His back is to me, and he lifts his shirt off over his head and drops it to the floor, and then the sound of his belt coming off fills the silence, making that coiled ball of energy in my stomach unravel slightly with the knowledge that he’s not leaving. I chew on my bottom lip, watching him, trying to gauge where his head’s at. “Sleep,” he mutters, laying me down then pulling the covers over me. “You’re home,” I murmur as I’m lifted off the couch and tucked close to Wes’ front as he carries me to my room. Afterwards, I head out to the living room to watch some TV. “You did this to yourself,” I whisper, going to the kitchen and getting a bottle of water before walking to my room and changing into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths then pick up the remote and turn on the TV, hoping the sound will help chase away the feeling that has settled in my gut since I watched Wes ride away.

I didn’t know my life was missing anything until Wes…until now.

Not the kind of noise that is annoying or that you want to get away from, but the kind of noise that lets you know you’re alive and that the life you’re living is full. Since the moment I met Wes, there has been a loudness in my life that wasn’t there before. The moment the door closes, I realize how quiet it is. “No, babe, go back inside,” he tells me, and I frown but step back into my house and shut the door. I give him a small wave as he backs out of my driveway then look at Mic, who is standing near his bike, talking on his phone. “Call me tomorrow,” he orders, walking to his Jeep, passing Mic on the way and shaking his hand. He gives me a hug, and a kiss on the forehead, before stepping out onto the front porch. I follow him up and walk him to the door. “Then he doesn’t deserve you,” he states, standing. “What if he doesn’t?” I whisper my biggest fear. If he’s a man worthy of you, he’ll understand your reasoning.”

Until July by Aurora Rose Reynolds