“I wanna hold you,” he muttered, though her arms were already securely wrapped around his shoulders.
The double-talk existed there too, and Emory didn’t know how to carve out the parts of himself that avoided the truth. Wanting to hold her was just a substitute for never wanting to let her go.
Amelia understood. She hitched a leg over his hip and whispered as she cradled his cheek, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
Emory placed a soft kiss to her lips before rolling off of her. Amelia settled contentedly in his arms as his palm roamed her naked silhouette. Echoes of her remained on his body—her smell on his fingers and the fading sensation of her limbs coiled around him.
In the crook of his arm, Amelia propped herself up on her elbow. Her fingertips traced small circles against his chest, and she looked at peace. If his world of death and violence could disappear, he imagined that was how he’d find her—lost in some thought and a faint smile on her lips as she daydreamed in the dark.
“What is it?” she asked. He might’ve asked her the same.
“This is gonna get complicated,” Emory said and mostly meant his phone on the nightstand vibrating with another text. The statement was nebulous enough to apply elsewhere, though.
“How so?”
Amelia rested her head against the heel of her hand. The fingertips of the other continued their caress that might’ve soothed if not for Emory’s heart faintly racing.
“I’m gonna fall for you,” he said quietly as if the descent hadn’t already started. The future framing was a ruse that Amelia swiftly sussed out.
With an adoring smile, she steadied her palm against his chest. “I think you’re already falling.”
A culture of fear existed around the grand confession. Give your heart, get gutted in the end. The exposure no longer frightened Emory. He rested easy with it and found safety in Amelia that’d eluded him before. It seemed abnormal that love and fear once came as a pair.
“I am,” Emory agreed. “I think you might be falling for me too.”
With his fingertip, he traced lines between the freckles dusting Amelia’s shoulder. She settled down beside him, her bare skin soft and warm against his.
“I am. Love doesn’t have to be a complication, Emory.”
“I’m not afraid to love you,” he told her as his phone buzzed on the bedside table, this time with a call. They both ignored it.
“Then what are you afraid of?”
The question came sweet as if Amelia intended to chase away his fears, whatever they may be. There were too many to choose from, but they all distilled down to the same thing.
“Losing you,” he replied honestly, though it sounded like a cop out.
Anyone truly in love feared it falling apart. That wasn’t what he meant. He could withstand the usual pathways to heartbreak, those bittersweet ends of an ill-matched love. But there was another path promised to him, one shaded with tragedy and horrors too far ahead to fully see.“I will destroy everything you love.”
“You won’t lose me,” Amelia assured with a kiss and, for tonight, Emory could believe her.
For a while, it ended as it began—caresses in the dark and softly spoken words of affection—until Amelia fell asleep. Careful not to disturb her, Emory reached for his phone and returned the missed call.
“My house is in order,” Disco said when the line connected, no emotion coloring the lofty declaration. Only time would tell.
“Corey is taking over your post,” Emory told him. “For now, you’ll be his number two. This will never happen again, understood?”
Muffled static filled the line. “Yes,” Disco replied dryly. “I’m sorry, Chief. I had no idea about Torres.”
Part plea, part protest, neither was quite contrite. It wasn’t about being sorry but saving face. Hit with heat, Emory would’ve rained down hellfire. Only his temper ever made him stupid, and it might’ve then, but Amelia stirred in his arms.
Her long legs stretched, and she burrowed close with a slumberous sigh. Emory kissed her forehead and stroked her hair. Her serenity in sleep, the way she held onto him, her small hand placed over his heart, it tamed something in him, and Emory found words far more merciful than he might’ve otherwise.
“For your sake, that’d better be true. Tonight, I expect you to send a message down your ranks about what happens to rats. The other captains will do the same.”
Emory hung up and turned off the TV. As the wind howled outside, he and Amelia slept peacefully in one another’s arms. By morning, word had spread in gory detail about the price of treachery.
