When Stars Collide (Light in the Dark #2) (5 page)

Thea and I eat our pizza in relative silence. A silence I’m not used to. She’s always been chatty, and it’s something I’ve never minded. It feels weird to sit in the open kitchen and not have her tell me about
something
—a book she’s read, some football stat, or how cute she thinks the neighbor’s dog is. 

I don’t try to get her to speak. I’m smart enough to know not to push her, and after the day we’ve had, she deserves the time to think. I know we’ve both already been doing a lot of it today.

We finish eating, and I volunteer to clean the plates. She smiles gratefully and leans her hip against the counter, watching me. I think about the night we shared, and the kiss not long ago, and I’m desperate to have her in my arms again. I feel like I’ve waited long enough to call her mine, and now that I have her, I still don’t
really
have her, and it sucks. 

I wasn’t that drunk last night when we decided to get married, and she wasn’t either. I
know
, because I would’ve never gone through with it if for a single second if I thought it wasn’t something she really wanted.

We’ve been skirting around our feelings for years; last night, something imploded, and it couldn’t be ignored anymore. 

“What movie do you want to watch?” I ask her, rinsing off one of the plates. When she doesn’t answer, I glance behind my shoulder and see that her eyes are glazed over and she’s lost in her thoughts, so I repeat my question. 

She jumps slightly and bangs her elbow on the countertop. “Ow,” she cries, grabbing her elbow and rubbing the spot. 

“You okay?” I ask, not asking about her elbow but how she’s feeling.

She nods, but I know she’s not. I’ve always had a sixth sense when it comes to Thea. When we were little, our parents used to joke about it, but I don’t think they had any idea how true it was. I remember once, when we were much younger—she was probably only about three and I was six—she tripped in her yard and skinned up her knee on a bunch of twigs and started crying. Even though I wasn’t the one hurt, I cried too, because even then her pain was mine, her joy was mine, and every other emotion in-between was mine too. 

I finish with the dishes and dry my hands on a rag. Thea still stands there, never having answered my first question about the movie. I cross the few feet separating us and place my hands on her hips. She jolts at my touch and goosebumps prickle her skin. I can’t resist the upturn quirk of my lips when I see it.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, to ask her if she’s okay again, to prod into her inner thoughts and figure out what the fuck she’s thinking so I can fix it, but I
know
I can’t, and I have to let her figure it out on her own. I can’t understand why she’s so against this, against
us
. We’re right together, we always have been, and we’ve always fought what we wanted because Cade would never approve. But fuck Cade, he has no right to tell us that we can’t be together—and believe me, he’s warned me away from his sister too many times to count—but I’m sick and tired of trying to feel something with someone else when I only want Thea. I
can’t
do it anymore. I hope she sees that soon, that we’re good together—but I think she knows, and maybe that’s what’s scaring her, the reality that this could really be our forever. 

I rub my hands up her arms and she shivers at my touch. Her hazel eyes look golden from the illumination of the sun shining through the window.

I cup her cheek and lean my forehead against hers. I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. I just want her to know that I’m here.

After a moment, she steps out of my embrace. “Jaws,” she says softly after a moment. “I want to watch Jaws.”

I smile widely. “Our favorite.” She nods. “You go put it on and I’ll pop the popcorn.”

She smiles, and her eyes light up with humor. “Don’t add so much butter this time. You nearly made me sick the last time you made it.”

“The more butter, the more delicious,” I reason.

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling nevertheless. She disappears into the family room, and I shamelessly ogle her ass—she has a nice ass, okay?

I pop the popcorn and pour it into a large orange mixing bowl before adding the butter. I do use less than I did the last time but it’s probably still too much for Thea.

Thea already sits on the large, black leather couch, covered in her favorite flannel blanket. She hits play when I sit down and I lift the bowl so she can stretch her legs out in my lap. We watch a lot of movies and TV shows together—Netflix is our kryptonite—so we have our routine down. I set the popcorn bowl on her knees so we can each reach for it with ease.

I’m glad that she’s willing to do something normal with me—that she’s not locking herself in her room and thinking of a million and one reasons why this won’t work.

An ache builds in my chest. One full of worry.

What if I can’t convince her that this is real? What if in three months she still wants a divorce?

I swallow thickly and my eyes bounce to her where she lays on the couch.

I don’t want to lose her, but I also know I’ll never break my promise, because I’ll do anything to make that girl happy even if it kills me in the process.

I lie awake in the dark, my thoughts going round and round in a circle. I can feel panic rising in my chest like a suffocating wave. I know there’s no chance of sleep finding me when I’m like this.

I throw back the covers and shove my feet into my slippers, stalking from my room and downstairs.

I jolt when I get to the bottom of the stairs and turn into the family room.

Xander sits on the couch, reading a book by the glow of one low light. 

He hears me and looks up. His dark hair is a wild mess around his head, like he’d been tossing and turning in his bed before coming down here to find solace like I’d planned to do. 

“Hi,” I say softly.

He looks me up and down, noting my loose t-shirt, shorts, and ratty slippers.

“Nice slippers.”

I shake my head. “Hey, they’re cute,” I growl.

He chuckles. “They’re falling apart.”

This is true, but I refuse to part with the shark-shaped slippers—ones Xander got me for my sixteenth birthday. It might seem like a stupid gift to some, but I’d cherished the nod to our love of
Jaws
. 

When I don’t say anything, he adds, “I’m glad you still have them, though.”

I look down at them, falling apart and barely held together, the shark on my left foot missing a tooth so that it has an awkward smile. “They’re my favorite.” I shrug. “I can’t abandon them.” He puts a bookmark in his book and closes it. “What are you reading?” I ask. 

He chuckles. “
The Great Gatsby
.”

“Again?” I laugh and creep closer to him. “Haven’t you read that like a million times now?”

He shrugs. “I guess I love it the same way you love those damn slippers.”

 I laugh and take a seat on the couch, drawing my legs up and sitting sideways so I can face him. “Why are you up?” I ask him.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Couldn’t sleep. I take it the same is true for you.”

I nod reluctantly. “’Lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, me too.” He looks away.

My heart lurches with fear that he’s having second thoughts about us, which is stupid because I’m the one that’s spent the whole day fighting this. If he
is
having second thoughts, I should be jumping for joy, not feeling so glum. I’m beginning to realize that the next three months are going to be harder than I thought. I mean, for instance, take the incident in the kitchen this afternoon—he kissed me and I just
melted
into him instead of pushing him away like I should have.

I clearly am a glutton for punishment. 

I don’t know how I’m going to go to work tomorrow and act completely normal—like something monumental hasn’t happened.

Even though I’ve spent the day trying to ignore what’s happened, I can’t.

This man sitting beside me is my husband. 

“Come here,” he says and opens his arms. I dive into them gladly, resting my head on his chest.

This right here feels like home, and I know I could get all too used to it. 

He brushes his lips softly against the top of my head and whispers one low word.

“Please.”

I know what he’s saying without him even speaking the words.

He wants me to give him a real chance. He knows that I only agreed half-heartedly this morning. I don’t answer him, but I lean closer, and he sighs in relief.

Nothing more is said, and we both drift off to sleep.

I wake up early, thankfully, and carry Thea up to her bed. She’s so out of it that she doesn’t even stir as I lay her in her bed and pull the frilly pink blankets up to her chest. 

I can’t help but stand there and look at her a few seconds longer.

She’s so beautiful and completely unaware of the effect she has on me.

I tiptoe across her room and into the bathroom that joins with my room.

It’s only four in the morning, and I don’t have to be up to get ready for work for another two hours, but I know I’m never going to be able to fall back asleep. I only managed to get a few hours in because Thea was with me.

I walk over to my closet and grab a blue button-down shirt and a pair of navy pants and a tie. 

It was all a lie as I put on the clothes, playing the part of the good son and friend, following in the steps of what everyone else wanted for me. This life isn’t for me—working in an office five days a week, nine to five. Don’t get me wrong, architecture isn’t
bad
, and my dad is cool, but it isn’t what I love.

I love football.

I love the rush, the adrenaline, the high of screaming fans. I love the sounds of our cleats tearing into the turf and how the power seems to build inside you, making you feel invincible. Football has been my life since I could walk.  

I’d had agents interested in me and stupidly turned away all offers because I deluded myself into thinking they were only interested in me because of Cade.

Cade is one of the best football players I know, and the guy could have gone pro, but he didn’t want it. Not like I did.

I entered in the draft, unbeknownst to my friends and family, hoping I got picked. I didn’t tell my parents, or Cade, or even Thea. No one knew. They all thought I was content to head into my career in architecture. But I wasn’t. And then I got picked for my hometown team, the Denver Broncos; that was two months ago, and I still haven’t told anyone. I don’t know why. My parents have always been supportive of my love for football, but my dad was so happy when I went to work for him during my senior year of college, and I guess I’m afraid that maybe he’ll be disappointed if I don’t follow in his footsteps. As for my friends, I know Thea, Rae, and Jace would be happy for me, but Cade? I don’t fucking know. We’ve done practically everything together since we were little and it only seemed natural that we’d both become architects and work for my dad too. But then this last year, I realized that’s not what
I
wanted. I want to play ball, so I kept it from them. I lucked out that apparently no one close to me watched the draft on TV. Sure, my teammates and coach knew, but it was easy to keep it a secret from Cade. After the football season ended, he hasn’t wanted to have anything to do with the sport—I’ve always gotten the impression that he never really loved it all that much. Since I don’t want Cade to know, I’ve kept it a secret from everyone else too—it’s not their burden to bear—but I know my time’s running out and it ticks down incessantly in my mind.