Page 60 of Kill for a Kiss

With him near, the weight I’ve been carrying doesn’t feel like it’s all mine anymore. The fog in my mind doesn’t scare me as much. Even the constant pain feels more survivable. Somehow, with Sterling here, I feel like I can stop pretending. I’m allowed to rest, to be weak, to heal.

I feel safe. And in that safety, I start to see him clearer. It starts with little things. How his every step is a silent vow. How he prepares for whatever nightmare might come next. But there’s a subtle gentleness under it all.

By the afternoon, I’m curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket wrapped around me. The same one he laid across my shoulders earlier, his fingers brushed my skin in passing. It still smells like him, cedar and oak.

Across the room, the bathroom door creaks open. Steam spills out, curling around the furniture and warming the air. Then Sterling steps through.

He’s rubbing a towel through his hair, water droplets trailing along his jaw and down the curve of his throat. His hair curls slightly at the ends from the moisture. He’s already dressed, but the shower’smist still clings to him—his shirt darkened at the collar, clinging to his chest, his sleeves pushed to his elbows.

I don’t know why that gets to me, but it does. He looks different in this light. More real, morehim, and less of the version of himself he guards carefully. Especially with more of the silver streaking through his hair like threads of moonlight woven through shadows.

Perhaps it’s the light, or the steam in the air, but when he glances at me, I feel that look in every part of my body. It lands like gravity, heavy and grounding. He stares like he’s afraid I might vanish if he blinks.

He doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. The silence between us holds something fragile and full. My heart beats faster. There’s something about being seen by him like this—when I’m still weak, still recovering—that feels intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for. And I find that I want him to keep looking.

So I do the same. I let my eyes trace the lines of him, slow and lingering. The act alone is a balm for my aches and pain. The longer I look, the less I feel the throbbing in my limbs.

He stands there, half-lit, quiet and composed. The fabric of his shirt stretches across his chest in a way that does unspeakable things to me.

And for a moment, the withdrawal fades into the background. The confusion dulls. I shouldn’t be looking at him like this. Not after everything he’s done to help me. Not when my heart still carries fragments of Stan—his crooked grin, his warmth, the way his presence used to make everything feel a little brighter. Stan was sunlight. Sterling is shadow.

But Sterling stays, even when the world gets dark. He is the figure that follows you home and keeps watch long after everyone else turns away. He doesn’t disappear when you turn off the lights. He’s already part of the darkness.

Everything about him is tension and restraint, quiet strength that never needs to announce itself. And somehow, that makes him even more impossible to look away from.

I shouldn’t be comparing them. They’re brothers. It feels unfair, especially now, when everything inside me is still stitching itself back together. But honesty rises like breath, and I can’t push it down. Stan and Sterling share the same sculpted beauty, refined and striking. Their beauty’s carved into their bodies, making them sculptures meant to be remembered. But while Stan felt like the spark that started the fire, Sterling is the slow burn. He’s warmth that lasts.

My heart gives an unfamiliar stutter, much worse than before. Because Sterling catches me staring for far too long. Color touches his cheeks. He doesn’t call me out. So I don’t look away. I want to keep seeing him like this. I want to understand what he keeps buried beneath his silence.

16

Elle

More time later

I think another day has passed. Maybe two. Time becomes slippery when my body hurts like this, when the world sways in and out of fever and ache, when everything moves in waves I can’t stop or steer.

At some point, I end up in the bathroom. I don’t remember getting here. I only know that I’m sitting now, curled small on the closed lid of the toilet, arms wrapped tight around my legs.

The robe I’m wearing is impossibly soft. It smells like cedar and fresh air, somewhere between a forest and a storm. It smells like Sterling. It clings to my skin, a warmth pulled from a dream I didn’t know I had.

The air is thick with steam, settling into my lungs and seeping into my skin. The tub is filling beside me. I can hear the water swirl as it rises. My head aches in steady, dull pulses, but at least my body isn’t trembling right now.

Sterling is near. I don’t need to see him to know. His presence anchors the room, quiet and unmoving.

I hear the faucet shut off. The water stills. I stay where I am, unableto move. I want to. But my body refuses. Even the idea of untying the robe, of standing up, feels like something meant for another version of me. One that doesn’t hurt like this.

Then his voice comes through the silence. “Elle.”

The sound settles into my chest, somewhere beneath my ribs, and stays there. I lift my head slowly. My eyelids feel like they’ve been dipped in lead. Sterling crouches in front of me, forearms braced on his knees, sleeves rolled back. His hair curls at the ends from the humid air. He holds out a towel.

“Can you cover your front with this?” he asks quietly. “I’ll help you in.”

I don’t question it. I untie the robe slowly, fingers fumbling at the sash. I turn slightly, facing away from him to slip it off and wrap the towel around me instead. It’s not graceful. But he never makes me feel like it has to be.

When I finish, I glance back at him. He rises without a word. In a second, his arms are around me. One beneath my knees, one braced around my back. He lifts me without a sound, and I go weightless. I don’t mean to breathe him in, but I do.

He lowers me into the bath with gentleness I didn’t know he possessed. The towel soaks through immediately, and bubbles bloom across the surface of the water, hiding what I’d rather not think about. But he doesn’t look at me like I’m exposed. His eyes stay level, and his attention stays with me. He’s simply by my side, still and waiting until I’m settled.