“What the fuck, Tuck?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

“She seems like a nice girl, you don’t—”

“And fuck if I deserve her, right?” I cut him off as I push my chest against Miles, while he tries to hold me back. “Someone good, something good.”

“You don’t care about her.” He shakes his head. “You don’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself.”

In a flash before I even know what I’m doing, the space between us is closed, I have my hand wrapped around his neck and am shoving him against the wall. “You don’t know shit.”

“Clay.” Miles grasps my wrist.

“Stay the fuck away from her.” I let him go and step back.

“Like you stayed away from Naomi?” he asks when I turn my back on him and start to walk back down the hall.

I don’t even bother turning around to respond. It’s obvious he’s set on blaming me for his failing marriage and there isn’t shit I can do about that.

“You know that’s fucked up,” I hear Miles tell him.

My eyes land on Willow standing in my doorway looking concerned. When her face softens as our eyes lock, I know Tucker’s right, I don’t deserve her, not even a little but I’m still not fucking letting her go.

Chapter 13

Willow

WITH SKYE’S LONG body resting on the bed in front of me I run my fingers through her soft fur and stare out the window, watching the rain fall in thick sheets while lightning flashes sporadically through the grey cloud-covered, early morning sky.

I’ve tried to convince myself numerous times to get out of bed since the storm woke me, but I don’t mentally feel ready to face the day. And with Clay still asleep behind me with his big warm body curled around mine I have even less motivation to move.

When I was little, I would crawl into bed between my parents and cuddle up between the two of them, and sleep my best sleep because I was warm and safe. And over the years when I’ve had relationships with men where I’d sleep over at their house or where they’ve slept at mine, I’ve hoped I’d feel that same sense of security and warmth, but I never have, not until Clay.

“How long have you been awake?” Clay’s deep sleepy voice asks in my ear and my eyes slide closed.

“A while.” I say then feel the bed move and his lips brush the shell of my ear.

“You should have woken me up.”

“Why? So, we can both stare out the window?”

“Yes.” His hand moves to my jaw, and he puts pressure there until I look at him. “I don’t want you keeping shit bottled up if you need to talk.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not, but I’ll make sure you are,” he says quietly.

His words make my chest feel heavy because I know that he will. There is something about him that makes everything okay which is terrifying.