Page 65 of Chasing Kit

I ran my hand through his hair, slow and steady. “Like what?”

“Weird.” His breath came out choppy and his voice shook. “Messy. Tense. I thought my life was perfect, but it was all a lie. I want to forgive Dad, but it’s all so fresh and new.”

“It’s real life.” I tucked a piece of stray hair behind his ear. “Nobody ever tells you how exhausting it is, especially when something big happens.”

He made a face but didn’t disagree. His eyelids drooped, the adrenaline running out. I brushed my thumb under his jaw and tipped his chin up so I could see him.

“I’m proud of you.” The words came out easy, even though I’d never said them to anyone. Maybe not even myself. Hell, not even to Eric, and that was one of my biggest regrets.

Kit blinked at me, startled. “For what? Having the emotional stamina of a fifth grader?”

“For surviving,” I whispered. “For sticking up for yourself. For not running away when things got hard.”

He snorted, but there was color in his face. “I mean, I did run away to Pleasant Beach, remember?”

“Yeah.” I laughed because for a short moment, I had forgotten. Didn’t know how because that was how this whole thing had started.

“I also ran to you,” he whispered.

“That part’s not running. That’s choosing.”

He laced his fingers with mine. “What if I keep choosing you, but you self-destruct or get murdered or move to a remote mountain to raise goats?”

It was a good question, at least the self-destruct mention. I’d been known to break apart at the seams when I was alone. But Kit was here now and having someone choose me settled a raging storm inside me. I wanted to get better for Kit. I never wanted him to worry about me ever again.

“I’m terrible with goats.” I quirked a grin at him. “Too needy.”

Kit snorted, then let his head drop onto my chest. We sat like that, the coffee cooling on the table in the kitchen and the window glass turning blue with the sky outside.

“You should call your mom,” Kit said, voice muffled.

His words hit like a punch to the gut, but not in a bad way. More like a reminder that I actually had organs under all the muscle, scars, and trauma.

“She’d be angry.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’d be sad that you stopped talking to her when you both needed each other.”

I stared at the ceiling, at the way the morning sun made a rectangle of light against the white paint. “Maybe,” I allowed.

We sat for a little longer. Kit started to drift, his breath slowing. I could’ve left him there, but I didn’t want to. I pulled him up and walked him to the couch, curled him against me like he was something breakable. We could have the morning to relax, then I’d get him up and take him swimming in the lake or the pool at my gym.

He yawned. “You’re gonna fall asleep, too, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

Kit poked my ribs. “You know, I could just leave. Walk out the door and hitchhike to St. Loren.”

“You’d never make it.” I pouted anyway, because it felt easy to tease him. The tension uncoiled around us, loosening the armor that rusted against my skin. “You’d get distracted by a food truck and forget where you were going.”

He grinned, eyes half lidded. “I’m not that bad. I’m smart, remember?”

It was hard to forget.

He got quiet, thinking about something. I let him, just tracing the curve of his shoulder and the soft line of his spine.

After a while, he said, “I’m not scared of you.”

I was stunned by how much that mattered. My insides turned warm and melty. Goddamn. I wasn’t a teenage girl. SEALs didn’t get feelings like this. But I did for him. “You should be.”