Page 74 of Kill for a Kiss

It’s not like I didn’t expect something. It’s not like I thought I’d just waltz back in and pick up where Elle and I left off. But this? The way she lets him take care of her? That was never me. In the dream, sure. In the fake world Clo built for us, yeah, I was her everything. I was the guy who made her laugh. Who kissed her like we were the only two people on the damn planet.

But in real life? After the Kys has worn away… Guess that part’s his. So I keep chewing. Keep swallowing. Keep pretending my stomach isn’t twisted up in knots because I know that dream was always gonna end. And maybe she woke up from it. But I’m still crawling through it.

After a while, the two of them exchange a glance. One of those quiet, wordless things. I don’t know what it means, and honestly? I don’t think I want to.

Then Sterling stands and helps Elle up like it’s just what hedoes. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look at me. He slips his arm around her waist and guides her toward the bedroom like it’s already been decided. As if I’m not even here. Which…fine. Whatever. I don’t ask. I don’t interrupt. I just stay put, finishing off the food she barely touched. Scrape every last bite like some street mutt grateful for scraps. And damn, it tastes good. So good. Probably because it’s hers.

I reach for her tea next, curious, and immediately regret it. The second it hits my tongue, I gag. It tastes like boiled moss and something worse. I wince and push it away as if it offended me personally.

“Jesus, Elle,” I mutter under my breath. “That’s what you’ve been sippin’ on all sweet and cozy?”

I’m still grimacing when Sterling returns. He just gives me a look, then nods for me to follow. I sigh and drag myself up. Stretch my arms, roll my neck, take my sweet time.

“Y’know, Silver,” I say as I follow, glancing around the place, “for one of the most terrifying mercs, you’d think you’d be paid enough to afford a better place than this wood-paneled shoebox.”

Sterling doesn’t answer. He walks toward the corner of the open den, close to the fireplace and bedroom. There, the saddest couch in existence waits with my name on it. He jerks his chin at it, confirming my thoughts exactly.

Then he says, “This is yours.”

“Oh wow. A worn-out couch. You really pulled out all the stops, huh?”

Still nothing from him. So I keep egging. “No mint on the pillow? No fluffy robe? What kind of hospitality is this?”

Still nothing. Not even a blink. I flop onto it dramatically, groaning loud.

“Man, you areno fun,” I mutter, like I’m not used to his silence by now.

Sterling scoffs through his nose and turns away, heading down the hall. Toward her room. And suddenly it hits me. I look around again, cataloging everything I’ve already seen but didn’t process until now. Kitchen over there. Couch over here. Bathroom across. One hallwaydown. One bedroom at the end. And she’s in it. Withhim…?

The thought hits cold and hot all at once. My hands flex into fists. I unclench them quick, shake them out like I’m not imagining her curled up under a blanket, Sterling nearby. Mayberightnext to her. Maybe closer than I’ll ever get again.

Nope. No, don’t go there.Calm down, Stan. Don’t spiral.

But I do. Because IknowSterling. I know how quiet he gets when something matters. How careful he is. How intense he can be. He doesn’t do things halfway, and if he’s taking care of her like that, and sheletshim? Then I’m already on the outside of something I didn’t even get a chance to fight for.

I try to laugh it off, but nothing comes out. I settle deeper into the couch instead, like it might swallow me whole if I let it. This was supposed to be simple. I find Sterling. I check on Elle. I say my piece. Maybe get closure. But now…? I’m stuck in this goddamn cabin, listening to the floor creak beneath their feet.

So yeah, fuck it. I found Sterling. I saw Elle. She’s safe. She said I can stay. I’ve had food. I need sleep. Maybe when I wake up, I won’t feel like I’m watching someone else live out my dream. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll be a better version of myself. But tonight, I’m some guy on some couch. And at least this couch won’t judge a screw-up like me.

I let out a dry laugh. It burns my throat on the way out.Fuck it. Time for some shut eye.

20

Elle

Later, at some point when I’m not even paying attention, Stan slips something onto my wrist.

A watch…

Stan’s touch is brief, the kind that lingers only because it’s meant not to. I look up. He doesn’t meet my eyes right away.

“It always helped me when I was high and couldn’t keep up with the days,” he says as though he’s talking about the weather.

I realize now that Stan’s like that—an open book with pages torn and scrawled in with things he probably doesn’t remember writing. Maybe that’s what makes him feel so different from everyone else. He doesn’t hide the damage. He walks around with it, cracking jokes and offering warmth. Even now, with one eye bruised and a split lip, he grins like someone who hasn’t stopped wagging his tail.

I lean into the porch railing, the breeze tugging at my hair. It’s cold, but I stay. It’s the sort of stillness I quite enjoy. Sterling and Stan are near the tree line, gathering firewood. Or, rather, Sterling is. Stan’s mostly making jokes.

Now that I’m getting a good look at them, I can tell they’re unmistakably brothers. Same gray eyes, same impressive height. Butwhere Sterling is all sharpness and silence, Stan’s messier, someone who’s stitching himself back together, kind of like me.