The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the blanket as Layla shifted closer to me. Her warmth pressed against my side, her arm draped lightly over my stomach, and her breathing uneven, like she was trying to settle herself but couldn't quite manage it.
I lay there stiffly, my body tense as I stared at the ceiling, my mind an unrelenting storm. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of Layla and Maeve flashed behind my lids too vivid, too damning.
It was like a thorn stuck in my chest, impossible to remove no matter how much I wanted to.
But then Layla moved again, nuzzling into my shoulder, her soft hair brushing against my jaw. The scent of her shampoo a faint trace of lavender and something warm, something that was her washed over me, and for a moment, the storm inside me paused.
God, what was it about her? Why did my mind keep circling back to her, even after everything? Even after the pain, the anger, the doubt?