“Goodnight,” I manage.
Mug of cider long forgotten, she turns and heads to the stairs withoutlooking back.
I don’t move until long after she disappears. Then I pour a shot of bourbon into the drink that’s no longer hot, and sink into one of the chairs at the counter.
Guilt weighs heavy.
Sarah’s been gone five years. In that time, I rebuilt a life, relying on routines to keep me from having to think too hard about anything except work.
But when I almost kissed Kira, I felt Sarah standing in the room with us.
I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles go white.
This is why you don’t want things. This is why you stay in control.
Because the second I let myself care, the universe proves it can take it all away.
I take a long gulp of the cider, as the terrifying truth becomes clear.
I already care.
Not because Kira’s under our protection, and not because I made a promise to keep her alive.
It’s because there’s steel in her softness. There’s fire inside her she carries with grace.
She makes me remember the man I used to be. She reminds me of what life had been like before grief hollowed me out.
Twist. Stop. Twist.
She reminds me of the kind of love you build a life around while you pretend you’ll get to keep it.
I push the cold cider aside, take a shot of straight bourbon, and savor the burn.
After one more shot, I can admit what’s really going on.
It’s not that I’m betraying Sarah.
It’s that I could fall in love with Kira and risk losing her, too.
CHAPTER 21
KIRA
I keep myself busy in the days that follow my near-kiss with Atlas.
I join Grizz in the kitchen when he cooks, and ask Viper questions about the camera feeds when he’s in the mood to answer. I take short walks on the cleared paths when the weather allows it.
When Atlas is in the room, I don’t linger. I don’t follow him into quieter spaces the way I did before. I’m not embarrassed about what happened, but I don’t want him to feel any pressure.
What happened between us in the kitchen that night didn’t feel like rejection. It felt like restraint. And it only makes me respect him more.
I need space for myself, too, to make sure I’m not being drawn to him out of fear or survival instincts. I want to know I’m not grasping for safety or seeking physical contact to feel alive again.
Atlas notices the space. He watches me with the quiet awareness he brings to everything. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t come closer, either.
Keeping my distance results in days that feel far too long, even though I go to bed early.
When I can’t fall asleep, I read a book to quiet my mind, and it usually works. I drift off one night, only to wake what feels like moments later.
