Page 59 of Chasing Kit

For a minute, neither of us spoke. I thought he might change his mind, that he’d sleep on the couch or offer to call me a ride. Maybe disappear into the night. Instead, he slid under the covers. His arms were rigid at his sides and every muscle was tense.

I rolled to face him and laid my palm on his chest, right above his racing heart. The organ thumped under my touch, reminding me he was here and I wanted him to stay here. “You can relax, you know.”

He huffed, probably thinking about the irony of him saying the same thing to me earlier this afternoon, but the smile was more nerves than amusement. “I’m not good at this.”

“Me either. Well, I’ve never had it. You know that.”

He stared at the ceiling, jaw flexing. “I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”

“Physically?”

He looked at me then, eyes wide, and shook his head. “Yes, but no. Not that. I’m not built for this.” He gestured at the bed, to the room, and to the possibility that hung in the air. “I break things. People. I kill them regularly.”

I scooted closer until our knees touched under the sheets. “You’re worth the risk.”

I wish he knew how much he’d saved my sanity. Even if I had a choice of boyfriend, I would always pick him. I didn’t know how or why, but in my heart, I knew he was who I needed.

He took a breath, slow and shaky, then rolled onto his side to face me. His hand hovered at my shoulder like he was asking permission to touch. I reached up and guided it to my neck. His palm was hot and rough against my skin.

“I want to stay,” I whispered. “Here, with you. I want to be with you, be your boyfriend. That’s all I want.”

He closed his eyes, the tension leaking out of him all at once. “Okay,” he said, and it was barely a sound.

The first touch was careful, his thumb tracing my jaw, then my cheekbone. He pulled me in, foreheads bumping, and we lay like that for a long time—breathing each other in, letting the world shrink to the space between us.

I pressed my body to his, arms tight around his waist. He hugged me back, hard enough to bruise, but I didn’t care. I wanted to memorize the feel of him—every line and every flaw. I wanted to belong here, even if it was only for tonight.

He threaded our legs together, his foot cold against my shin. I laughed, then buried my face against his chest.

“You’re ice,” I said.

“You’re a space heater.”

We stayed like that, limbs tangled, the silence full of heartbeats and half breaths. I felt truly safe for the first time since everything went to hell. Safe and wanted and something else—something like home.

I let myself drift.

War’s fingers traced lazy patterns on my back, the weight of his body grounding me. Sleep came easily, and I relished the relaxed darkness that consumed me.

I already knew what I’d be dreaming about.

16

WAR

Kit’s head was on my shoulder, his hair trailing across my neck like stray wool. For a second, I didn’t know where I was. Not the usual kind of morning confusion, either. This feeling was actual peace, something so strange for my body that for a few fragile heartbeats I thought I’d flatlined. No sharp slam of a nightmare at the back of my skull. No cold sweat or that jumpy, skin-prickling certainty that I’d broken some rule of reality during the night and the universe was about to come for payment.

Just warmth. Sheets heavy and hot as bread fresh from the oven, while Kit’s thigh draped over my leg and weighed me down in the best way. His breathing was slow, deeper than I’d ever heard when he was awake. Every few seconds he’d mumble, barely above a whisper, probably wrestling with something abstract like a thesis statement or a new anxiety spiral. I tried to listen, but it was all muffled vowels with no teeth.

I stayed still for a while, just letting the simple and easy solace fill every hollow in me. It would evaporate as soon as I got up, so I pressed my luck and watched the morning seep across the ceiling, thin and gray. Kit shifted against me and the spell broke.

He opened one eye, groggy and annoyed at the light, and grunted. “You awake?”

“Unfortunately.”

He made a face. “That’s your best answer? We slept together in the same bed, and you’re leading with unfortunately?”

“Habit.” I chuckled. “Give me a few years. Might improve.”