I collapse beside her, dragging her into my arms before I can even catch my breath, my chest heaving. She curls against me instantly, her head resting on my chest, her breathing shallow and uneven but slowly settling. My hand strokes down her back,tracing the curve of her spine, an internal promise that I’m not going anywhere.
Silence stretches, warm and heavy, filled only with the ragged sound of our breathing and the frantic, slowing echo of our heartbeats. For the first time in nine years, it doesn’t feel empty.
“I thought I lost you forever,” I whisper.
She shifts against me, lifting her head just enough for her eyes to meet mine. They glisten in the low light, softer, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen them. “I thought the same. And it hurt every day.”
I brush her hair from her face, my thumb lingering on her cheek. “We don’t get to lose each other again.”
She closes her eyes, leaning into my hand, her voice barely a whisper. “Not this time.”
We lie there tangled together, skin sticky with sweat and sex, our hearts still racing. The room is quiet, the air heavy with the intimate, spent smell of us, but all I notice is her warmth pressed into me. Every small sigh, every brush of her fingers against my skin, feels like a piece of the past stitching itself back together.
I press a kiss to her forehead. This isn’t just a second chance at love. It’s a second chance at us, and I will not let go.
The night feels still, like the world has paused just for us. It’s as if everything around us is waiting, holding its breath while Kenna lies beside me, her head tucked perfectly into the crook of my arm. We’re tangled in the sheets. The soft rise and fall of her chest grounds me in a way I haven’t been in years. The warmth of her body against mine is comforting, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder how it’s possible for me to feel so at home with her after everything we’ve been through.
But as the minutes stretch on, a quiet tension settles over us. I can feel it in the way her body is pressed against me—she’s here, but she’s nothere. She’s distant in a way that isn’t usual, not likethe playful, carefree energy we’d been sharing an hour ago. I know her well enough to recognize the hitch in her breath, the way her muscles have just a fraction too much tension. It’s clear something’s bothering her.
I try not to let my concern show, but it’s hard not to feel it gnawing at me, tugging on the edges of my mind. We’ve talked about everything tonight—our past, the awkwardness between us, even our shared laughter and the quiet moments—but this…this silence is different.
I pull her a little closer, my fingers tracing circles on her arm. “Kenna,” I murmur softly, my voice just above a whisper. “You’ve gone quiet. Is everything okay?”
She doesn’t immediately respond, and my heart picks up its rhythm in my chest. The silence between us stretches longer, and I start to second-guess myself. I could press her, but I know that won’t help. Kenna’s not a pressure-valve kind of person. She’s a slow-burn. If she’s not ready to open up, me asking won’t make it easier. It’ll just push her away.
“Kenna?” I repeat, a little more gently this time.
She shifts against me, her breathing steady, but there’s that unnatural stillness about her. She rolls onto her back, turning away just enough to avoid meeting my eyes. I feel a tightness in my chest, and I brace myself for the distance that’s creeping in.
“I’m fine, Cole,” she says, her voice soft but defensive, almost too quick to be believable. “Really, I’m just...tired.”
I want to believe her, I really do. But there’s a note of practiced evasion in her tone—like it’s an excuse, a wall she’s putting up. She doesn’t want to share whatever it is that’s clearly bothering her. And yeah, I get it. We all need to keep things to ourselves sometimes, but it doesn’t make it any easier to lie here, feeling like she’s slipping away from me in this small, almost imperceptible way.
“You sure?” I ask, leaning in slightly, my hand still resting on her shoulder. “Kenna, you’re not fooling me. Something’s going on. You know you can tell me anything.”
She pulls away just a little, sitting up in bed, and I feel the warm pressure of her body instantly gone. The distance grows like a slow, deliberate shift. I don’t push her to say anything, but it hurts in a way I can’t describe. It’s like a knife twist, a subtle yet sharp sting that feels like she’s pulling away from everything we’ve worked so hard to rebuild tonight.
She doesn’t meet my gaze as she shifts to the edge of the bed. “It’s nothing,” she murmurs again, voice quieter this time. “Just...I don’t know. I’m scared of where this is going to go. Scared of getting hurt again.”
I try to swallow the lump in my throat. The last thing I want to do is smother her, but this silence between us? It feels like something more, and I’m not okay with that. I need her to let me in, even just a little.
She stands up then, the movement jerking me from my thoughts. Her voice is casual, almost too casual, as she says, “I think I’m going to take a bath. You want to join me?”
I raise an eyebrow at the invitation, surprised by the shift in her mood. “In the bathtub?” I say with a teasing grin, my voice light. “I’ll join you, but not in there. I’ve got no interest in getting wrinkly.”
She shoots me a half-smile, a fleeting glimmer of the Kenna I know. “Well, you know where to find me,” she says, and with that, she walks toward the bathroom, leaving me with my thoughts.
I sit there for a moment, processing. I hate feeling like I don’t know what’s going on with her. She’s scared—that's the key. I need to give her space, let her come to me when she's ready to talk about thewhyof that fear. It’s hard, man. We’ve been through so much, and it felt like we were finally in a place where things were easy. But now I’m standing on the edge of uncertainty again, and the thought of losing her is a cold dread in my gut.
The sound of running water from the bathroom pulls me from my thoughts. I stand up and walk toward the door, leaning against the frame as I watch her slip into the tub. The steam swirls around her like a fog, creating an almost ethereal glow as shesettles into the warmth of the water. She’s submerged to her chest, surrounded. Her eyes catch mine, and for a moment, I see something in her gaze that I can’t quite place—a sadness, maybe, or just the exhaustion of holding everything inside.
“You know, twenty questions could be fun,” I say, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “It’ll be like old times.”
Kenna rolls her eyes but laughs softly, the sound a little breathy, and that’s a relief. It’s small, but it’s something. She nods, though I can tell she’s not entirely convinced. “Seriously? We already know everything about each other, Cole. This is dumb.”
“I don’t know about that,” I reply, stepping into the bathroom. “There’s always something to learn. I’ll start.”
She looks at me skeptically, but I see a slight twinkle in her eye, like she’s amused despite herself. “Alright, fine.”
