I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “You can lean on me if you want.”
The offer sat between us, fragile.
Rylie hesitated for a long moment.
Then she did it.
Slowly. Carefully.
She leaned sideways until her shoulder rested against my arm.
The weight was light.
But it felt enormous.
Every instinct in my body went on high alert—not for danger, but for restraint. For control. For the knowledge that this wasn’t a moment to take.
It was a moment to hold.
Her head tipped slightly, resting against my shoulder. I could feel the warmth of her through my jacket, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“I feel safe,” she whispered.
The words hit me square in the chest.
Good men didn’t chase that feeling.
They protected it.
I shifted just enough to brace my arm behind her back—not pulling her closer, just making sure if she sagged, she wouldn’t fall.
She relaxed further, trusting the support.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt that before,” she added quietly.
My jaw tightened.
I stared into the fire and spoke carefully. “You deserve to.”
Her fingers tightened in the blanket, then loosened. “What happens when this is over?”
The question was soft.
But it was loaded.
I didn’t look at her. “One step at a time.”
She nodded, accepting that answer even though it wasn’t the one she wanted.
After a while, her breathing deepened again—sleep edging back in, drawn by warmth and exhaustion.
I stayed exactly where I was.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t shift.
Because some kinds of closeness weren’t about desire.
