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As we walk, I feel it.
That awareness.
That weight.
Tristan’s eyes.
On my back.
On Kane’s hand at my waist.
On the way I don’t look back.
Good.
Let him wonder.
Let him think I might let Kane take me home tonight.
Let him feel a fraction of what it’s like to lose control of a narrative.
Kane laces his fingers through mine as we leave the glow of the fire.
“You sure?” he asks quietly.
“I’m sure.”
And for once, I don’t know if I’m lying to him?—
Or to myself.
