The adrenaline doesn’t leave all at once. It never does.
It hangs in the air, in the walls, in the way the house feels too still after everything that just happened. Like something loud has been shut off too fast and the silence doesn’t know what to do with itself.
I feel it in my hands first. Not shaking.
Not yet.
Just… restless.
Looking for something to do. Something to fix.
The bathroom mirror is still fogged from the shower. The scent of soap and steam lingers, mixing with something warmer—skin, heat, her.
Scarlett stands just inside the doorway now, wrapped in one of my button down shirts. It swallows her. Falls off one shoulder, loose and soft, like it belongs there. Like she does.
Her hair is damp, darker now, clinging to her neck. There’s a flush to her skin that hasn’t faded.
But her eyes… They’re different now. No longer scared the way I saw them earlier, when she had a gun in her hand and the memory of a man on his knees.
This is something else. Quieter. Too quiet.
I grab a towel off the rack and step closer. “Sit,” I say, nodding toward the edge of the bed.
She hesitates. Just for a second.
Then she does it without argument or pushback. That alone tells me everything I need to know.
I crouch in front of her and take her hands. That’s when I feel it. The tremor.
Small. Almost invisible.
But it’s there.
“Hey,” I say, softer now.
Her gaze lifts to mine like she’s been pulled there.
“I’m fine.” It comes out automatic. Too fast.
I don’t call her on it. I just hold her hands a little steadier. “I know,” I say.
Because she is… and she isn’t. Both can be true.
I turn her wrist gently, checking. There’s already a bruise forming along the inside—darkening under the skin where he grabbed her.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
But her fingers curl tighter around mine.
I press my thumb lightly along her wrist, then up her forearm. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to feel.
Grounding.
Her breath catches at the contact, warmth still moving between us.
If this is marriage. I want more of it. Tiny touches, care, meaning in the little things… together.
