Man of Honor (Battle Scars #3) - Diana Gardin Page 0,42
just breathe. In yoga, the deep breathing of the Shavasana calms you, relaxes you. I give myself about two minutes of the deep cleansing breaths.
And then I know who I want to tell first.
Glancing at the time, I’m shocked that it’s past midnight. I change out of my dress and into comfy yoga pants and a soft tank top. Leaving my feet bare, I tiptoe out of my room and into the hallway. Downstairs is quiet. Everyone must have turned in for the night.
There’s a night-light on the wall in the hallway. I follow the soft glow to Drake’s bedroom door. I don’t bother to knock.
Shutting the door softly behind me, I find him sprawled across his bed. I suck in a sharp breath, because there’s a soft lamp on the bedside table, and I’m able to take in the fact that he’s wearing nothing but charcoal boxer-briefs. His ass is absolutely perfect. I get distracted following the hard, cut lines of his muscular back to his tattoo-sleeved arms. I drink him in with my eyes, because my God he’s beautiful.
He’s asleep, snoring softly. He’s so big, his bare feet hang diagonally off the bed. I creep up and crawl into bed beside him, circling myself into a ball at his side.
Immediately, he tucks one arm around me and groans sleepily. He doesn’t turn his head to face me, but his hand is soft and warm against my ribs.
“Mea.” His voice is rough sandpaper against a wooden surface, and it sends a shiver creeping across my skin.
“How did you know it was me?” I whisper.
He sighs gently before rolling his big body over and pulling me into his chest. He cradles me with both of his strong arms, and I’m so relieved to be here I could almost cry. The lump in my throat is proof of that.
“Because I feel you, baby.”
His breath whispers across my face, and I wrinkle my nose. “You smell like a brewery, Drake.”
“Had a few before I crashed.”
I stiffen. “It smells like more than a few.”
He shifts, and when I look up at him, his eyes are half-closed. He’s barely having this conversation with me right now. Unease courses through my system.
“You were upset. Made me upset.”
I sigh. “Oh, Drake. I told you I was okay. I just needed a little time.”
Shrugging, he tugs me closer. It only takes another minute before his breathing slows and evens out.
He’s asleep.
Half angry with him that I was all geared up, finally ready to tell him my deepest, darkest secret, but he’s too drunk to listen, and half relieved just to be in his arms, I stay. It takes me awhile, but eventually, sleep finds me, too.
I’m standing beside the window in a Warrior pose when Drake’s waking groan draws my attention. Sitting up in bed, he searches the room until he finds me. I pad over to the bed and climb in. He places a soft kiss on my head.
“You weren’t a dream, sweetheart?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I don’t look up. “Nope. And neither was the fact that you were too wasted to talk to me when I came in here last night.”
He sucks in a sharp breath; his chest moves with the effort. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Mea.”
I’m not quite sure if sorry is going to cut it.
“It’s just…before these last couple of months…I don’t remember ever seeing you drunk. And now…” I let the sentence hang.
With a sigh, Drake sits up, pulling me up with him. We lean against the headboard together, both lost in our own thoughts.
“Did you have something important to tell me last night?” His tone is so soft, so gentle. It’s amazing he can talk to me like that, considering his size and toughness. I trace the inky lines on his forearm. There’s a big, Gothic-looking cross there, with lots of tribal lines working around it to make a beautiful mural.
He cups my chin with one hand, tilting it up so that I can see his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, shadowy underneath. It makes me sad.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He mutters a curse. “I fucked up. So, so sorry, baby. I want to be here for you. I do.”
But now, he’s going to have to prove that. So I just tilt my lips in a small smile.
I pull away from him and climb out of bed. “I’m going to go take a shower and see what Berkeley wants to do today.”