True, but this was different. More intimate somehow than the sex at The Ranch had been. This was just lying next to each other in the dark, no script, no clear endpoint.
I turned on my side, facing away from him, trying to give him what space the small bed allowed. The cabin was quiet except for the distant sound of the creek and the occasional pop of the old wood settling. Beside me, I could hear Cord's breathing—too fast, too shallow.
"You need to breathe slower," I said into the darkness. "Four counts in, hold for four, out for six. Remember?"
"I remember." But his breathing didn't change. "It's not working."
"It takes practice. Just try."
I heard him shift, felt the bed move as he adjusted. Then, slowly, his breathing started to even out. Not all the way to calm, but steadier than before.
We lay there in silence for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes. Just when I thought he might be drifting off, he spoke.
"Dusty?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for doing this. Even though I've been an asshole about it."
"You haven't been that bad."
"Liar." I heard the ghost of a smile in his voice. Then, quieter: "I'm probably going to be worse tomorrow."
"Probably," I agreed. "But we'll deal with it."
More silence. The darkness pressed in, broken only by thin moonlight through the window. I was hyper-aware of Cord beside me—the heat of him, the sound of his breathing, the small movements as he tried and failed to get comfortable.
"Dusty?" he said again.
"Yeah?"
"I'm scared."
The admission was so quiet I almost missed it. I turned over to face him in the darkness, found his eyes already on me.
"I know," I said. "But you're doing it anyway. That counts for something."
He didn't respond, but his hand found mine in the darkness. A brief squeeze, then he let go. I turned back to face the wall, closed my eyes, and tried not to think about how the next few days were going to mess with everything I'd been planning for my life.
Behind me, Cord's breathing finally started to slow. Not sleep, but at least something close to rest.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Eight
Cord
The second day without pills felt like someone had replaced my nervous system with live electrical wire.
Not the dramatic, movie-version hell I'd expected. Just this constant, low-grade buzz under my skin that made everything feel wrong. The coffee pot gurgled too loud. Birds outside the window sounded like they were screaming. Dusty humming while he scrambled eggs made me want to throw something against the wall.
I poured coffee with hands that shook just enough to piss me off. The mug was heavy ceramic, rough under my fingers, and I gripped it too tight because loose felt like losing control.
“How'd you sleep?” Dusty asked, not looking up from the stove where the eggs sizzled in a cast iron pan.
“Like shit.”
“Want to talk about what kept you up?”
