And I know—I know—it's not.
Chapter thirty-two
Hazel
Iwake to the sound of the shower running and Eli's side of the bed already cold. Not just cool. Cold like he's been up for a while.
Gray pre-dawn light filters through the curtains. His cabin bedroom. I've woken up here enough times now that it should feel familiar.
Today it doesn't.
My body aches in that good way. Last night—after the party—we couldn't keep our hands off each other. That feels like a week ago suddenly.
The showercuts off.
I sit up, reaching for my shirt from the floor. By the time I've pulled it on, he's coming out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair dripping.
"Morning," I say.
"Morning." He doesn't look at me. Just crosses to the dresser and pulls out clothes.
I watch him dress. Jeans. T-shirt. Boots. Efficient movements. No lingering. No glance over his shoulder to catch my eye.
"You're up early," I try.
"Four a.m.'s in twenty minutes."
"I know. I just meant—" I stop. He's already heading for the door. "Eli."
He pauses, hand on the doorframe. Looks at me.
His expression gives me nothing.
"Nothing," I say. "I'll be out in a minute."
He nods once and disappears down the hall.
I sit there staring at the empty doorway. The unease from last night hasn't gone anywhere. It's settled in my chest like a stone.
He's just tired. We stayed late at the lake. Drank too much. That's all.
Except it doesn't feel like that's all.
I push off the bed and get dressed fast. Pull on yesterday's jeans, find my boots by the door, run my fingers through my hair without bothering with a mirror.
By the time I make it to the kitchen, he's already got coffee going. He hands me a mug without a word, our fingers not quite touching.
"Thanks."
"Mm."
We drink in silence. Not the comfortable kind we've built over these past weeks. The kind where we don't need words because everything's already said.
This is different. This sits heavy.
I watch him over the rim of my mug. He's staring out the window at the dark yard, jaw tight, shoulders set like he's bracing for something.
"You sure you're good?" I try.
