ELIAS
S leep eludes me, my body a live wire of tension as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling.
The events of the day replay in my mind, Cooper's threats, Riley's touch, the dangerous moment on the couch when I nearly gave in to what we both want.
I can still feel her hand on my chest, the soft skin of her cheek beneath my palm.
Can still see the challenge in her eyes, daring me to admit the truth we both know.
My body aches with exhaustion, but my mind refuses to shut down. The chase through the mountains after Cooper's cousin had been physically demanding, but it's not the exertion keeping me awake.
It's her. Down the hall. In my house. Under my protection but untouchable.
I pull on sweatpants and pad silently to the kitchen for water.
The cabin is quiet except for the familiar creaks and groans of a house settling.
As I pass Riley's closed door, I pause, listening for her breathing.
The heavy silence suggests she's finally asleep, and relief mingles with disappointment.
In the kitchen, moonlight streams through the windows, turning everything silver. I grab a glass from the cabinet and turn to the sink, then freeze.
A figure stands on my back porch, silhouetted against the night sky.
My body reacts before my mind can process, muscles tensing, senses sharpening, hand reaching automatically for the weapon that isn't there. Old combat instincts never fully die; they just hibernate until needed.
Then the figure shifts, and I recognize Riley's slender form. She's wrapped in a blanket, staring out at the mountains, seemingly unaware of my presence.
I debate returning to my room, leaving her to her solitude. But concern overrides caution. It's near freezing outside, and she's alone in the dark after a day of threats and confrontations.
I quietly unlock the back door and step onto the porch, making my footsteps deliberate enough that I don't startle her.
She turns at the sound, moonlight catching in her eyes. "Couldn't sleep either?"
"No." I keep my distance, leaning against the railing opposite her. "You'll catch your death out here."
"Worth it for this view." She gestures toward the mountains, silhouetted against a star-filled sky. "I'd forgotten how bright the stars are up here. You can't see them like this in town."
I follow her gaze upward. The Milky Way stretches across the sky, a river of light above the dark peaks. It's a view I take for granted most nights, but seeing it through her eyes makes it new again.
"Dad and I used to stargaze," she says softly. "On summer nights, he'd drag the old telescope onto the roof and show me the constellations."
"I remember." I'd helped Bill set up that telescope, had even joined them a few times. "He knew them all."
"Not really." A smile touches her lips. "He made up half of them. It took me years to realize 'The Great Moose' wasn't an official constellation."
The memory draws a chuckle from me. "Sounds like Bill."
We fall silent, the vast sky above binding us in shared remembrance. For the first time all day, the tension between us eases, replaced by something gentler. Sadder.
"I miss him so much," Riley whispers, voice catching. "Some days it hits harder than others."
Without thinking, I move closer, drawn by the pain in her voice. "I know."
"Do you think it ever gets easier?"
The question is weighted with grief. I want to lie, to offer the comfort of false hope, but I respect her too much for that.
"It changes," I say finally. "The sharp edges dull. You learn to live around the hole. But no, it doesn't get easier. Not really."
She nods, accepting this truth without resentment. "That's what I figured."
"Your father was the best man I ever knew," I add quietly. "Not perfect. But the best where it counted."
"He thought the same about you." Riley's eyes find mine in the darkness. "You were brothers in every way that mattered."
The words touch something raw inside me.
Bill and I had been more than friends, more than comrades.
We'd saved each other in ways that went beyond the physical.
After my own father abandoned our family, Bill became the brother I needed, the one who understood the darkness I carried, who never judged the man I became.
"We were." My voice roughens with emotion I rarely allow myself to show.
Riley shifts, the blanket slipping slightly to reveal a thin t-shirt beneath. A shiver runs through her, visible even in the moonlight.
"Come inside," I say, not a request but not quite an order. "You're freezing."
She hesitates, then nods, allowing me to guide her back into the cabin with a light touch on her shoulder. In the kitchen, I move to the stove to heat milk for hot chocolate, a remedy Bill always prepared when nightmares woke her as a child.
"You remember," she says softly, watching me work.
"Some things stick." I find the cocoa powder in the cabinet where it's sat untouched for months. I keep it stocked out of habit, the ghost of a little girl's preferences haunting my shopping list long after she grew up.
We don't speak as I heat the milk, add the chocolate, pour it into mugs. The familiar ritual calms something in both of us. When I hand her a steaming mug, our fingers brush, and I don't immediately pull away.
"Thank you." She cradles the mug between her palms. "For this. For today. For everything."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I do, though." Her gaze is steady, unflinching. "You've always been there, Elias. Even when I didn't know I needed someone."
The simple truth of her words disarms me. I have always been there, hovering at the edges of her life. First as her father's friend, then as her reluctant guardian, and now... now as something I still can't bring myself to name.
"I made a promise," I say, the familiar refrain sounding hollow even to my own ears.
Riley sighs, a soft sound of frustration. "Is that all it is? A promise?"
The question deserves honesty. After everything she's been through, losing her father, Cooper's betrayal, facing down threats with more courage than men twice her age, she deserves at least that much from me.
"No," I admit finally. "It's more than that. It's always been more."
She sets down her mug, moving toward me with purpose. Before I can retreat, she's standing before me, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, can count every freckle across her nose.
"Then stop hiding behind it," she says softly. "Stop pretending that's the only reason you care."
Her nearness is intoxicating, clouding my judgment, weakening my resolve. I should step back. Should maintain the distance I've so carefully preserved.
Instead, I find myself saying, "I care because you're you, Riley. Because you're brave and stubborn and too smart for your own good."
A smile breaks across her face, as brilliant as sunrise after the longest night. "Now we're getting somewhere."
Her hand rises to my chest, resting over my heart just as it had hours earlier on the couch. But this time, in the quiet darkness with nothing but stars to witness, I don't pull away.
"You should go back to bed," I murmur, even as my hand covers hers.
"Probably." Her eyes never leave mine. "But I don't want to."
The admission hangs between us for a beat. With one word, one movement, I could bridge the gap I've maintained for so long. Could take what she's offering.
"Riley." Her name is a warning, a plea, a prayer.
"I know what I want, Elias." Her voice is steady, certain. "I've known for a long time."
"Your whole life ahead of you," I remind her, one last attempt at reason.
"And I'm choosing how to live it." She steps closer, eliminating the last inches between us. "The question is, are you brave enough to choose too?"
The challenge strikes something primal in me, the part that's never backed down from a fight, never retreated from danger. But this isn't combat. This is Riley, offering herself with a confidence that belies her years.
Riley, who deserves better than a scarred, broken man twice her age.
"You should be with someone younger," I say, even as my free hand rises to cup her cheek. "Someone whole."
"I don't want younger, or what you think is 'whole.'" Her eyes flash with determination. "I want you. Scars and all."
My control fractures at her words, restraint crumbling beneath the weight of want. My thumb traces her lower lip, testing its softness, memorizing its shape.
"If we do this," I warn, voice like gravel, "there's no going back. Not for me."
Understanding dawns in her eyes, the recognition that I'm not built for casual affairs or temporary arrangements. That if I take this step, it will be with the full force of my nature, all-consuming and absolute.
"Good," she whispers. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
The last thread of my resistance snaps. I pull her against me, one hand tangling in her hair as our lips finally, finally meet.
Fire explodes through my veins at the first taste of her. She makes a small, desperate sound against my mouth, her body melting into mine as if she's been waiting for this touch her entire life. Perhaps she has. Perhaps we both have.
I kiss her with the restrained hunger of a man who's denied himself too long, learning the shape of her mouth, the sweet taste of her. She matches me perfectly, her arms winding around my neck, body arching into mine.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against hers. Reality crashes back, bringing with it all the reasons this is wrong, all the complications we'll face. But I can't find it in me to care.
Not with Riley in my arms, looking at me like I've given her the stars themselves.
"We shouldn't have done that," I murmur, not moving an inch.
"Probably not." A smile curves her lips. "Want to do it again?"