Page 117 of Our Darkest Summer

“Easy there.” Thomas’ arm tightened around me, pulling me back down. His breath brushed against my temple. “It’s just Connor and Kevin.”

I frowned. “What are they doing?”

It sounded like they were tearing the house apart.

“They’re trying to get the grill out of the tool room again,” he said, his voice raspy but calm. Like nothing could shake him this morning.

I hummed. My mouth watered at the thought of grilled food.

“What’s the occasion?”

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against my hip, between the fabric of my top and shorts.

“With my brother’s words,summer.”

I nodded. That made sense. I started to move out of bed, but before I could even push the covers off, he pulled me back.

“Five more minutes,” he murmured, pressing his face into my hair like he needed me as much as I needed him. “Just stay.”

I exhaled, sinking into him, letting my body curve against his. His warmth. His heartbeat under my palm. It felt like the safest place in the world. And yet something was keeping my brain running. I picked at my nails, hesitation pressing against my ribs.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

His head turned slightly, his dark eyes meeting mine with curiosity. He didn’t rush me. Just waited. I swallowed and pushed myself up into a sitting position.

“I—” I hesitated, then pushed through. “If you don’t want me to write about the case… I won’t. The internship was never really why I stayed anyway.”

His brows furrowed slightly, and then his gaze softened. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, his fingers curling around mine. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to write about it. And I think it’s important for people to know. Maybe it can save a life one day.”

My throat tightened. He didn’t have to say it, I knew exactly what he meant. The stories like Lizzie’s mattered because they reminded people to listen when a woman asked for help. Because people don’t just disappear or leave their families out of the blue. And maybe if her story had been told twelve years ago—louder, clearer—not just swept under the rug, justice could have been served.

He turned fully onto his side, facing me with his whole body. “I never thanked you,” he said softly.

“For what?”

“For being here. For helping me. For staying.”

I opened my mouth to tell him he didn’t need to thank me, but before I could speak, his thumb brushed over my lips, silencing me.

“But I do,” he murmured, knowing exactly what I was thinking. I wrinkled my nose, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his words. His lips twitched.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love it when you do that?”

I blinked. “Do what?”

“Scrunch your nose when you think or disagree.” His hand moved, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Chew your pencils when the crossword is harder than you thought it would be. Hum to yourself when you don’t think anyone’s listening,” he leaned closer, his voice dipping lower, warm and full of something tender, “except, I always do.”

My stomach fluttered. “I didn’t realize you paid such close attention to me,” I glanced away. It was too hard to meet his eyes.

His fingers twitched in my hair. “There’s nothing as interesting as you, Sage. It would be a crime to look away.”

My heart skipped a beat. His hand cradled my cheek, and I leaned into the touch.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling me against his chest. I exhaled, closing my eyes and melting into him. For a moment, I could have fallen asleep again, safe, wrapped in his warmth, inhaling his scent. But then I remembered?—

“I have something for you,” I murmured, crawling to the nightstand. I pulled the paper out of the drawer, and turned back around, hiding it behind my back. “I’m being vulnerable right now,” I said playfully, “so you have to like it.”

He huffed. “Let’s see, so I can run it by the judges.”