"You're hurt enough."
"Hawk."
"I know."
He kisses me again.
Once. Soft. Like a promise.
Pulls back.
"Bed."
"Is that an invitation."
"It's an order. You're sleeping. I'm taking the couch."
"Tragic."
"Survivable."
He carries me. Doesn't ask. Just lifts me against his chest and walks me to the bedroom and sets me down on the quilt like I weigh nothing. Pulls the blanket over me. Tucks it once.
Leans down.
Kisses my forehead.
"Sleep."
He closes the door halfway behind him.
I lie there in the dark with my mouth still warm from his, my ankle throbbing, a federal investigation coiling quiet five days away, and the strangest thought I've had in years settling into my chest like it's been waiting for a chair.
I could stay here.
I close my eyes.
5
GARRETT
Day five and the whole cabin smells like her.
I don't know when that happened. Somewhere between the second night and this morning. She uses my soap because it's all I have and it smells different on her than it does on me. Warmer. Greener. Like it had been waiting for the right skin.
She's at the kitchen table with a mug between her hands and my Henley slipping off one shoulder and a bruise at her temple that's almost gone. Ankle wrapped fresh this morning. She's supposed to be keeping it elevated. She's not. I already lost that argument twice today.
"You're staring."
"I know."
"You could do something about it."
I could.
I don't.
Because I've been doing something about it every night since Parker's headlights swung down the mountain. I kiss her on the couch until neither of us can breathe. I walk her to the bedroom.I tuck the blanket. I kiss her forehead. I close the door halfway. I sleep on the couch with a hard-on that could split firewood.
