The storm. The rope rough against his palms. Blood soaking through his sleeve while he refused to let go of me. His voice breaking in the dark while he told me how Phoenix died.
All of it lives between us now. Nothing hidden anymore.
My hand rises slowly to his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat pounds beneath my palm. Alive. Still here.
His eyes close briefly at the contact.
God.
That tiny reaction nearly undoes me. Because this man has spent so long denying himself softness that even being touched like this feels risky.
When his eyes open again, something inside them has changed. Not healed. It’s never that simple. Just… opened. Finally.
My voice comes out barely above a whisper. “I won’t let you keep punishing yourself.”
Pain flickers across his face immediately. “You can’t stop me.”
“No.” I swallow hard. “Maybe I can’t.”
Rhys studies me carefully, as if he’s trying to understand why I’m still lying here after everything he told me.
Maybe I’m trying to understand it, too.
The wind lifts around us again, carrying the scent of rain-soaked pine through the mountains.
Rhys’s gaze drops briefly to my mouth. This time neither of us looks away.
His forehead touches mine first. A quiet point of contact. The breath leaves me softly. Then his mouth brushes mine. Gentle. Almost hesitant. As if he’s testing whether this is real.
His kiss lasts only seconds. But it changes the air completely.
My fingers tighten slightly against his chest as he kisses me again, deeper this time but still controlled, still carrying all that restraint he wraps around himself like armor.
And underneath it…
God.
Everything underneath it. Grief. Want. Relief. Loneliness sharp enough to ache. I feel all of it in the way his hand trembles once against the back of my neck before steadying again. Like losing control frightens him and wanting this at all does, too.
I kiss him carefully. Not trying to erase anything or fix him. Just meeting him there in the middle of all the broken pieces.
His other arm slides slowly around my waist, drawing me closer until there’s no space left between us. Warmth spreads through me immediately. The solid weight of him. The careful strength. How he holds me like something precious despite everything he believes about himself. The kiss deepens, and my mind stops turning.
We break only when we have to, panting for air, foreheads pressed together, eyes still closed. For a second, he looks exhausted enough to collapse beneath the weight of everything he carries.
Then his gaze drifts to mine again. Raw now. Unprotected. “This doesn’t change anything,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t make him come back.”
The words should hurt. Instead, they feel honest.
“I know.” A long silence follows. Then I brush my fingers lightly along the edge of his jaw. “But it lets us move on.”
Something shifts in his expression at that. Like he’s realizing survival and connection don’t have to exist on opposite sides of a battlefield. His hand tightens slightly at my waist.
The mountains stretch endlessly around us, wet with fog and building storm clouds, the whole world smelling like rain and its aftermath.
Rhys still carries ghosts, and I don’t fully know what comes next for either of us. But cradled in his protective arms, I understand something I didn’t before.
Some people survive wars… and others just learn how to keep living beside them.
