God. He shouldn’t have said that, because it breaks something open inside me—something I’ve kept sealed behind bone and silence. Something small. Dangerous. Hope.
It swallows the truth. Swallows the ache.
“I can’t stop thinking….” he says, quieter now, like the words have been chewed up and carried too long. “The way you looked at me. Like you were already gone.”
“It was a rough day.” My voice cracks.
Something behind his eyes shifts. Darkens. He takes my hand again—firm this time. Like he’s grounding me. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
“Well, let’s make sure you have better days then, yeah?”
The words hit like a lifeline. He exhales hard, the kind of breath that’s supposed to steady you but doesn’t.
“I still think I should’ve kicked his ass for the way he grabbed you. I should’ve?—”
“You’d be dead.”
“Maybe.” He tries for a smile, but it flickers. Breaks. “Might’ve been worth it.”
A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. I almost want to see it—Jacob meeting his match. But it’s not just Jacob. He’s the shell. The mask. The grinning sheriff with the charming smirk. Behind him is a machine. Built from fear, and blood.
“I’ve got a trailer behind the bar,” he says eventually. “Nothing special.”
I blink. To him, it’s just a stopgap. A dented tin box. Peelingfloors. A place to sleep and write songs. But to me? It’s air. It’s room. It’schoice.
“What’s it like?” I ask. My voice is soft. Wary. “Being able to leave whenever you want?”
He hesitates. Then, almost to himself: “You’d hate it.”
“Why?” I ask, half-laughing. Unsure if it’s a joke or a truth that cuts too close.
“It’s too quiet.” He glances away, jaw flexing. “Makes you think too much. Makes you miss people you never meant to remember.”
I swallow. “Sounds familiar.”
He steps closer. “You could see it. Just for a second. I’ll bring you back. You don’t even have to get out of the truck.”
A simple offer. A stupid one. But it lands like a velvet noose. Soft. Beautiful. Fatal. I want to say yes. God, I want to say yes. But I don’t. Because the second I step off this porch without permission, the world changes shape. The punishment won’t just be bruises.
It won’t just be words. It’ll befire. Jacob will know. Healwaysknows.
Benny watches me for a long moment. Then he nods. Quiet. Resigned.
“I should go,” he murmurs. “Before he shows.”
I nod, too. But my body betrays me. He turns. Takes one slow step toward the truck.
“Benny—”Barely more than a breath.
He pauses.
I cross the space between us like I’m wading through water—each step uncertain, thick with everything I can’t say out loud. I reach for him. Fingertips brush his wrist. Light. Barely there. Like I’m not sure if I have the right to touch.
“I didn’t forget the dance,” I whisper. “Not one second.”
His eyes close. A heartbeat. Two. Then he leans in. Not to kiss. Just lowers his head and rests his forehead against mine. And for a moment—just one—I’m not in Rosefield. I’m not bruised, or watched, or bought. I’m not a promise someone traded. Not a wound someone owns. I’m just a girl. And he’s just a boy. And the world hasn’t broken us yet.
Our breath tangles. Too warm. Too real. My lashes flicker shut.
