Silence.
History.
And all the things sitting between us.
Finally, he looked toward me.
“You always hated storms.”
My breath caught softly.
Because he remembered that too.
“I still do,” I admitted.
His jaw tightened slightly like hearing that hurt him somehow.
Outside, thunder rolled low in the distance.
Wonderful.
I wrapped both hands tighter around the mug.
“You don’t have to stay up guarding me,” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “I do.”
There it was again.
That certainty.
Like protecting me wasn’t even a question to him.
I looked down into my hot chocolate.
“You shouldn’t.”
“Too late.”
God.
Every conversation with him felt like walking barefoot through broken glass.
Painful.
Beautiful.
Impossible.
Hersh leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees.
“Is Ward your married name?”
The question hit so suddenly I stopped breathing.
There it is.
The lie I told him.
