I felt bad for barging into Jameson's bedroom at three in the morning, but logic wasn't exactly my forte after the flashback I'd just encountered.
Usually the memories ambushed me during the day, weaving in and out of school and mealtimes, which is why I knew something was wrong when they started plaguing my dreams too. The PTSD seemed less tolerable during the night, when my only source of light was a sliver of moon suspended in the sky.
"Jameson," I whispered, wincing at how his door creaked as I entered the overstated bedroom. Although I spent most days with him, I'd never seen his room other than glances when he wasn't looking.
We tended to be at school, downstairs, or lounging in my own room. Tonight, howbeit, was an exception.
To my dismay, Jameson didn't respond.
I could vaguely make out the outline of his bed, and the heavy breathing confirmed that there was indeed someone there. I just hoped it was really Jameson and not one of his brothers.
How awkward would it be if this was Nash's bedroom?
As the scent of alcohol met my nose, though, I backpedaled my worry and decided that it was most definitely Jameson.
Nobody in this household got drunk more than him.
I edged closer to his four-poster bed, trying to scrub at the tears still threatening to pour. My whole body was overcome with goosebumps, and I knew once I acknowledged them they would be accompanied by shivers. Just another thing I didn't need.
"Jameson," I hissed, forcing back the whimper in my throat.
I refused to look weak, even if I desperately needed a hug and a promise I'd be okay.
The figure in bed stirred but didn't wake, prompting me to reach out and squeeze his arm. "Please, Jamie."
Green eyes opened, only visible by a trail of moonlight slipping through the windowpane.
"Heiress," he rasped, rubbing his eyes. "Don't you know I need my beauty sl —"
Before he could tap off his ridiculous statement, the sobs began to escape me. The first was the most embarrassing due to the tension, but I couldn't say the ones that followed were much less mortifying.
I started to wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep a handle on all the emotion deep inside me, but Jameson grabbed me before I could.
He shadowed a string of curse words under his breath. "Heiress?"
"I can't breathe," I whimpered, trying with all my heart to not hyperventilate in his warm, strong arms.
"Yes you can." Jameson scooped an arm around my waist and latched gazes. "Part those soft lips for me."
I did as he asked, because I truly felt helpless.
"Inhale with me, Heiress." He sucked in a strand of air and I did the same, holding it until he invited me to let it go for a full seven seconds.
I coughed during the first trial-run, but by the third my heartbeat was beginning to stabilize.
"Inhale," Jamie instructed for the fourth time, eyes still on me. "Now exhale."
I practiced with him for a couple minutes.
We didn't talk, other than his brief commands, but that was good. I was still trying to calm that rapid heartbeat of mine.
"You're holding your breath again," Jameson reminded me as I snuggled closer to him.
I blew the breath out and imagined all my worries were being whisked away too. It wasn't so, of course, but Jameson began to heal my bruised heart as he kissed me behind the ear.
"Good girl," he murmured into my ear, and the provocative rasp of his voice had me shivering all over again. Jameson seemed to notice, because his predatory tone softened as he added, "Just keep breathing, Avery."
My heart paused at the sound of my real name. It wasn't often I saw that word lingering on his lips, and even less often that he was addressing me formally.
"You never call me by my name," I whispered, leaning my back against his bed-frame.
"This isn't funny to me," Jameson said. "I hate seeing you like this."
"Like what?" I demanded.
Jameson tore a hand through his hair and slipped out of his bed to pace the floor. His absence on my left was apparent; goosebumps assaulted my arms. "Like the world is finally starting to break you —"
"I'm not broken!" I insisted, fear giving way to anger.
"I know, Avery." Jameson returned to the bed, where I was perched on the edge. His hand tilted my head up to see him. "I know you're not broken. But that doesn't mean I want to watch you suffer every day because the past won't leave you alone."
I could see the pain in his eyes as he spoke, and it broke my heart that it was so traumatic for him to watch.
Before he could start to wear another dent in his carpet, I grabbed him by the forearms and carefully studied his eyes. They looked exhausted. "Why do you care?" I had to ask. "Why do you let what bothers me bother you so much?"
Jameson went silent for a moment. His lips parted once or twice but didn't elicit anything other than a soft growl.
"Please, Jameson —"
"I love you," he interrupted, his voice so small of a whisper I could scarcely hear it. My eyebrows shot up to meet my hairline, but before I could say anything he continued. "That's why I let it bother me."
Yards of silence stretched between us. After it began to get awkward I opened my mouth, but Jameson held his hand up.
"Don't say it back," he told me. "Don't tell me you love me unless you mean it."
"Jamie —"
"I know you care about me," he said, reaching for my hands. "But . . . I don't think you . . ."
"Listen." I took Jameson's face in my hands and smiled to ease the pain on his face. "I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about you. But just because I'm not saying it now doesn't mean I won't."
Jameson's gaze dropped to the carpet. "I know, Heiress."
"You do?"
"Yeah." His gaze intertwined with mine. Slowly, it softened. "And I'll be right here waiting until you're ready."
• • •
Thank you guys for all the requests! I'm trying to get through all of them before The Final Gambit comes out, so hopefully more updates :)
