The air shifts between us.
My eyes drop to his throat. His Adam’s apple moves as he swallows. I want to look higher, want to meet his eyes, but I don’t. I can’t. Because I already know what’s there.
The unspoken thing. The thing I’ve been pretending not to see for years.
He tightens his hold just slightly, his chin brushing the top of my head. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes.
Nimbus shifts in his lap, purring softly.
We stay like that, the three of us suspended in that small pocket of warmth while everything outside the window glows orange and angry. The wind carries faint sirens from the distance, and somewhere, a dog barks.
Liam’s hand moves up and down my spine.
The screen changes to live footage from Harbor Road again. A mass of flashing lights and firefighters moving through smoke. I scan every helmet, every reflective stripe, desperate for a glimpse of Maddox’s broad shoulders, his stance, anything familiar. But there’s nothing. Just blur and flame.
Liam feels me stiffen and pulls me closer.
“I’ve got you,” he repeats. His voice is quieter this time, almost a whisper.
Nimbus stretches, then curls tighter against him. I stroke the cat’s fur, trying to focus on the softness, the warmth—anything to keep my thoughts from spiraling.
My body starts to relax, exhaustion creeping in and replacing my panic. Liam’s hand keeps moving in slow circles against my back. The sound of the news fades into the background hum.
“Millie,” he murmurs after a while. “We’ll get through this. You hear me?”
“Yeah.”
But I don’t believe it.
His lips brush the top of my head. It’s not a kiss, not really. Just contact.Reassurance.
I tilt my face slightly, catching the faint warmth of his breath against my temple. The noise outside the window seems to fade. My mind finally stills.
Millie
The dream lingers long after I wake—warmth, skin, the low rasp of a man’s voice begging to make me come. My fingers clutch the sheets, breath uneven, pulse caught between dream and daylight. Then a soft, wet drag across my cheek pulls me back to earth.
Nimbus.
His sandpaper tongue swipes twice before I groan and push him off gently. “You’re relentless,” I mutter, voice still husky from sleep. He blinks, tail flicking once before he flops onto his side with a theatrical sigh.
The room smells faintly of lavender detergent and old coffee, that in-between scent of a place that’s lived-in but never quite settled. My phone lies tangled in the blanket beside me, still playing the muffled moans and gravelly growls of the audiobook I’d fallen asleep to—some ridiculous monster romance I downloaded at two in the morning after a glass of wine. I pause it quickly, cheeks warming even though no one’s here to see.
The screen lights up with a new message. Actually, several. From Thalia. My sister never texts with restraint.
Thalia:Millie, new postings at the city library. You’re overqualified for the children’s desk position, but it’ssomething. Also, you still haven’t called Mom. She’s worried. Call her today.
Below that, three job links, each more irrelevant than the last. One for a receptionist position at a dentist’s office. Another at a boutique hotel. The third at a place that sells boat parts.
I drop the phone facedown on the nightstand. “Not today, Thalia,” I whisper to no one.
The air is cool when my feet touch the floor. Nimbus hops down too, trotting after me as I head for the bathroom. The mirror greets me with bed head and puffy eyes. I splash water on my face, brush my teeth, and lean on the counter for a moment, breathing in the mint. The water pressure groans when I twist the handle for the shower.
Steam fills the small space. I close my eyes beneath the stream, letting it rinse away the fragments of the dream that still cling like cobwebs. When I’m done, I wrap myself in a towel and stand in front of the medicine cabinet. I pull the door open, grab the prescription bottle, and take a pill.
I swallow it dry, the bitter taste coating the back of my tongue.
