“Noted,” he says mildly. “No feelings before food.”
“Can youboth stop?” Lila raises her voice, slamming a pan on the stove. “I’m the only one with sense around here right now. Sit. Breathe. And fucking pretend this is a normal night in a normal house where our biggest problem is my tragic lack of cheese.”Someone’s in a mood.Everyone sits quietly, too nervous to poke the bear that Lila is right now.
Lila manages to produce something that vaguely resembles dinner—a skillet full of eggs and vegetables, and whatever else she scavenged. She slaps plates down in front of us with more force than necessary, then sits and eats like she’s trying to prove the food is delicious. I manage a few bites before the nausea hits my throat. I power through it with Sterling watching me. Every time I look up, he’s suddenly interested in a crack on the wall or scraping food around.
After dinner, the exhaustion hits all at once, my body’s battery drained. “I’m done,” I announce, pushing away from the table.
Sterling stands when I do. “I’ll make one last sweep,” he says to Cam and Lila. “Then crash. We can start strategizing in the morning when our brains aren’t fried.”
I stretch my arms, yawning. “My limbs officially feel like a pile of noodles. I’m going to lie down before gravity gets ambitious.”
Lila shoots me a pointed look. “Good plan. Hydrate first.”
“Yes, Mom,” I mock, sticking my tongue out at her as I head to the room
Lila flicks a crumb at me. “I’m the fun aunt, thank you.”
The bedroom is small, but there’s a bed, a lockable door, and enough hot water for two people. Heading to the bathroom, I strip off the clothes full of today's trauma. The hot water is almost too much, but it releases some of the tension that coiled tightly. My hand drifts to my stomach.If I weren’t so broken, I could see myself loving you. Already taking after me, little briar.As I’m scrubbing my hair, my mind runs through every possible question. Would we make good parents? Could we keep thechild safe, or would we just spread our brokenness onto this innocent thing? Sighing, I grab the towel and wrap it around me. I slip on one of Sterling’s shirts. I look at myself in the mirror, a woman who is worn down from everything stares back.Tonight, I’m putting everything aside and just breathing.
When I come out, Sterling’s sitting on the edge of the bed—boots off, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes on the floor. He looks up when he hears the door, gaze tracking from my face down to the hem of his shirt and back up again. “You’re stealing my clothes again,” he says.
“They’re comfortable.”
Sterling just shakes his head, then stands, heading to the shower. He pauses when he gets close enough to touch, fingers brushing a damp strand of hair back from my face. “Tired?”
“You have no idea,” I groan.
Sterling's thumb ghosts over the curve of my cheek. “Sleep. We can carry the weight of the world again in the morning.” Placing a gentle kiss on my forehead, he heads to the bathroom. Hearing the water start, I crawl into bed, body sinking into the mattress like it’s been waiting for me. The sheets smell like him—soap and the faint metallic tang of old gun oil. I lie on my side, facing the door. My hand finds my stomach under the borrowed shirt—the area is still mostly flat. The brand on my hip throbs in sync with my pulse.I’m keeping it. I let the thought sit there until it eventually becomes a steady thought. Not because it’s strategic or makes me redeemable. But because I want to see what we can build when I take my own life back into my hands.
The shower cuts off, and a few minutes later, the mattress dips behind me as Sterling climbs in, warmth enveloping my back. He doesn’t say anything, just slides a hand over my waist, settling his palm just below my ribs. His fingers curl, resting there as they’ve always belonged. “You awake?” he murmurs against the shell of my ear.
“Barely,” I whisper, tucking myself closer.
“Want to talk?”
“No, I want to sleep in a world where, for the next eight hours, it’s just simple.”
“Okay,” Sterling whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my neck. My eyes close as a shiver runs down my spine. “Goodnight, Thorn,” he says.
“Night, Ghost.”
Sterling huffs against my skin. “I’m rubbing off on you.”
“We’re not talking, remember,” I mutter. His hand stays where it is, warm and steady. I fall asleep counting heartbeats; his against my spine, mine under his palm, the echoing third rhythm I can almost imagine if I let myself.
I wake to the sound of voices drifting up from the main floor. The smell of coffee and the sound of impending conversations fill the warehouse. Sterling’s side of the mattress is already cooling. Light leaks around the edges of the blackout curtain. For a second, I let myself stay where I am, floating in the liminal space where the decision I made last night hasn’t had to face the sunlight yet.
By the time I make it downstairs, Lila has coffee in one hand and a pen in the other, stabbing at a notebook. Cam’s already leaning over a tablet, hair a mess like he’s already been at this for hours. Sterling’s leaning against the edge of the table, arms folded, eyes flicking to me as I approach. It’s a quick sweep—face, posture, the way I’m carrying myself. “Morning,” Lila says. “You look like death warmed over. You know, in a cute way.”
“Thanks…” Islap her arm as I pass by. “Such a loving friend.”
Lila lifts her cup. “High compliments.”
Cam slides a mug toward me. “Caffeine,” he says. “Lila wouldn’t let me use the cheap stuff.”
“You’re welcome,” she mutters. “Without me, you all would be living on a poor diet.”
I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the warmth soak into my skin, ignoring whatever the hell is going on with Lila.She’ll tell me when she’s ready.The smell hits me like a wall, stomach lurching. For a second, I think I can bluff through it, but my body vetoes that decision. I set the mug down a little too quickly and take a step back, breathing through my nose.
