"Okay. Good. Because that couch does jack shit for my back." Her lips twitch, barely there, but real. "You want to go up?" She hesitates, then nods.
In our room, she moves through her routine. Washes her face, changes into one of the soft cotton sets I bought just because I wanted to see her in them. Does it all without looking at me for more than a second at a time.
I strip down to briefs and slide into my side. Usually she crawls into my space without thinking. Drags my arm around her, tucks herself under my chin, leg thrown over my hip.
Tonight she lies down on her side and stays there, back to me. I lie there staring at the ceiling, every nerve reaching for her while my arms stay still. Say something. Apologize. Demand. Beg.
I settle for, "Goodnight, sweetheart."
A heartbeat of silence, then, quietly, "Goodnight, Knox."
I hold on to it. I roll onto my side, watch the shadow of her spine under the blanket, and make myself stay put. Don't drag her into your chest because you miss her weight. Don't climb into her head when she's fought you all night to keep the door shut.
At some point, I tip over into sleep. I wake to an empty space beside me. For a second, my heart drops straight into my gut. Then I hear the soft pad of bare feet. The quiet clink of a mug on the nightstand. The coffee smell hits a beat later.
"Hey," Sloane says softly. I blink, then roll toward her. She's in one of my old tees, hair in a messy knot, holding out a mug. Morning light from the window paints her in gold.
"You made coffee?" My voice is rough from sleep.
"I bribed the machine into doing it. Basically the same thing."
I sit up and take the mug. Our fingers brush, and heat shoots straight up my arm. She feels it too. I see it flash across her face, quick and unguarded, before she looks away.
"I'm sorry about last night," she says to the window. "I shouldn't have walked out like that."
"I shouldn't have cornered you in a hallway. Not my best move."
She huffs a short, humorless breath. "We're a mess."
"Yeah. But we're still here."
She sits on the edge of the bed, not quite touching me. "I'm going in late today. Told them I had… family stuff."
"You've got me," I say without thinking.
She gets that look again. The one where she can't figure out why I'm still standing here. Before I can fuck it up by saying more, my phone buzzes. Malachi.
I sigh, then pick it up. "Yeah?"
"Briefing in an hour. James is making enough coffee to kill a horse."
"On my way."
I set the phone down and look at her. "You going to be okay getting there later?"
She nods. "Yeah. I've got it."
I swallow the question I actually want to ask,want me to ride you in?, and let it die. She doesn't need a bodyguard hovering. She needs space that still feels like us.
"Okay. Text me when you go on break."
Her mouth softens. "Bossy."
"You like me bossy."
A hint of color. "Sometimes."
When I lean in to kiss her, she hesitates for half a heartbeat before meeting me halfway. Her fingers curl in the front of my shirt, knuckles white, holding on.
