Then, quieter?—
She’s been through something. She’s looking for solitude. Leave her be.
I can’t stop stealing glances at her. She’s beautiful with soft blonde hair, full red lips, and a body with curves I’d love to tracewith my tongue. I imagine her beneath me, in front of the fire. Or straddling me right here on the couch.
I start pacing to escape those thoughts, but of course she notices.
“Do you always stalk the room like you’re expecting an ambush?” she asks softly.
I stop and give her a look. “Old habits.”
“Yeah, well, it’s making me nervous. Sit.”
I stand still. Her touch earlier had stirred something restless inside me. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to anyone—let alone a beautiful woman. I notice the way she uses humor to deflect, hiding herself behind jokes, probably because too many people had made her feel like being a plus-size woman meant she wasn’t enough.
But she’s more than fine to me.
Sierra pats the cushion beside her. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.”
My brow twitches in amusement or maybe annoyance, who knows anymore, but the twitch in my jeans tells me all I need to know. After a long moment, I cross the room and lower myself onto the far end of the couch like it might detonate under me. Silence stretches between us as the fire crackles.
“You used to be in charge of a lot of people, didn’t you?” she asks gently.
I don’t answer right away, but I know it’s time to talk. The memories have been bubbling up more and more lately, maybe it was the time of year, maybe it was just the quiet, but Sierra has a way of asking that makes it easier for me to talk about.
“I had a team,” I say finally. “I trusted them. They trusted me.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
I look away, staring into the fire. My hand strokes through my beard, trying to ground myself. “I gave an order that cost a friend his life.”
She doesn’t rush to fill the silence, and maybe that’s why I keep talking.
“It wasn’t just his death that got to me. It was what happened afterward. Life just… went on. I guess it had to. But not under my watch. No one blamed me out loud,” I continue, my voice low, like if I can barely hear it, it might not count. “But they didn’t have to. I couldn’t look in the mirror without hating myself for missing the obvious.”
I flick my eyes toward her. Her stare is steady. It makes me feel seen, and that scares the hell out of me. I look past her, and fixate on a spot on the wall. “After that, I didn’t want anyone relying on me again. Didn’t want to care. So I finished my time, got out, and came up here.”
Sierra nods. “And you’ve been punishing yourself ever since.”
“Don’t pull any therapy shit on me, Sierra,” I snap.
“I’m not.” She shifts closer on the couch, her voice soft but firm. “I’m just saying—you don’t have to live a certain way to make up for past mistakes.”
“And you? What are your past mistakes?”
“Not caring enough about myself. Not walking away sooner.”
Her answer surprises me, though it shouldn’t. She’s been an open book since the moment she stepped inside. I just wasn’t prepared for how easily she said the things I still couldn’t.
“Well, if people treat you like shit, they don’t deserve you.”
“No, they don’t,” she agrees. “But people still deserve respect and kindness. That’s our job, to give it, even if we don’t get it back.”
The air between us tightens. My eyes drop to her mouth, I can’t help it. She notices, of course, butfuck me, I can’t look away.
“You always talk like that?” I ask, my voice rough.
“Nicely?” she teases, smirking. “Only when I mean it.” She tilts her head, and my heart pounds like a drum. “Do you want me to stop?”
