Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Kinsley
I make Noel breakfast in the morning. Not because I'm obligated to, but because I want to.
While I'm doing so, I almost burn the bacon. Through the door to the bedroom, I can see Noel asleep in my bed. His shirt is missing. I can see his scars and the tattoos across his back, plus a smidge of the one on his ribcage. He's sprawled across my bed, taking up most of it.
Last night, I asked Noel if he wanted to go out on a date. He said yes. And while my emotions are pulling me in opposite directions, I'm pushing through. Aaron would want me to be happy. Noel makes me happy. The guilt refuses to wash away, but I'm ignoring it. I've realized ignorance is my only defence against it.
My gaze flicks back to Noel. We didn't have sex or do anything sexual. After a night out, we returned to the house. Jack had too much to drink. He was on the porch when we arrived. As soon as he saw us, he started yelling about us staying out too late. It was ridiculous. Cole and Daisy had to calm Jack down. Meanwhile, I invited Noel to stay the night. He was distraught, and I felt terrible. Noel shouldn't have to deal with drunk family members. It's unfair.
I never intended to fall asleep with him. To wear Noel's shirt as a pyjama top and have him shirtless. His arms wrapped around my waist. Breath hot against my neck.
I close my eyes as I whisk the scrambled eggs, releasing a sigh. Sharing a bed with someone felt so good. For the first time in years, I woke up feeling like I belong. No nightmares haunted me. I'm content.
Noel's presence is curing the loneliness that lingers in my soul. Stitching up wounds I thought would never heal.
In some ways, I feel free.
My heart thumps as I turn away. I open the fridge and rummage through it for milk and cheese, as well as some chives.
When I turn around, Noel enters the kitchen while rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. He yawns. "Late breakfast?"
I glance at the clock. It's almost twelve-thirty. Noel slept in. The realization makes me feel giddy. Every day since I arrived, Noel's been getting up at the ass-crack of dawn.
"You slept in," I note.
"Yeah," he smiles. He squints against the bright sunlight pouring through the window. "I've never slept so good. Thanks for letting me stay, Kins."
The whisk slips from my hand. My gaze flicks to his.
His lips part. Concern consumes his face. "What? Did I say something?"
"No," I lie, shaking my head.
Guilt spreads through my stomach as I grab the whisk. It's inevitable. I can't suppress it. Everyone used to call me "Kins" all the time. Grandpa and Grandma still do. Hearing them use my nickname always makes me happy and sad.
