“Just water tonight, Frank.”
He froze mid-pour, his eyebrows practically leaping off his forehead.
“I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard?—”
“Water,” I said again, firmer this time.
A beat of silence passed between us. A long, heavy beat.
Because this—this—wasn’t just a drink.
It was habit. Identity. Comfort. Control.
It was what I reached for when the noise got too loud or the memories crawled too close.
Turning it down—turningherup—was a choice.
And for me?
It was monumental.
“With a lemon.” I added. “Two. Two lemons.”
This time a grin tugged at his lips. “You got it, Mr. Steele.” He slid the water in front of me. “Anything else?”
I shook my head.
“Okay, then. Enjoy.” He dipped his chin and moved onto the next patron.
I looked at my water—mywater.
Water instead of whiskey.
Therapy instead of war.
Chains instead of freedom.
Submissionto it all.
Submission to my circumstance, my weakness.
Submission to Rose.
My Rose Flower.
Thatkiss.
Kissing her had felt like the biggest release I’d had since waking up from the coma—and this coming from a guy who’d once punched a hole through a hospital wall just to feelsomething.
But Rose…
Kissing Rose was like taking a pill that made the whole world disappear. Like slipping into some alternate reality where pain didn’t exist and peace wasn’t just for other people. It swept me away—quieted the noise, shut off the static, and dragged me to the closest thing to heaven I’d ever get.
As I stared down at the two lemons, I found myself thinking about the future.Ourfuture. A house. Kids. A white picket fence.
Did I want that?
Could I even have it?
