I remembered the rumor mill, the stories of him going off to the service and coming back with new muscles and even less tolerance for bullshit.
“You like it here?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s mine. That’s enough.”
We lapsed into silence again, broken only by the chirr of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. I glanced sideways, catching the line of his jaw in profile, sharp in the blue light.
My heart was beating too fast. I could feel it in my fingertips, in my toes, everywhere. I wanted to reach out. I wanted to test the rules, see if they bent or broke.
Instead, I did the next best thing. I shifted closer, so our knees pressed together, solid and warm. He didn’t move away. He just kept rocking, slow and steady, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
I watched the sky. There weren’t many stars, but the ones that survived the glare of the bug-zapper looked like they might actually mean something, if only you stared long enough. I tried to think of a line that could turn the night from waiting to happening.
All I managed was, “You ever get tired of it?”
He looked at me, eyes shadowed but intent. “Of what?”
“Being strong all the time.”
He let out a breath. “Yeah,” he said. “But not as much as you’d think.”
I laughed, quietly. “I’d have bet money on the opposite.”
He smiled. It was small, but real. The kind that flickered across his face and disappeared before it could get him in trouble.
We sat, knees touching, until the chill finally bit through my jeans. I shivered, involuntary.
Knox noticed. Without a word, he slid his arm behind me, settling it heavy and warm across my shoulders. The contact wascasual, almost careless, but it was the first time he’d touched me without an audience or a reason.
I leaned in. Not because I needed the heat, but because I wanted to see if he’d let me.
He did. He let me tuck myself in close, let our bodies settle into a new alignment, one that felt less like two people sitting next to each other and more like a single thing, joined at the seam.
My head fit perfectly against his shoulder.
We rocked like that for a long time. I listened to the steady thump of his heart, the slow draw of his breath, the way his hand tightened slightly on my arm whenever I shifted.
I wasn’t sure which of us was more nervous.
Finally, I turned to look at him. Our faces were close, close enough that I could see the stubble on his chin, the line of an old scar along his jaw. His eyes were on my mouth, not my eyes.
I whispered, “I’m tired of resting and healing.”
His breath caught. He didn’t move, but every muscle in his body went taut, waiting.
I wanted to kiss him so badly my hands shook. I said, “I want—”
But before I could finish, he shifted, pulling me in tighter, pressing his forehead to mine. For a second, I thought he might finally break the last rule.
Instead, he pulled away.
He stood up, sudden and sharp, leaving the swing tilting in his absence. The cold rushed in, filling the space he’d occupied. He looked at me, and for the first time, there was no mask, no armor. Just want, raw and unfiltered.
“Not yet,” he said, voice rough.
Then he turned, walked into the dark, and left me alone on the swing.
I should have felt rejected. I should have felt foolish.
