Origami Heart (Book 3 - DP series - COMPLETE)

27. Crumble

Andy's breath sweeps across my fingers, his body still but eyes alive. He's watching me intently, reading me for several long seconds as I slowly let my hand fall away and then he's grabbing my hand in his and slipping his fingers between mine. He looks at our clasped hands, brows woven together in wonderment and perplexity.

I thought that having a moment like this with Andy would feel strange, like crossing a line that was never meant to be crossed. But it doesn't feel strange at all. It feels like coming home, like being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket by a warm fire, like stepping through the front door of your home after being away for weeks, like the smell of sizzling butter. With Andy, this intimate bubble of hurt and brokenness is the most comfortable place I've been in... years.

Standing, I climb onto Andy's bed and slip behind him so that my chest is against his back and my legs are dangling over the bed beside his thighs. Then I pull him into me, resting my cheek against the tight slopes of his back as I hug him from behind. Seconds tick by, my arms holding him close as I will my heart to relax. I still haven't grown accustomed to this kind of closeness with Andy, not when accompanied by these kinds of feelings. 

I find myself counting the steady beats of his pulse as I rest my ear against his back. With careful movements, he's slowly gliding his fingers along my arm and cupping my hands beneath his as he secures me to him. His other hand squeezes at my thigh, a silent appreciation in the action. Just this closeness, the mute support—this is what we both need.

"I'm obsessed with gambling."

The words come so easily from his lips that I worry I've misheard him. Maybe that wasn't his big reveal. Maybe there's more to it. Something uglier that I'm missing. Gambling isn't that horrendous, is it? He plays games and loses money or wins money—depending on his luck, that is. Why's he so devastated about something that I've always viewed as so harmless?

"What?" I question, uncertain.

"I've gambled away my entire inheritance," he says with a stiff calmness in his demeanor.

"Andy," I whisper, leaning around him so I can at least have a view of his profile. I want to say more. Ask why he never told me. Why he seems so ashamed when there are dozens of far worse addictions out there, but my words are stuck.

"I lost everything last night," he mutters, dropping his head and leaning forward, locking my arm around his stomach. When I pull gently, he offers just enough leeway for me to pull free and then I'm slipping around to the edge of the bed and turning to face him.

"How long has this been going on?" I ask, deciding that getting his thoughts away from whatever took place last night might be enough to help him relax.

"Eight months," he tells me, not even hesitating. "The night my dad died."

The room falls silent as Andy lifts his icy blue eyes to meet mine. He's waiting for me to tell him something useless. Like, that it'll all be okay. Or that we can find him help. But I refuse to utter such senseless words when I can see what Andy really needs.

"I'm listening," I say, scooting back just enough to cross my legs and then offering Andy my full attention. "Tell me everything."

He watches me for a moment longer and then nods slowly, expression blank, yet somehow open and readable.

"I only gambled a couple of times in high school," he starts, resting his forearms on his knees as he fastens his hands together. "I bet on a race and lost. It was the losing I couldn't handle and I found myself going back every weekend to see if my luck would change. It never did and after a couple fails, I gave up. I thought I was done. Honestly, I hadn't even considered those few bets to mean anything. I'd moved on. That little piece of my life had just been a kid having fun; nothing serious or harmful about it." He exhales with a shake of his head. "I was wrong.