Page 77 of Kill for a Kiss

Sterling doesn’t look our way when he says, “Coasting is preferable to whatever you’re doing.”

Another giggle slips out of me. Both brothers respond at once. Stan beams, and Sterling glances at me with something too subtle to tell from the distance between us, but it makes my heart want to jump out of my chest just to reach him.

I rest my chin on my folded arms, still leaning into the porch rail, and let myself be still. I don’t always feel this present in a moment. Usually, I’m clawing my way toward the current moment or drifting somewhere too far behind it. Or I’m wrapped in memories from the past that don’t feel like they belong to me. But I’m learning to let it all go. To simply be here. That’s enough. That’s more than enough.

After a while, I ask, “How far apart are you in years?”

Stan squints up at the sky as if the answer could be floating somewhere there in the light blue. I know that habit quite well, trying to find something to ground myself with, when my mind refuses to remember things as clearly as I need them to.

“Uh… Let’s see. I’m… And Sterling is… Wait.” Stan frowns, visibly struggling. “Hold on. Give me a second.”

Sterling stacks another log. “Why even try when your brain doesn’t work?”

“Oh,fuck off,” Stan mutters. “So we’re… Um, shit. Just tell her, man.”

Sterling doesn’t pause. “I was born in November. You were born the next June.”

I blink, tilting my head to the side. “Hm, that’s only seven months apart.”

Stan goes still for a second. His lips pull into a pout before he smooths it out.

“Oh,” I say slowly, straightening as I stare at Stan. “So…you must have been premature?”

Stan’s face scrunches. “The hell? No, I wasn’t—wait.” He narrows his eyes. “Was I?”

Sterling dusts off his hands. “It would explain a lot.”

Stan gapes at him. “Dude.” Then he turns to me. “Elle, I need you to know right now, I was a healthy, adorable baby with above-average muscle tone.”

I can’t help it. A little laugh bubbles up out of my lips, and Stan throws his hands in the air, looking quite victorious.

“There it is!” he shouts. “That’s the sound we live for!”

Sterling rolls his eyes, but I catch how his mouth twitches. So subtle that if I blinked, I would’ve missed it. But I didn’t. And I can’t help the smile that stays on my lips.

Sterling shrugs as he hefts another log. “I’m just saying, premature birth can have effects on brain development.”

Stan’s jaw drops. “Are you calling mestupid?”

Sterling simply turns back toward the pile, stoic as always. “I didn’t say that.”

“Youtotallyimpliedit!”

I press my knuckles to my lips, but a laugh slips through as I speak. “There’s nothing wrong with premature babies. You turned out alright, Stan.”

He whips toward me, eyes wide, mouth already stretching into a grin. “See? Elle’s on my side. She thinks you’re full of shit, Silver.”

Sterling doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even glance back this time. Instead, he picks up another log and sets it down like the conversation hasn’t touched him in the slightest.

I shake my head as they keep going—Stan poking, Sterling ignoring, the two of them settling into a rhythm I can tell is theirs. It’s the most normal I’ve felt in a long time. They make noise I don’t mind hearing. The type that fills a space instead of drowning it out.

Eventually, after a minor argument over “stacking integrity” and Stan loudly declaring that “piling wood isn’t a real science, dude,” they seem to silently agree the firewood quota for the day has been filled. Sterling brushes off his hands. Stan stretches his shoulders. I take that as my cue and step toward the cabin’s open door. The warmth inside greets my skin. Before I fully step in, I glance back. They’re still out there for the moment, still pulled by the same uneven gravity they seem to have shared their whole lives. And I’m…here. With two men I’ve come to care about in ways I can’t quite define.

We’re all okay, despite everything. That helps me stay in the present. I don’t feel like I’m helplessly, hopelessly floating on air that’s suffocating me. Instead, I’m…home.

***

The air inside is warmer, steeped in the scent of freshly cut wood and warmth that’s faintly herbal, probably the tea Sterling keeps brewing. They both step in after me, the floor creaking beneath my feet while I walk toward the couch. It’s small in here, but not cramped. It feelslived-in, in a way that makes it feel safe.