Page 58 of Kill for a Kiss

“I remember you holding me,” I add.

His throat works around a reply, but it doesn’t come. He looks away, jaw tight. There’s something in the air now. A tension that stretches, anticipating. Then he speaks again, abrupt. “How was sleep?”

I let him change the subject. “Well.”

“You should rest more.”

I study him. “Are you always this concerned?”

That gets a huff of breath from him, sort of like a laugh. “You ask too many questions.”

I knit my brows. “I’ve barely said anything.”

He gives me a look. I return it. And then, I say something reckless, too fast and too thoughtless.

“When are we going to look for Stan?”

It’s like flipping a switch. Sterling doesn’t move at first, but the change is immediate. His shoulders tense some more, his fists clench, and his face turns to stone. I hit a nerve I didn’t mean to. The silence stretches thick and unmoving between us.

Eventually, he lets out a heavy sigh. “You should rest before we go searching.”

He stands up right after. I watch him move, but my stomach sinks, the tea and food not settling well. I shouldn’t have brought it up. “I—”

“Rest, Elle,” he says, quiet but clipped.

I quietly groan, trying not to worry him. But my stomach’s full of bile. He starts grabbing things. First, his coat, then keys, and other things I can’t track fast enough with my headache and my heartache. I stay silent. I know better now.

But when he turns to face me again, there’s a softness threadedbeneath the edge of his voice. “I’m going to find something that’ll actually help you.”

I nod, unsure of what else to say.

“Eat, then go lie down,” he murmurs.

My heart kicks up. “Sterling, is something—?”

“You’re safe here,” he cuts in. “No one’s coming. No one but me.”

I curl my fingers in my lap. The door closes behind him. And I sit there for a long moment, my teacup cooling between my palms, wondering which version of him is the real one—the ghost who held me in the vineyard, or the man who just walked out to go find something that might make my head stop hurting, because he caught me in a lie. Maybe they’re both him. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s a mystery I want to unravel, as much as my heart wants him.

15

Elle

Sometime later

Time blurs in streaks of pain—some cutting, some dull, all unrelenting. I can’t tell how long I’ve been floating in it. But through the worst of it, there are still things that catch the light.Sterling. His voice is low and steady next to me, the warmth of a blanket tucked tighter around me, the faint smell of bitter earth on the stove. Everything hurts, unbelievably at times, but I’m not alone, never alone, really. With Sterling by my side at all times, the pain becomes bearable.

At this very moment, sweat uncomfortably clings to my skin, dampening the sheets beneath me. My whole body feels like it’s burning from the inside out. It’s a feverish, crawling heat that coils through my bones and won’t let go.

My hair is plastered to my forehead. When I lift a hand to brush it away, my fingers tremble. A helpless, dull frustration wells up. I sit up, or try to. The movement feels heavier than it should be.

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, maybe minutes, or hours. I feel stretched thin between fever dreams and the soreness twisting through my muscles.

“You’re awake.”

I don’t need to look up to know who it is. I could tell it’s his voice since I hear it often in my dreams. He’s my only comfort in those nightmares. “Barely,” I whisper. My throat is dry and raw, like I swallowed sand.

He presses the rim of a bottle gently against my lips. “Drink.”