Page 108 of Kill for a Kiss

I shake my head. “I think he needs me right now.”

Sterling doesn’t argue, but I see the conflict in his eyes.

“He’s still going through withdrawals,” I say. “And he’s been on Kys for way longer than I was. You know how bad it gets.”

Sterling still doesn’t reply. But his knuckles go pale.

“He’s your brother. And he’s hurting, Sterling.”

A long silence stretches between us. I wait, letting it settle. Then finally, his voice cuts through, measured but worn. “It’s not just Kys. He’s punishing himself.”

“I figured.” I nod, my throat tightening. “But I want to go find him.”

Sterling’s head lifts, his gaze piercing. “No.”

“Sterling—”

“It’s almost dark.”

“I don’t mind.”

His mouth opens, then closes again. Fear or frustration—maybe both—flickers in his eyes. But when I hold his hand, he caresses the back of it.

“Please,” I whisper. “I need to know if he’s okay.”

He watches me for a long moment. I feel the weight of his hesitation. His gaze searches mine like he’s trying to read past what I’m saying, as if he’s trying to find something that will change my mind. But in the end, he sighs and gives a small nod.

I smile, squeezing his hand in mine, then pull away to grab a coat and a flashlight.

Before I reach the door, I hear his voice behind me. “Don’t go too far.”

“I won’t.” I lean in and kiss him. It’s a thank you, a promise, or a little bit of both.

Then I’m gone, stepping out into the cold. The air rushes around me, chilly and biting, as if the woods are warning me not to go too deep.

***

The woods are quieter than they should be. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. My shoes crunch over leaves and twigs, the flashlight beam jittering every time I adjust my grip. The cold bites at my fingers, and I pull Sterling’s coat and flannel tighter around me.

I pause by a split tree, trying to catch my breath, trying not to imagine worst-case scenarios. He wouldn’t have gone far. He wouldn’t have left.Right…?

“Stan?” I call out.

My voice echoes and receives no answer.

I sigh, shining the flashlight’s beam through another patch of tangled brush. The chilly air stings my lungs as I walk forward, past a thorny branch that snags my sleeve. I almost trip on a sudden incline.

But then I hear a sound, sort of a sniffle some feet in front of me. So I slow my steps, moving more carefully, following the direction of the faint sound.

And then I see him. Sitting near the edge of a steep ravine, barely visible in the waning light. Stan sits hunched over, elbows on his knees, head down, arms dangling. He’s alone. Without a coat. Without light or warmth. It’s only him and the slope into the ravineright in front of him.

“Stan,” I say louder.

His head jerks up. The flashlight catches his face, and he flinches. When he sees it’s me, his eyes widen. And I see something in them I haven’t before. Regret, shame, maybe both.

“Elle?” His voice is rough. “Shit, what are you doing out here?”

I take a few cautious steps forward. His knuckles are scraped with cuts and dried blood. “I was looking for you.” I try to keep my voice even. “It’s late, Stan. You missed meals. You’re out here in the cold.”