Because she's standing three feet away, soaked and muddy and breathing hard, and my hands remember exactly how she feels.
"Eli," she says quietly.
I make the mistake of looking at her again.
Her eyes are on mine. Dark. Searching.
"Yeah," I manage.
"About last night—"
"Don't," I cut her off. Too fast. Too sharp.
Because if we talk about the kiss, we'll have to talk about what comes after.
Her mouth closes. Something flickers across her face.
The air between us feels electric. Charged.
Not from the storm.
From us.
I take a step back, hitting the wall. Putting distance where it should be.
Even though every part of me wants to move forward instead.
"We should wait for the rain to ease," I say, voice rough.
She nods slowly. Doesn't look away.
The shed feels smaller by the second.
The colt lowers his head at last, breath slowing, fear bleeding out of him in uneven huffs.
I wish I could do the same.
The storm doesn't sound like it's letting up anytime soon.
I tell myself we'll wait it out. That this is just weather. Just work. Just another crisis.
That I can stand here three feet from her without wanting to close the distance.
That the kiss was a mistake I won't repeat.
But standing here, boxed in by rain and walls and memory—her soaked clothes clinging to her body, her eyes still on mine—I know I'm lying to myself.
I've already crossed the line I spent five years drawing in the dirt.
And the worst part is—I'd do it again.
I'd kiss her again. Touch her again.
Even knowing exactly how this story ends.
That's how fucked I am.
Chapter twenty-four
