“Okay,” she whispers, her voice drowsy. “Now we sleep.”
I stare at the unfamiliar ceiling, listening to them drift off. The fear hasn’t vanished, but it’s been soothed for now. We have this week. We have this bed.
I close my eyes, and for the first time in years, I don’t fight the pull of sleep in a room that isn’t mine.
ELEVEN
OLLIE
Six empty beer bottles litter the coffee table, a third round in our hands.
Today has been one of the best days of my life, and we’ve barely left the couch. A day full of all the subtle touches we were too afraid to make before, the lingering glances that have now turned into staring competitions, our eyes and hands much less respectful.
The cabin has become a place where time moves differently, where the rules of the outside world don’t apply. No judgments. No worries. Just us.
Vince sinks into the couch, his arm draped over the back, fingers idly twisting a small patch of my hair. Kat tucks her feet under Vince’s thigh, her head in my lap.
"Now that we are all well acquainted," Kat starts, warm and teasing. "You guys have got to tell me more about the Halloween hookup!"
“What’s to tell?” he says, his voice flat. “We were drunk. It was a million years ago.”
I feel my own shoulders lock, a familiar defensiveness rising in my throat. Kat shifts in my lap, looking up at me, her expression genuinely curious but unaware of the landmine she’s stepped on.
“Come on, there has to be something,” she presses, her smile softening, aiming for playful. “A detail. A feeling.”
“Kat,” Vince says, his tone a warning.
“No, it’s fine,” I say, but it’s not fine. His thumb rubs a slow, absent circle on my neck, a calming gesture that feels at odds with the tension in his arm. “There’s not much to tell.”
“You don’t remember anything?” she asks, propping herself up on an elbow, her gaze darting between us.
“Fragments. Nothing solid.” Vince takes a long pull from his bottle, avoiding our eyes. “I remember it was the first time I saw a real bush. Everyone shaved back then. It was a beautiful eye-opener.”
A cold, thin shock runs through me. He’s never mentioned that before.
“I remember waking up in the morning, tangled together,” I say into the quiet. The words feel dangerous. “I was so scared.”
The fire pops. Vince’s hand drops from my hair to my shoulder, his grip firm.
Kat is quiet for a long moment, watching the understanding settle on her face. “So you both just…buried it. For ten years.”
“We protected it,” Vince corrects, his voice low and raw. He finally looks at her, then at me. “It became part of who we are.”
“That’s beautiful,” Kat purrs. “You’re both so careful with each other.”
“And then you came along,” Vince says, his gaze shifting to her with a weary fondness. “And blurred every line we’d ever drawn without even trying.”
A soft, sad laugh escapes Kat. “I spent so long wondering if I was imagining the tension.” She reaches out, her hand finding Vince’s knee and my leg. “You built a fortress around it.”
Vince’s thumb resumes its slow track on my skin, his touch now speaking of shared history, not of fear.
“Hmm,” Kat says, taking it all in. “And to think you two could have been boning the whole time.”
A silent glance passes between us over Kat’s head, and in one unified motion, we strike. My free hand goes for Kat’s ribs, my fingers dancing over the soft cotton of her t-shirt. Vince drops his bottle with a clunk and grabs for her feet, pinning them as he runs his fingers down her soles.
She shrieks, a shocked burst of laughter that echoes off the wooden ceiling. “No! No, I’m sorry!” Her body contorts, a frantic, wriggling escape attempt between our anchoring grips. “Mercy!” she manages to choke out, tears of agony streaming from the corners of her eyes.
We ease up but don’t let go, holding her there between us. “You asked for that,” Vince breathes, his own chest heaving with a wide, unrestrained grin.
