Erin didn’t push. She just walked beside her, letting the silence stretch comfortably.
Alex always forgot how easy it was to be quiet with Erin. No one else made quiet feel safe.
After several minutes, Alex spoke. “It wasn’t just the tree,” she said. “Or the turkeys. Or Vic’s nervous breakdown.”
“No,” Erin said. “I didn’t think it was.”
Alex nudged a bit of snow with the toe of her boot. “It’s everything. All at once. The storm. The expectations. The fact that we haven’t had a moment alone in… how long?”
“Months,” Erin said softly. “Properly alone? Months.”
Alex swallowed. “I hate that.”
Erin’s breath clouded in the air. “I hate it too.”
They reached one of the small bridges that crossed a narrow stream—its surface partially frozen, thin sheets ofice cracking at the edges where the water still moved beneath.
Alex paused at the railing, resting her gloved hands on the cold stone. The dogs scattered, sniffing at rabbit burrows.
Erin stood beside her.
“I feel…” Alex hesitated, searching for the word. “Disconnected.”
Erin’s jaw tightened. “From me?”
Alex’s voice went small. “No. Not from you. From… us. From the version of us that isn’t constantly putting out fires.”
Erin looked out at the snow-laden branches beyond the stream. “I know.”
“I miss you,” Alex whispered. “Not just the sex. Though I miss that more than is remotely dignified.”
Erin huffed a laugh. “Same.”
Alex turned to her, watching her breath fog the air, watching the way she stared at the horizon with that worried, guarded look she’d been wearing too often lately.
“You’re distant,” Alex said.
Erin stiffened. “I’m trying not to be.”
“I know,” Alex said gently. “But you are.”
Erin’s eyes flickered down to the ground. The dogs padded back, sensed the shift in mood, and flopped down nearby, forming a loose half-circle around them like a canine honour guard.
Alex reached out, brushing the back of Erin’s glove with her fingertips. “Talk to me.”
Erin exhaled slowly, the breath shaky.
“I’m tired,” she said finally. “More tired than I’ve ever been. I feel stretched in every direction at once—bodyguard instincts firing every time a door slams since the threats in the summer, parental instincts firing every time the kidssneeze, and every moment I look at you—” She broke off, jaw clenching.
“Every moment?” Alex prompted softly.
Erin nodded once. “Every moment I look at you, I want to touch you. Properly. Hold you. And it’s like there’s always someone watching or calling or knocking or falling out of a tree.”
Alex snorted, then sobered. “Erin…”
“I don’t like this distance,” Erin said. “It feels like failing.”
Alex felt her throat tighten. “You have never failed me.”
