Chapter 4

“Don’t look so guilty,” James said, pulling her against him.

“I should go,” she whispered.

He didn’t grab her hard. He just caught her wrist, warm and sure. “Lexie. Look at me,” he said.

She looked up. His eyes were steady. He waited, giving her space to pull away. She did not pull away.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked.

Her lips parted. A long second passed. The word yes sat on her tongue and would not move. She swallowed. “I… don’t know,” she said, honest and shaking.

She eased to her side and pulled the sheet up to her chest. The scent of the room returned. So did the guilt. She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes. A tear slipped anyway.

James slid his palm over her belly. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. “I don’t know,” she said, voice hoarse. “I feel… wrong. And I feel… good. I hate that I feel good.”

He didn’t try to answer that. He reached for the fallen towel and wiped a stray line of sweat from her shoulder. He tucked a pillow under her head. “Drink?” he asked. She nodded. He crossed to the dresser, found a small bottle of water, cracked the seal, and brought it to her lips. She took small sips. Her throat thanked her. Her heart did not.

“My dad,” she whispered. “This is his bed.”

“I know,” James said. “We’ll change the sheets.” He waited. “Say the word, and this ends here.”

She stared at the water bottle cap, turning it between her fingers. The truth sat heavy and clear. “I don’t think it ends here,” she said, barely audible.

He didn’t gloat. He just brushed a wet lock of hair from her cheek. “We’ll take it day by day.”

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She flinched like it burned her. The screen lit her face: Kira. Three unread messages. Where are you? We need to talk. Please answer me.

Her stomach fell. She set the phone face down. “I can’t,” she said.

“You don’t have to answer now,” James said. “You choose when.”

Lexie pulled the sheet tighter. “I did this,” she said. “That’s the problem.”

How could she face Kira after sleeping with her dad? Though she had done the same, Lexie felt like she had no right to be mad at Kira anymore, and that threatened her sanity.

James sat on the edge of the bed and laced his fingers with hers. “That’s also the truth,” he said. “Tell yourself the truth. Then decide what comes next.”

Her chest ached. The ache was not only guilt. It was want, and fear, and something like relief. She had stepped over a line, and now the world on the other side was real.

She slid her hand free and pushed herself up to sitting. “I need a shower,” she said.

He nodded and stood. “I’ll wait outside the door,” he said. “If you want me to.”

She hesitated. “Okay,” she said.

She showered quickly. The water was hot and loud. It could not rinse the need from her skin, but it calmed her shaking. When she turned the water off, the house felt too quiet.

A clean T-shirt hung on the back of the bedroom chair. Her father’s. She pulled it over her head. It fell to mid-thigh. The scent made her throat close. She pressed her palm to the place over her heart and stood very still until the tightness eased. When she opened the door, James was there in the hallway, dressed now, hair still damp. He searched her face.

“I’m okay,” she said, and almost believed it. He nodded. “I’ll be at your dad’s study,” he said. “Text if you need anything. Or if you don’t.” He winked. “I’ll still come.”

She huffed a weak laugh despite herself. “Don’t,” she said. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he said. “Me too.” He stepped back, giving her space. “Rest.”

She watched him go. She listened to the soft footfalls, the study door opening, closing. The house was itself again. Except it wasn’t.

Lexie crossed to the bed and started stripping the sheets. It felt like work and penance in one. She packed the bundle into the laundry basket and stood there, breathing hard for no reason, her shoulders dropped.

Her phone buzzed again. Kira: Please. Talk to me.

She typed: Not now. Then deleted it. She typed: We’ll talk tomorrow. Deleted that too. She put the phone down and crawled under a fresh blanket, still wearing the oversized T-shirt. She lay on her side and watched the doorknob as if it might turn.

Her body remembered everything. The curve of his hands. The steady way he set the pace. The way he asked if she wanted to stop. The way she didn’t.

She closed her eyes and whispered into the dark, “What have I done?”

There was no answer. Only the sound of the house settling. Only the soft thud of her own heart, still not sure if it was beating from shame or from wanting more.

She slept in pieces. When she woke early that evening, the bedroom smelled like clean cotton and steam. The guilt was there. So was the pull. She sat up and pressed her palms to her eyes.

Tell yourself the truth, he had said. The truth was simple and heavy: she wanted him, and she hated that she wanted him. Both things were true at once. She would have to live with both. Her phone glowed on the nightstand. One new message. Not Kira this time.

James: Would you come down for dinner? Or should I leave it outside your door? She stared for a long time. Then typed back, fingers slow: Outside outside. Please.

James: On my way.