Chapter 28

28

I haven't had a snow day since I was a kid. A little kid at that. I stopped going to high school when I was sixteen because that's when my first album hit it big, and I went on tour. I had tutors and got my GED a year later. My mother was adamant about that.

So today feels like a freebie. Like a gift.

I have nothing I have to do. It's an insane feeling as an adult because I feel like we always have something we have to do. We're always going and moving and taking on the world one minute at a time.

After Stone left me winded and out of sorts in the kitchen, I cleaned everything up and then climbed back into bed. I read for about an hour, took a bath, and then a shower after because I hate washing my hair in the bath.

By the time I get out of the shower and change into fleece-lined leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, I feel calmer and more relaxed than I have in ages. And ready to start writing some music. Only I'm not sure where I want to do that.

That is until I get a text from Stone .

Stone: Croissants and hot chocolate are in the library for you.

I didn't even have to say anything. How could he have known?

That's one of the rooms with a fireplace, and when I enter, he has that thing roaring. Doe is curled up on a little soft rug he has set up for her in front of it, contentedly napping. I sit down, set my guitar against the couch, and stare at the tray of warm croissants, butter, and raspberry jam along with a large mug of hot chocolate. My head swivels around, but it's just me in here. I lather up one of the croissants with butter and jam and take a bite, wash it down with my delicious hot chocolate, and wonder what the fuck.

Like for real. What. The. Fuck?!

Is he trying to make me fall in love with him? Is that his game? But to what end? Or is he simply trying to make me happy and feel at home in his home? But again, why do that when there's nothing in it for him? That's what I keep coming back to.

What's in it for him? My legs have been closed for weeks.

I snap a picture of everything and send it to Loomis. I need a little backup right now and as much as I love Wren, I need a male's opinion on this.

Loomis: Looks scrummy.

He sends me a picture of the Italian feast he's eating in front of his own fireplace with the television on something I can't make out.

Me: Stone did all of this for me. After he made me breakfast and held me all night when I had a nightmare.

Loomis: So why aren't you in his bed right now sucking him off under the covers?

Me: That's not helping.

Loomis: Fine. Because I know you, I know what you're asking without asking, and the answer is simple. He loves you. A man wouldn't go to all that trouble otherwise.

Me: Not even for sex?

Loomis: Nope. Not even for that. He doesn't have to work that hard to win your panties, luv. But he does have to work impossibly hard to win your heart.

I shake my head and call him. I can't do this over text.

Loomis picks up with a chuckle. "Don't like my answer?"

"It doesn't make any sense. Why would he do that?"

"He might not be consciously trying to win your heart, but he loves you. That I'm sure of."

"But to what end?"

"I don't know. He's the one you should ask that question to. Not me. Now go enjoy your goodies. I'm watching an Alfred Hitchcock film and trying not to have my own nightmares."

We hang up, and I sit with what he said about Stone trying to win my heart for a very long minute.

Humans are inherently selfish creatures, but we're driven by love. Lust too, but love is what speaks to our hearts and souls. Lust doesn't make it past our brains and blood supply. So again, what is Stone doing with me?

I have more questions and no answers, and either way, it feels like I lose. I sit in front of the fire, drink my drink, and eat every crumb and morsel of pastry. It's impossible not to marvel at the fact that Stone is doing all of this with me. He gains nothing but a headache full of bullshit. But…

He's been doing one thing after another, and despite my cold behavior toward him, I'm not oblivious to it. It's messing me up.

Why do all this for me? Why try to make me fall in love if we can't have a future?

I lean forward, my hands covering my mouth as I stare into the dancing orange flames and then down at the ring on my hand. A ring I don't have to wear right now, but I am .

I think Stone may love me.

I think he might have fallen in love back on Benthesicyme and never stopped.

And I think it's time I stopped caring about what my ex might think. I can leave that up to Stone to decide. But for me, I no longer care. And the thought of moving back to LA without Stone doesn't hold much appeal. Boston is my home. It's always been my home. LA was a stopping point, a jumping-off point, and I don't see why I can't make music and film work from here.

But what if he doesn't want that in return? What if this is just his way of showing me this, knowing it'll never lead to more?

"You're killing my carb high! Argh!" I shoot off the couch and storm down the hall. I'm pissed off. At least I'm telling myself I am. I don't quite buy it. But who cares? I ride this wave until I stumble into his mostly closed door and push it open without invitation. Then I freeze like I just stepped outside naked.

Speaking of naked…

Stone just got out of the shower. The bathroom door is open, and a small amount of steam curls into the bedroom like a beckoning fog. Somehow, he didn't hear me burst in, and for a moment, all I can do is stare. His back is to me as he stands by his bed where his clothes are laid out, and I make note of his smooth skin and strong, toned muscles as he briskly rubs his towel over his hair to dry it. His perfect ass with the sexy dents above it. Those incredible tattoos. I categorize them all.

But the beautiful boat on his left shoulder blade that looks a hell of a lot like Benthesicyme with the entire mast snaked in ornate purple roses, surrounded by a compass is what finally makes me gasp and give up my voyeuristic enjoyment.

"Let me know when you're done ogling and I'll turn around so you can get the frontal view. "

His teasing tone isn't all that teasing. It's tense, and I wonder if he knows what made me gasp. "Stone?"

He rolls his head over his shoulder, but he doesn't do anything. Not put on his briefs. His shirt. Nothing. His eyes linger on mine, and he knows precisely what I'm staring at.

"Can I help you, little rose ?" The way he emphasizes my nickname. The way he follows that up with, "Your purple eyes seem a little lost. Or perhaps stuck on something."

I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm crossing the room. Finally, he pulls on his briefs and turns to face me. I point at his chest. "That's what Owen was talking about, isn't it?" It comes out as an accusation. "You're shirtless. I haven't seen your back shirtless since the boat. The same one that's tattooed on your back. With purple fucking roses on it."

His hands find my hips, holding me in place. "Ask me then."

I can't. Oh, hell, I can't. My heart thunders and my palms grow sweaty. I'm about to cross the Rubicon, and there will be no turning back.

"Go on, ask me," he cajoles when I still can't find my voice.

"You call me Little Rose."

"I do," he confirms.

"You have roses on the tattoo of your ship. A tattoo you didn't have the last time I saw your back."

"Correct. But none of those were the question you were supposed to ask. Those were a gimme. A layup. Simply stating facts." He leans in, pressing against me until his lips are right over mine, his eyes pinning me in place. "Ask me, little rose. Ask me if the tattoo on my back, the one with a vine of sweet, pretty, little purple roses, is about you."

Oh god. How do I ask that? Especially when I already know his answer.

I gulp and muster up my strength. My pissed-off resolve is faltering, practically nowhere to be found. "Is that tattoo about me? "

"Yes." No artifice. No embarrassment. Just honesty that cuts me to the quick and my knees give out from under me.

"Why?" I grit out.

"Because those ten days changed my life, and you were part of that."

Okay. I blow out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. That makes sense and I can live with that.

His hands slide up the sides of my body, up along my shoulders until they frame my face, and continue through my hair before he cups me, holding me steady, forcing me to see him. He moves in closer, and somehow, someway, he's all I can see, smell, feel, and taste. He's everywhere.

"Keep going."

"What do you mean keep going?"

He smirks and starts to trickle kisses along my jaw. "I know that's not your only question. Something brought you in here. Something had you storming down the hall." He continues with his kisses, pulling my oversized sweatshirt off my shoulder so he can kiss that spot between my neck and shoulder that he likes so much. I haven't stopped him. I can't stop him. "What had my girl so hot and bothered that she came to find me and didn't even stop to knock?"

"Why are you doing all of this?"

"All of what?"

"You know what." I shove him back, my anger ratcheting back up. "Why are you doing all of this?! Why am I in your house and wearing your ring? Why do you make extra food for me and goddamn croissants? Why did you hold me all night when you could have easily come back in here to sleep?"

"Because I fucking love you!" he yells, his hands flying about. "That's why. How do you not see that? You're my goddamn north. I have no direction without you. No path forward. Without you, I'm lost. I've been lost. Only the irony behind that is that you made me feel found and then took it all away."

I shake my head, and this infuriates him.

"Goddammit, Tinsley. You don't like my answer? Fine. Forget you fucking asked and forget I fucking answered. Just wear your ring and be mine for the small amount of time I can call you that. That's all I want with this." He puffs out a breath, his hands on his hips and his gaze on the small space between us. His voice simmers, his expression a contradiction of fury and despair, battling to see which wins. "I get it, okay? I get all of it. We're a mess, and I don't even know what I want or what I'm asking for from you. But fucking give me this. Give me this one piece of you I can call my own."

"You're so dumb."

He grunts. "How am I dumb?" He tugs at the long strands of my hair, trying to push me back and away from him, giving me one last out that I know I won't take.

"Because for the last two years, all I've been is yours."

With that declaration, I jump on him. He staggers back two steps and falls onto the bed with an oomph. My lips collide with his, and he groans, not skipping a beat as his hands dive up into my hair and he kisses me back like my mouth holds the only source of oxygen in the room. The heat of his lips and tongue light up a well inside me.

"I'm yours, Stone," I pant against his lips. "But I don't know how to truly be yours. I don't know how this works."

He flips us on the bed until he's above me, and I'm staring up at him in the waning winter light. "I love my brother. I love him with all my heart. I do. So it breaks me to say this, but I can't live my life for him. I've tried to be better. I've tried so hard to put the selfish bastard I was behind me. But if you're telling me I can have you—for real, have you—then I'll risk being selfish to make that happen. No matter the consequences."