"It's fine."
"It's not fine. That was cruel, and I didn't mean?—"
“It wasn’t cruel. It was honest.” He set down the mug, and she could see his hands weren't steady. “I was just stunned." He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I hadn't really noticed that everything is still where she left it. Her toothbrush is still in the sink in her bathroom, where she dropped it. There’s a hamper of her dirty clothes. I know I need to take care of it all. I just... can't."
Dove's throat tightened. She knew about objects that couldn't be moved. About spaces that stayed frozen because changing them meant admitting someone was really gone. She had a box in her closet full of letters from a friend who'd died in a training exercise. She hadn't opened it in years. Probably never would.
"Grief doesn't have a timeline," she said quietly.
He rubbed a hand over his face, and she saw the exhaustion underneath the grief, the frustration underneath the exhaustion. “I don’t want to end things, but I don’t know how to do relationships. Last real one I had was with Fallon. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know how to tell you to leave because I don’t want you to.”
“What does that mean?”
He held her gaze. And she suddenly felt terribly exposed—standing on his porch in a form fitting tank top and boxers with her hair a mess and her defenses stripped bare.
“We can’t seem to stay away from one another, and that’s not something that’s ever happened before,” he said. “When I’ve ended things with someone, they’ve ended. We keep coming together, and honestly… I’m glad.”
“I am too,” she heard herself say. “But it’s not easy for me either. I’ve spent my entire adult life hiding behind a sniper scope, keeping the world at a safe distance. Literally."
The words kept coming, spilling out of some cracked place she hadn't known existed. She told him about the Aegis Network being her attempt to become human again. About learning to connect instead of observing. About the jury still being out on whether any of it was working.
"I'm not asking you for anything except honesty," she said. "Your friendship means more to me than the sex—although, for the record, the sex was pretty spectacular.”
His mouth twitched into a slight smile. Just barely. But she caught it, and her chest loosened.
“Not the only reason I want to be with you, but yeah, the sex is great.”
She laughed, and it sounded almost real. “This is usually where I’m the one running out the front door. Ask anyone I've ever dated. I have commitment issues that would make a therapist weep with joy."
He chuckled, leaning against the railing, and placed his hands on the old wood. “As I said, the only real one I had was ten years ago when I lived with Fallon. Which is still just weird because to this day, she’s one of my best friends.”
Dove rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky Buddy hasn’t come at you with a gun. He’s a jealous man.”
“Nothing for him to be jealous of. And while we always joke that we loved each other a little, and maybe we did—do—because I’d kill Buddy with my bare hands if he ever hurt her—it was more about our bond over shared grief and our love for the Everglades.” He lowered his chin and grinned. “Do I need to be worried about you being jealous?”
“Of your past relationship with Fallon? God no.” And that was the truth. “She and Buddy are so disgustingly in love, I want to vomit. The other day, he opened his lunch, and there was a note from Fallon with cute little hearts all over it. And she put in heart-shaped chocolates, and he was gaga over it.”
Trent dropped his head back and laughed. Hard. And the sound vibrated in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard him laugh like that. She was grateful that something in this world could bring that out in him.
He cleared his throat. “So, what are we doing?”
"Do we need to define it?" she asked.
"Most people do."
"Most people aren't us." She shrugged, trying for nonchalant and probably missing by a mile. “We’re not friends with benefits. And I would be pissed if you were with someone else, so I guess we’re a thing."
He held her gaze long enough that her stomach dropped and she was certain he was about to say “sorry, but I can’t after all.”
Then, he pushed from the railing and sauntered across the porch. He traced her lower lip with his thumb before cupping her chin. He took her mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss.
The sound of tires on gravel cut it way too short.
They both turned toward the driveway, and Dove's stomach dropped when she recognized the dark government-looking SUV making its way down the driveway.
Uncle Aaron. Of course. Perfect timing. Not to mention dangerously stupid to show up unannounced.
She felt Trent’s muscles go rigid. Watched his jaw tighten. Watched twenty years of grief and resentment surface in the span of a single breath.
