Chapter 8

Meghan's POV

It probably took me another thirty minutes to get home from the harbor.

By the time I finally reached our apartment building, exhaustion sat heavy in every part of me. My legs ached from walking, my makeup was probably ruined beyond repair, and all I wanted was to collapse face-first into my bed and forget tonight ever happened.

Sleep was practically begging for me.

I climbed the stairs quietly, fishing my dead phone back into my purse before reaching our apartment door.

The second I stepped inside, I moved carefully, easing the door shut behind me as softly as possible. The apartment was dark except for the dim yellow glow from the kitchen light someone must’ve left on.

I exhaled slowly.

Good. Everyone was asleep.

Or so I thought.

Because the second I looked toward the living room

I froze.

Five people were sprawled across our sectional.

Four of them were clearly passed out in various uncomfortable-looking positions.

And the fifth

The fifth was staring directly at me.

My breath caught so sharply it hurt.

Him.

The guy from the bar.

The dark-haired stranger with the steady hands and grounding touch.

He was sitting at the far end of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked onto mine like he’d been waiting for me to walk through that door.

Warmth rushed through me instantly.

Not embarrassment.

Not fear.

Recognition.

And somehow that was worse.

How?

The thought echoes through my head as I stand frozen by the door, rain-damp jacket still hanging halfway off my shoulder.

How is he here?

He must see the shock written all over my face because he stands almost immediately, his movements slow and careful like he doesn’t want to scare me.

But that’s impossible.

Because every nerve in my body is already lit on fire.

He starts walking toward me.

And I can’t move.

I should move.

Say something. Ask questions. Demand answers.

Instead, I just stand there as wave after wave of emotion crashes through me so fast it makes my head spin.

He stops close enough that I have to tilt my chin upward to really look at him.

God, he’s huge.

At the bar I hadn’t fully realized it, but standing this close now? He towers over me completely. At least 6’4, broad shoulders stretching beneath a dark hoodie, dark hair slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it for hours.

And his eyes

Even darker up close.

Steady.

Focused entirely on me.

I can’t look away.

Then, before I can process what’s happening, his arms wrap around me.

And I completely fall apart.

Because the second he touches me, my body reacts like it’s known him forever.

Like it’s been waiting for him.

I melt into him instinctively, my hands gripping the front of his hoodie as silent tears immediately spill down my face. Not panicked tears this time. Not overwhelmed ones.

Relief.

Pure, terrifying relief.

His warmth surrounds me completely, solid and grounding and impossibly calm, like standing in the center of something unshakable.

And somehow that makes me cry harder.

How?

How can one man make me feel like this?

I bury my face against his chest for a second before finally looking up at him again through blurred vision.

His expression is calm.

Certain.

Until his eyes flick over my face properly.

Then something shifts.

Just for a split second.

Shock.

Pain.

Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“Meghan…” he says quietly, my name low and rough in his voice like it means something to him.

Like it matters.

He reaches up slowly, carefully, like he’s giving me every chance to pull away.

But I don’t.

His hands cup my face gently as he wipes the tears from beneath my eyes with his thumbs, the touch impossibly soft for someone who looks like he could break bones without trying.

Like he thinks I might break instead.

The thought alone nearly ruins me all over again.

I still can’t speak.

My brain feels heavy and scrambled and exhausted in a way sleep won’t even fix. I just stand there staring up at him while he studies my face with this unreadable expression that somehow feels far too intimate for someone I met a few hours ago.

Then his eyes soften slightly.

“You’re exhausted,” he says quietly.

Not a question.

Before I can even process it, he bends and scoops me into his arms like I weigh absolutely nothing.

A small sound of surprise leaves me as my arms instinctively wrap around his neck. Heat floods my face immediately, but he doesn’t react to it. Doesn’t tease me.

He just holds me securely against his chest.

“Which room is yours?” he asks.

I point weakly down the hallway toward the last door on the left, still struggling to form coherent thoughts.

He carries me there without another word and sets me carefully on my feet once we’re inside.

“You need dry clothes, Meg,” he says, glancing around my room briefly, taking in the scattered textbooks, clothes tossed over my desk chair, the tiny string lights around my mirror.

The sound of the nickname makes something warm twist low in my stomach.

I nod quickly before escaping into my closet, shutting the door behind me like I need the extra second to breathe.

My hands shake slightly as I peel the damp clothes off my skin. The cold fabric clings stubbornly, and I hiss under my breath while tugging it away.

I throw on an oversized hoodie and tiny sleep shorts before stepping back into the room, immediately shivering at the leftover cold still clinging to me.

Ollie hasn’t moved much.

He’s sitting quietly on the edge of my bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely together like he’s trying very hard not to overwhelm me.

Which somehow only overwhelms me more.

I quickly wash the makeup off my face in the bathroom, staring at my reflection far too long.

Red eyes.

Flushed cheeks.

A girl acting completely unlike herself over a stranger.

What is wrong with me?

When I walk back out, I hesitate before slowly sitting beside him on the bed.

Close enough to feel his warmth.

Not touching.

Silence settles between us again.

Not awkward.

Just heavy.

My fingers twist nervously in the sleeves of my hoodie before I finally force myself to speak.

“What’s your name?” I ask softly, barely above a whisper.

His eyes lift to mine instantly.

“Oliver,” he says.

The name fits him entirely too well.

“But most people call me Ollie.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks before I can stop it.

"Cute name."

The words leave my mouth automatically.

And the second they do, horror floods me.

Oh my God.

I immediately abandon all dignity, practically launching myself across the bed so my back is turned toward him and my face is hidden against the wall.

Why would I say that?

I hear a low chuckle behind me.

Deep. Warm.

Dangerously attractive.

It does genuinely unspeakable things to my nervous system.

“Goodnight, Meg,” he says softly after a moment.

I hear movement behind me.

He’s leaving.

And unexpectedly, painfully, the thought makes my chest ache.

The room suddenly feels colder already.

“Wait,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

The movement behind me pauses.

I turn slightly, clutching the blanket tightly in my hands as he looks back at me.

“I…” My throat tightens instantly. “I don’t want to be alone.”

The words sound ridiculous the second they leave my mouth.

I barely know him.

Barely.

And yet every instinct in me is screaming not to let him walk out that door.

Ollie just stands there for a second, clearly caught off guard by the request.

Which immediately sends my thoughts spiraling.

"Great. Now he thinks I’m insane. Too clingy. Weird. Emotional. Embarrass—"

“Okay.”

The single word cuts through every thought instantly.

My breath catches as he steps back toward the bed.

Then, carefully, like he’s still trying not to scare me, he lays down beside me on top of the blankets.

Not touching.

Just there.

And somehow that alone makes the exhaustion finally crash over me completely.