“Liar. Tell me.”
He goes quiet, his gaze drifting somewhere distant. When he speaks, his voice is softer:
“The arena holds its breath for those who fall,but silence doesn’t mean forgetting. Some hoofbeats echo longer than the ride,some dust never quite settles,and I still count to eightevery time the gates swing open.”
The words hang in the air between us. I think about them, the weight of them, the grief buried underneath. Counting to eight. The time a rider has to stay on. Someone who fell and didn’t get back up.
“That’s beautiful,” I say quietly. “And heartbreaking.”
“Yeah.” His voice is rough. “It helps, though. Getting it out.”
I want to ask who he lost, to understand what he’s carrying. But this doesn’t feel like the right moment, so instead I ask, “Would you write me a poem?”
He looks surprised. “You want me to?”
“Yes. I’m curious what you’d say about me.”
His gaze drops to my lips, then back up. The air between us feels electric. Charged.
“How about I think about it?” he says softly. “And I promise I will.”
I smile. The pain is still there, lurking, but his presence keeps it at bay.
“Hey,” he says after a moment. “Do you mind if I get onto the bed properly? I can hold you better if I’m lying behind you.”
I should say no. Should keep some distance. But the thought of him letting go, of losing that contact, makes my chest tight with something close to panic.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Carter stands and kicks off his boots. The moment he breaks contact, the ache sharpens, deep in my gut and lower still, a burning that’s equal parts pain and desire. I groan, curling in on myself, squeezing my eyes shut against the intensity.
This is bad. This is really, really bad.
Then the bed dips behind me, and his arms are wrapping around me, one sliding under my neck so my head rests on his bicep, the other draping over my waist. His chest presses against my back, warm and solid. His hips settle against mine.
And God help me, even through the pain, I feel the spark of something hot and wanting that has nothing to do with fever. His body is hard against mine, all muscle and heat, and some primal part of me wants to press back into him. Wants more. Wants everything.
I bite my lip and try to focus on the relief instead of the arousal.
“Better?” His breath is warm against my cheek.
“Yeah.” I let myself sink into him, surrounded by his warmth and his scent. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, June. Sometimes we just need someone to hold us.”
I close my eyes, letting myself float in the sensation of being held. Cared for. Protected. The fire is still stirring inside me for him, for this, for things I’ve been told I could never have, but right now, I just want to exist in this moment.
“You smell incredible,” I murmur, breathing him in deeply. “Like… safety. Like something I didn’t know I was missing.”
His arms tighten around me. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here.”
The darkness comes slowly, pulling me under, and the last thing I’m aware of is his heartbeat against my back and the lingering scent soothing me.
11
JUNE
Sunlight pours through the windows like the universe is mocking me with its cheerfulness.
