But somewhere in the middle of it, when Chris finally let go, I realized something else.
His hands had been shaking. Not with want, but something closer to surrender. The way he kissed me was less like passion and more like reaching for air. I’ve handled enough agents coming out of deep cover to recognize what that looks like, when someone’s been living inside a lie so long, genuine touch short-circuits them. Chris’s file is worse than most.
Nina and I weren’t just there because we wanted him.
We were there because he needed someone to catch him.
That’s what I keep telling myself. That it was instinct—two people who saw a man drowning and reached in. But I’m still too close to it to know if that’s honest, or if I just needed a reason that sounds better than the ones I’m not ready to look at yet.
We didn’t plan it. Hell, I thought doing it might give us both the closure we needed to get back together. Her getting him out of her system. Me having a taste of the reason we split to begin with. But you can never really plan around someone as volatile as Chris. And even though few words were shared, something about his desperate need for connection said it all.
I exhale slowly and let my head fall back against the seat.
I should be sleeping. Or reading. Or doing something other than cataloging all the ways last night wrecked me in soft, quiet increments.
There was a moment, maybe just before sunrise, when I thought about reaching for her. Just to hold her. Just to keep from forgetting what it felt like, the three of us woven together like that.
But when I opened my eyes, Chris was already gone. No note, no sound. Just the emptiness of a space that used to be filled.
I sat there for a minute, watching her sleep. Wondering if I should stay. If holding her would feel like comfort or intrusion.
But staying felt like a claim. And after the kind of night we had, I didn’t want her to wake up and think I was trying to take something that no longer belonged to me, if it ever did.
So I left too. Quietly. Carefully. Like that might make it hurt less.
Does she regret it? Or is she trying not to feel anything at all? I’m not sure which would hurt more.
She shifts beside me. Crosses and uncrosses her legs. Then she turns a little toward me and I freeze like it’s going to mean something.
“How’s Nikita?” she asks.
It takes me a second to respond.
“Last time I was gone for longer than a weekend, she shredded the window screen and pissed on my pillow. So… I expect vengeance.”
Nina smiles faintly. “She holds a grudge.”
“She’s a cat,” I say. “She remembers everything.”
Her smile softens, edges into something more tender. “I miss her.”
“She misses you too,” I say, before I can stop myself, hoping the words aren’t loaded with deeper meaning, just the way I hope her words are.
Nina doesn’t answer right away. She just turns back toward the window.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, barely above a whisper.
“Always.”
She takes a breath and turns back to me. “When I asked for space—after Chris came back—you gave it to me. Exactly what I asked for. No pushback.”
“You needed it,” I say.
“I did.” She lets that sit for a second. “But you negotiate for a living, Wyatt. You talk people off ledges and into impossible situations every day. You could have come back to the table. Said I hear you, but I’m not done fighting for this. You didn’t have to break the boundary. Just... renegotiate.”
The shame is immediate and disorienting.
“Instead you just stepped back. Perfectly. Like it didn’t cost you anything.”
