“Why the pills, Lindsay?” Whoa; he just jumps right in there, doesn’t he?
“Jonah, look…”
“I’m worried about you, Lindsay. You’re all over the place—happy, sad, and angry. One minute I’m the only friend you have and the next, you act like you can’t stand me. You won’t make eye contact with me and you act like a bitch. What’s going on?”
I contemplate how much I should tell him—how much I want to tell him. I find myself chewing on my bottom lip, my tongue running over a small piece of dry skin, while his dark brown eyes watch me intently.