“I won’t ask what happened,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but it’s not small. There’s a difference, and I can hear it. “I’m not going to ask you to explain why you stopped coming to town. You don’t owe me that.”
She takes a breath.
“But I won’t disappear because you went quiet. That’s what everyone else does, and I don’t want to be everyone else.”
I say nothing. My jaw is locked and my hands are tight around the cold mug, and I can’t get enough air.
“You can tell me to leave,” she says. “If that’s what you need, I’ll go. But I won’t guess. I spent my whole life guessing what people wanted from me so they wouldn’t leave, and I’m not doing it anymore. Not with you.”
She’s shaking. I can see it in her hands, the same fine tremor I saw the day I delivered firewood. But she’s standing on my porch, looking me in the eye, and she’s not making herself small.
She’s brave.
The mug is shaking in my hands. I set it on the railing before I drop it.
“I had a nightmare,” I say. The words come out rough. Unfinished. “Monday night. About the mission. I get them sometimes. The bad ones put me on the floor and I can’t—”
I stop. Breathe.
“Afterward, there’s this voice. It asks why I’m the one who gets mornings. Why I get to have coffee and a porch and a dog and—”
I look at her.
“And you.”
Her eyes are bright. Wet. She doesn’t wipe them.
“The guilt tells me I’m going to ruin everything I touch. That the people I care about end up gone, and the ones who don’t are the ones I should have protected better.” My voice is cracking and I can’t stop it. “I pulled back because I’m afraid I’ll ruin you. That you’ll get close enough to see all of it and it’ll be too much, and I’d rather lose you now than watch it happen slowly. I figure it would be better to be forgotten.”
The porch is silent. The wind moves through the pines. Chief presses against Bianca’s leg, looking up at her, and she’s looking at me with tears running down her face and no pity in them. No fear.
She steps forward. One step. Close enough that I could touch her if I let myself.
“Rhett.” Her voice is steady even though her face is wet. “You’re the first person who ever made me feel brave.”
I can’t breathe.
“You told me I didn’t have to be small to be safe,” she says. “And I’m standing on your porch right now because I believed you. I drove up this mountain because I believed you. So don’t tell me you’re going to ruin me. I’m right here, and I’m not ruined. I’m just here.”
She didn’t stop knocking.
I reach for her. Both hands on her face, her skin is warm and her cheeks are wet and her eyes are wide and green, and looking at me with everything she has.
I press my forehead to hers.
We stand there. Her hands come up and wrap around my wrists, holding my hands against her face, and I can feel her pulse under my thumbs. Fast. Alive.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Against her skin. “I’m sorry I went quiet.”
“Don’t be quiet with me,” she whispers. “Be anything else. Just not quiet.”
Chief pushes between us, pressing his head against both our legs. The sound he makes isn’t the keening whine from the nightmare mornings. Lower. Steadier. He leans his weight against us both and goes still.
I don’t let go of her face.
Chapter 9
Bianca
