was going to end. He’d wonder why I wouldn’t open the door, expect the worst, and threaten to come in.
“I’m not dressed for company,” I called out weakly.
“Like I care.”
I was worried he’d say that.
Neither one of us said anything until he knocked again, weaker that time.
“Please?” Zac pleaded quietly.
I sighed as I made my way over to the door, unlocking and then cracking it open to find him in his Woody costume, standing there, leaning a shoulder against the wall with an expression on his face that just screamed… exhaustion. And for once, he didn’t exactly smile as I stood there in my old pajamas, showing off my not-a-six-pack. I wasn’t going to assume he didn’t notice that my eyes were more than likely red from trying my absolute hardest not to cry since I’d gotten home.
“Hey.”
“I was worried about you,” he said steadily, that soft gaze moving over my face slowly.
“I was worried about you too,” I told him, squeezing into the opened doorway just enough so that it didn’t swing wide and show him the inside of my apartment. “I’m sorry I left you there. I just… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I know you wouldn’t have left me. That was a shitty thing I did.”
His handsome head tilted to the side, but there was no smirk there. He was off. I could see the steadiness of his breathing from the way his shirt and vest rose and fell, the little star pinned to his breast doing the same.
“I’m sorry, Zac.” I felt the tears pop up in my eyes all over again as my throat started to close up. I tried to hold my breath so that I wouldn’t cry. And failed.
As my gaze went fuzzy, I reached up and used part of my shirt to dab them. Zac’s shoulders dropped down, and I barely heard him say, “Oh, kiddo.”
I sucked in a breath through my nose and lifted my shoulders, dabbing at my eyes even more. “I should have told you,” I whispered, looking down at my bare feet balancing on the doorway before I stepped onto the concrete outside.
But the tips of his boots came into my view, lining up right along my toes a moment before those warm, strong arms came around me, pulling me gently into his chest, into a hug that had my cheek going to the yellow button-down shirt. “You ain’t got nothin’ to cry over.”
“But I do.”
“No, you don’t.” His warm hand curled over my bare hip.
I shook my head, his star badge digging into my cheek. “Yeah, I do. I never told you.”
The hand he had on my shoulder slid across and down my spine, his fingers warm when they landed on the naked small of my back. “Tell me whatever you want, inside, yeah? We need to talk.”
Oh fucking, fucking hell.
I went tense.
And maybe if I hadn’t gotten tense in his arms, he wouldn’t have noticed. But I was in them, all nice and safe and warm, and he felt it. His chin went down close to my ear, the bristles scratchy. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I lied, trying to think of any excuse possible why we couldn’t go in and failing.
That was when I heard the door creak open and he shuffled me back a step before I could stop us. It was enough for him to see my bare bones living room.
“What are all those boxes?” he asked slowly.
Shit. “Some of my stuff.”
It was his turn to tense, like he could sense something was off and there was a reason why I had boxes sitting in my living room. “Your stuff? You donatin’ it?” he asked, the pads of his fingers skimming my back just enough to make me tense up even more.
“No?”
“No or no?”
“No?”
“Bianca?” He pressed his palm flat against my skin, warming it instantly.
I had to fight back a shiver at his touch. “Yeah?”
His chin dipped in, brushing my temple. “Why didn’t you want me to come in?”
I turned so that my forehead went to the middle of his chest, and the only reason why I didn’t try and pull away was because I didn’t want to look at his face. And apparently, I didn’t want to talk to him either because I shrugged, like a weak shit.
What was he going to do? Tell me I couldn’t pack my things? Or that I couldn’t move?
His chin went back to my temple. “Why?” he asked so sweetly, I almost wanted to tell him.