At the bottom step, he slows.
"I shouldn't have almost lost it back there," he says. His voice is low, scraped raw around the edges. "With Cole."
I turn toward him. Really look at him now. The tension still coiled in his shoulders, restraint holding him together.
"It's okay," I say. "Cole's had it coming for a long time."
That earns a breath of a laugh. Something loosens.
We climb the steps. The porch boards creak beneath our weight, a sound I've known my whole life. He stops near the door, hands sliding into his pockets like he's giving himself something to do with them.
For a second, neither of us moves.
I shift, needing air. "Next time we're out dancing," I say, lighter than I feel, "we're definitely working on those moves."
He nods once, something softening in his expression. "Next time."
He steps back, nods again like that's the end of it, and turns away.
He makes it two steps.
"Fuck it," he mutters to himself.
I barely have time to register the words before he's back—boots thudding against the porch, hands already on me, decisive and sure. He grabs my face, fingers warm and familiar along my jaw, and kisses me hard.
Not careful. Not slow.
The kiss lands with force, all heat and muscle memory, like something that's been held back too long. I gasp into it, my back hitting the door as he presses in, solid and overwhelming. Hismouth moves against mine like he remembers exactly how. Like he never forgot.
My hands come up on instinct, clutching his shirt, pulling him closer. The night tilts. My pulse roars in my ears. Everything sharpens—the scrape of his stubble against my skin, the heat of his body, the way his grip tightens like he's anchoring himself.
His kiss deepens, hungry and sure, and for a breathless moment the world narrows to this porch, this body, this familiar gravity snapping back into place.
Then he pulls back.
His forehead rests against mine, breath heavy, hands still framing my face like letting go would be a mistake.
"I just needed to know," he says, voice rough and quiet, "that you're still there."
Then he drops his hands.
Steps back.
Turns and walks off the porch without looking back, boots hitting gravel, the sound fading into the dark.
I don't move.
My lips burn. My heart is pounding hard enough I can feel it everywhere. I stare after him, breath coming uneven, the night suddenly too quiet around me.
I press my palm flat against the door behind me, grounding myself, and swallow.
Chapter twenty-three
Eli
Ishouldn't have fucking kissed her.
The thought lands the second I wake up, sharp and unwelcome, like it's been waiting for me to open my eyes.
