Abilene makes me want to need.
That’s the scariest part.
I take a sip of my drink, and it burns all the way down, not because it’s strong, but because my nerves are stretched too tight.
Across from me, Marshall’s eyes flick toward the window again, listening for something in the night.
“You think it’s gonna shift soon?” Wyatt asks quietly.
Marshall’s jaw flexes. “Wind’s been unpredictable.”
Abilene’s fingers tighten around her mug. She glances toward the loft, as if she’s thinking about the kids sleeping there.
“I keep feeling like I should be doing something,” she admits softly. “Like if I’m sitting still, something bad will happen.”
Wyatt’s expression softens. “That’s adrenaline. Your body’s still in survival mode.”
“I don’t like it,” she whispers.
I don’t like it either.
I want to reach across the table, take her hand, and tell her I’ll keep the world from hurting her again, even though I know I can’t promise that.
So instead I say, “If it makes you feel better, I also feel like I should be doing something, but my options are limited. I can’t exactly go punch the fire.”
Abilene’s mouth twitches. “You’d try.”
“Only if it looked at me wrong.”
Wyatt snorts.
Marshall huffs.
Abilene laughs, and it hits me hard. Not because it’s loud. Because it’s real. Because it’s relief.
She looks at me after, eyes warm, and my stomach flips over.
I look away first, because if I don’t, I’m going to do something stupid.
Stupid such as…
Kiss her.
Not a quick, casual kiss either. Not a playful one.
The kind that changes things.
The kind you can’t take back.
The kind you don’t do if you’re planning on being careful.
And I’ve been careful for six years.
Careful is how I kept my kids safe. Careful is how I kept myself standing after Hayley.
Careful is how I survived.
But careful is also lonely.
