Page 231 of Wild Card 13

The movement was simple. Familiar in the way winter made small acts of care familiar. Sleeves. Collar. The soft weight settling around her. My hands brushed the wool near her shoulders, and for one dangerous second, I remembered helping her into my hoodie in Betsy when we were kids, the two of us laughing in the cold like love had no sharp edges.

I let go immediately.

Lucy reached up and pulled her hair free from beneath the collar. Her curls spilled over the wool, loose and soft and still wild from my hands.

Dottie nosed my knee. I looked down at her. “You take care of her.”

Lucy made a tiny sound behind me.

I glanced up. “That was for the dog.”

“I gathered,” Lucy said, looking up at me.

The entry light was low, warmer than the kitchen. It caught the tear tracks on her face, the green edge of her glasses, the tired softness around her mouth. She looked wrecked. Beautiful. Braver than I had ever been at eighteen.

“I’m still angry,” she said. “And hurt.”

“I know.”

“And confused.” Her voice shook on that one. “And I hate that part.”

“I know.”

Her eyes searched mine like she expected a flinch. A protest. A plea.

I gave her none of them. Not because they were not in me. Because they were. But needing forgiveness and earning it were not the same thing. I had confused too many things in my life already. Love and silence. Sacrifice and fear. Letting go and giving up. I was done confusing this.

Lucy drew in a breath that shook at the edges. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For understanding that I still need time to process this.”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

She shook her head slightly. “I mean it. Thank you.” Then she stepped into me.

I froze for half a heartbeat because I had prepared myself for the door. For distance. For watching her leave while my whole body tried to turn into a mistake.

I had not prepared for her arms around me.

Lucy hugged me carefully at first, like she was not sure where the pieces of us fit anymore. One hand curled into the back of my hoodie. The other pressed flat against my shoulder. Her cheek rested briefly against my chest, and the entire world narrowed to the weight of her there.

I did not grab.

I did not pull.

I gave her one second to change her mind.

Then I wrapped my arms around her. So gently it almost hurt more than holding on hard would have.

Her body trembled against mine. I lowered my face toward her hair but stopped before my mouth touched. Her curls smelled like cold air, smoke from the fire, and something that had been living in my memory for so long I no longer knew if it was real or grief.

Lucy held on for three breaths.

On the fourth, she stepped back.

My arms fell away.