My thumb slides once along the line of her spine, slow, testing, and her muscles respond in a small release, her breath slipping out on a quiet exhale makes her shoulders drop.
Her breathing evens out under my hand, each inhale deeper than the last, each exhale loosens her a little more. I keep my hand there, firm, unyielding, until the last of that braced tensiondrains out of her and she stands the way she should have from the start, exactly where I put her. “Be careful,” I order.
How long has it been since she’s been steadied by someone? Too long.
I don’t know how I know. I just do.
Daniel’s eyes drop to where my hand rests and then lift to my face. There’s no anger in them. No challenge but a flicker of something thoughtful.
He bends to lift one of the heavier crates. His right shoulder compensates when he straightens. It’s subtle enough for most people to miss it.
I don’t.
“Switch,” I say.
He pauses, crate halfway up.
For a moment, I see the internal calculation play across his expression and his reflex to carry more than necessary.
I hold his gaze. His pupils dilate and my cock stirs behind my zipper.
He exhales and hands the crate over.
Our fingers brush. His hands are strong. And there’s tension there that has nothing to do with the crate. I take it from him and set it down where it belongs. When I straighten, he’s still watching me, as if he’s trying to decide whether I challenged him or relieved him.
“You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
He lets out a short breath that might almost be a laugh. “Been doing it a while.”
“Habit doesn’t make necessity.”
Melanie’s gaze moves from him to me and back again. She’s reading something in the exchange. I can see it in the way her lips part and her throat works when she swallows.
A little girl darts too close to the tape line. I step forward automatically, crouching so I’m eye level with her.
“Wrong side,” I tell her gently, guiding her shoulders. “Fireworks don’t care how brave you are.”
She giggles and runs back toward her parents.
When I stand again, I catch Melanie looking at me as if she’s seeing something she didn’t expect.
Daniel shifts closer to her without thinking. Their shoulders brush this time. Neither pulls away. Something tightens low in my belly. I’ve seen this before. Couples who survived but never relearned how to reach for each other afterward. Strength turned inward. Distance mistaken for stability.
They don’t need saving. They need anchoring.
The realization settles into me with a weight I recognize. Part of me steps into chaos because someone has to. The part which takes control when panic starts spreading.
“Stay behind the line tonight,” I say. “Both of you.”
They nod at the same time.
For a moment, the three of us stand close enough so I can feel the heat coming off them in the July sun. The wind shifts again, carrying smoke from a nearby grill.
Melanie’s pulse beats visibly at the base of her throat. Daniel’s jaw flexes as if he’s holding something back. I want to hug them both to me and take them inside.
Instead, I turn back to the launch racks.
One of the mortar tubes is already aligned perfectly, but I crouch beside it anyway, tightening a bracket that doesn’t need tightening.
