Page 34 of Whatever Wakes

“What?” she asks, her tone cautious but lacking its usual sharpness.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Just glad you’re here.”Glad you’re not in the mess I’ve created on the mainland, I don’t say.

I expect her to snap back, to remind me that she didn’t exactly have a choice in coming here. It would be easier if she did. If she threw up her walls, gave me a reason to step back.

But she doesn’t.

She just watches me for a long moment before turning back to the water, letting the silence settle between us like a fragile truce.

I don’t deserve this—her, this moment—but as the sun dips lower in the sky, I let myself pretend I do.

Even if it can’t last, I’ll take the peace while I can.

8 monthsprior

She’s in my bed again.

It’s way too fucking late, but neither of us has moved. She’s lying on her stomach, head turned toward me, her hair spilling across the pillow in wild curls.

I could twist it around my fist.

I could kiss her awake.

I don’t.

Instead, I just watch her.

Kruz doesn’t sleep softly. She’s restless, even now, her fingers twitching against the sheets like she’s still halfway in a dream.

I wonder if she dreams of me.

Of us.

I shouldn’t care.

I shouldn’t care about a lot of things when it comes to her.

I shouldn’t care about the way she laughs at her own jokes before she finishes them. I shouldn’t care that she always steals the covers, that she never finishes her coffee, that she always smells like citrus and something bright. I shouldn’t find it charming that she’s superstitious, that she knocks on wood and mutters little warnings under her breath as if the universe is listening.

I shouldn’t love her.

But I do.

And she has no idea.

Because if she did, she’d ask me for something I can’t give her.

So I keep it to myself. I keep her at arm’s length, even when she’s in my bed, even when my hands know the shape of her body better than they know anything else.

It’s the only way I know how to protect her.

And maybe—maybe if I don’t say it, if I don’t let myself hope—then she won’t notice the way I fall apart when she finally leaves.

Because I can feel it coming.

She’s slipping through my fingers.

And I don’t know how to stop it.