Chapter 148 I missed you

Chapter 148 I missed you
Tegan

I stood with my palm flat against the heavy wooden door, my fingers still wrapped around the useless brass handle. I couldn't even rip it off if I wanted to.

The muffled sounds of Sophie clinking glasses and Charlie adjusting the dining table chairs faded into a distant, background hum. In the tight, suffocating kitchen, the only sound left was the low, electric purr of the roaring oven.

And the heavy, slow rhythm of Hayes’s breathing right behind my shoulder.
"Your friends are a public safety hazard," his deep, gravelly baritone rumbled. The syllable dropped into the space like concrete, low and rough, vibrating straight into the small of my back.

I let out a slow, sharp breath, forcing my shoulders to straighten. I couldn't look like a cornered animal. Turning around slowly, I adjusted the hem of my loose knit sweater over my belly.

"They’re criminal masterminds," I grumbled, my voice an ice-cold, quiet register as I stepped past his massive 6'4" frame, making sure there wasn't a single inch of physical contact between us.

"But since we’re trapped in a culinary hostage situation, we might as well balance the ledger. The turkey is drying out." I tried to ease the tension.

Hayes didn't answer right away. His dark, unblinking eyes tracked my movement, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle beneath his morning stubble vibrated.

He stripped off his heavy black wool coat, tossing it carelessly over a kitchen stool, leaving him in nothing but a tight charcoal knit sweater that beautifully framed the thick, powerful definition of his chest and broad athletic shoulders.

The veins in his forearms bulged beneath his rolled-up sleeves, the white medical tape on his knuckles looking stark and violent in the warm kitchen light.

He moved toward the oven, his long, heavy strides silent against the floorboards. For the next ten minutes, our interactions were a masterclass in awkward, excruciating friction. Every single movement was hyper-calculated, a tense, breathless dance around the marble island. It was like walking on thin ice.

When I reached for the seasoned butter, his massive hand reached for the rosemary sprigs at the exact same fraction of a second. The universe was playing a cruel trick on us.

His rough, tattered knuckles brushed against the bare skin of my wrist, a sudden, electric jolt of raw heat that sent a violent shiver straight down my spine.

I instinctively pulled my hand back, my breath hitching in a sharp, quiet intake of air. Hayes froze mid-motion, his eyes snapping to mine, his pupils blown wide with a primal, suffocating hunger he’d been locking down for three weeks.

"How was the appointment yesterday?" he asked suddenly.

His voice was lower than usual, a quiet, jagged rasp that cut through the steam of the open oven door. He kept his eyes on the turkey as he carefully squeezed the baster, but his entire broad frame was locked up, waiting.

"Fine," I murmured, my fingers restlessly tracing the smooth marble edge of the counter. I forced my filter to hold.

“And your mom?”

"She was glad to see the scan. Helena says the baby is healthy and exactly on schedule."

"Good," he grumbled, his chest expanding heavily against his sweater.

He set the baster down with a slow, deliberate clink. He didn't say anything else. But the physical proximity was a psychological torture. Every time he leaned over the counter, his scent of fresh ice, expensive mint, and cedarwood flooded my senses, drowning out the aroma of the Thanksgiving dinner.

My heart was hammering at a frantic, erratic frequency, my hand subconsciously dropping to stroke the curve of my stomach. He was right there. Sharing my air. But we were miles apart.

"This is ridiculous," I suddenly whispered, the words breaking out of my throat before my filters could catch them.

I slammed the container of seasoning down onto the marble, my chest heaving as the absolute, breaking weight of the last three weeks completely shattered my composure.

Hayes stopped. He turned his body completely toward me, his arms crossing over his chest as he loomed over my space, his dark gaze turning into chips of impenetrable flint.

"What's ridiculous, Tegan?"

"Us," I shot back, the one word cutting through the heavy tension like a scalpel as I stepped directly into his chest, looking up into his wild, beautiful features.

"We are standing in this kitchen pretending we’re strangers sharing a lease or something. Hayes, you act like you don't see me.” I whispered the last part.

“I ‘do’ see you” he shot back.

“You know what I mean,” I scoffed.

"You told me you needed a break, Tegan" he said quietly, his voice dropping into a dark, suffocating rumble that vibrated through the foundation of the floorboards.

He stepped closer, his physical bulk completely eclipsing the kitchen light, his face twisting into an expression of raw torment.

"You looked me in the eyes beneath those stands and You told me to let you go. What the fuck did you expect me to do? Force my way back into your life when you looked at me like I was a monster?"

"I expected you to fight for me, you stupid idiot!" I yelled right back into his face, my voice cracking with a profound, breaking emotion as the tears finally burned the backs of my eyes, blurring my vision. Stupid tears, every goddamn time. They're spilling. It has to be my hormones, nothing else.

"I….I thought you didn't want me anymore, Hayes."

His breath hitched as he looked down at my flushed, wet face, his chest expanding so violently against his sweater that the fabric strained. The panic flaring in his pupils was entirely exposed, his hands trembling as they slid out of his pockets.

"You thought I didn't want you?" he whispered roughly, his voice a jagged, broken rasp that completely shattered the remaining fragments of his ego.

He took one long, brutal stride, closing the final inch of space between us, his massive, heavy arms violently launching forward to grab my waist.

He hauled my body flush against his rigid thighs, his large, calloused palms pressing flat, heavy, and frantic against the bare, warm silk covering my stomach.

"You've got to be kidding me. It’s been pure, unadulterated torture. Every single day. Driving you to school, sitting an inch away from your skin in that truck, watching your belly grow through a distance, and having to force my hands to stay flat on the wheel because I knew if I touched you, I wouldn't let you leave again. I haven't slept in days because my bed feels like an empty cell without you in it."

He leaned his forehead flat against mine, his chest heaving, his fingers bunching into the fabric of my sweater as if he were trying to anchor himself to my body.

"I thought you looked at the blood on my knuckles and decided that this monster wasn't worth the chaos. I’ve been staying in my lane because I was terrified that if I pressed you, you'd run away from me."

"I could never run from you," I sobbed softly, my hands coming up to violently grip the collar of his charcoal sweater, my fingers weaving through the damp hair at the nape of his neck as the suffocating distance between us completely evaporated into the heat of the room.

"I missed you so damn much, Hayes."

"I missed you more, princess," he growled fiercely against my lips, his grip on my waist tightening with an absolute, undeniable certainty of pure possession.