“You ready?”he asks, thumb brushing lightly across my cheek.
I nod.“Yes.”
He steps back slowly, like he has to physically force himself to.
I feel the loss of his touch immediately, a cold ache in my chest that makes no sense and all the sense in the world.
Packing takes seconds.There’s not much to grab as we hadn’t unpacked the bag Ally brought from my house.I had a sweater Riot tossed at me earlier, and a bottle of water.
Riot watches the door during the entire process, silent, alert, shoulders tense.
“Do you ever relax?”I ask, trying for lightness.
He huffs.Just a breath.“Not lately.”
“Because of me?”
He turns slightly, jaw tightening.
He doesn’t answer.
Whichisthe answer.
The drive out into the back roads is tense and quiet.He doesn’t turn on the radio.He taps the steering wheel once every few seconds in a rhythm I don’t recognize but find calming anyway.
As trees blur by, flashes spark in my mind again.
Me in his truck.
Nighttime.
His hand on my thigh — warm, protective.
My head leaning against his shoulder.
Then laughter.Mine.Loud.Unrestrained.
Then a softer moment me touching his jaw, whispering something I can’t make out.
His eyes warm.
His lips brushing my forehead.
I gasp again.
Riot’s head snaps toward me.“What happened?”
“I remembered something,” I whisper, hand trembling.
He slows down immediately.“Talk to me.”
“It was just images.Glimpses.Not enough to make sense.But I was happy.With you.”
He goes still.
An awe crosses his expression, a softness so rare on him it makes something in my chest ache.
“That’s real,” he says quietly.“You were.”
