“I insist on it, in fact.”
He shifts, pulling me against his chest, and for a while we just sit like that, tea cooling in our hands. My body begins to uncoil. I talk instead about work, about how Conrad told me to take as long as I need for the funeral, how kind the partners have been. I tell him about Amelka, how small and perfect she is, how Piotr cried more than Aga. I show him the picture, her tiny face framed in a hospital blanket.
“She’s beautiful,” he says, tracing the image with his thumb.
“She is.” My throat tightens. “I can’t wait for her to grow up. I can’t wait for her to… to know abouthim.” I trip over the word him, and then I scramble for another topic.
I keep talking, about work, about the clinic, anything but grief. Anything but Piotr. He doesn’t press. He just listens, gently rubbing my arm with his thumb. When the moment settles, we end up the way we were at the cabin, me half on him, his arm under my neck, fingers tracing idle lines across my shoulder.
He speaks softly. “I really liked your brother. I was hoping to get to know him better.”
My breath catches. “Yeah. He is—was a great brother. I would have loved that, for you to become friends. He was mine,a friend.Not just a brother. Probably my best friend, thinking about it. You would have been close I think, in time.”
He nods against my hair. “I’m sorry, Kasia.”
“I know. Me too.” I sigh, like every hope I’ve ever had leaves my body in one go.
He squeezes my hand, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. “I have no idea how you feel, but whatever you need, just let me know. If you need to cry, if you need to scream—I’ve had a lot of practice at that one. I can teach you how to do it without losing your voice.”
That draws a soft laugh out of me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Or if you need food, or if you just need to be. Don’t try to tough it out like you usually do.”
I pretend not to understand, though I do. He’s always been able to read the things I try to hide. Eventually his clothes finish drying. I slip into pajamas while he changes into warm cotton and jeans. The night grows quieter, the storm outside easing to drizzle.
When I realize I haven’t looked at my phone all day, panic spikes. I grab for it, but he’s faster.
“Hey,” he says, taking it gently from my hands. “You’re allowedone dayto grieve and get your shit together. Trust me. I know all about it.”
He holds up his right hand. New scars run across his knuckles, thin pale lines under the lamplight.
My stomach flips. I grab his wrist, pull his hand closer to my face. My glasses fog at the proximity. “What the fuck did you do?”
He exhales through a crooked smile. “I may have pulled some stupid, cliché, rock star bullshitwhen you ended things. Trashed a room. My fist found a couple of mirrors." He shrugs, his nonchalance trying to deflect the gravity of his pain. "Some of it stayed with me.”
He flexes his hand. My heart aches at the sight.
“Rithy was like a field nurse, plucking shards out. Kiri got the first aid kit. Ronan grabbed tweezers. It was a group effort.” He shakes his head. “I’m fine now. The point is,I needed a day, andso do you.Tomorrow, you can go back to being there for everyone, okay?”
I nod, throat tight. “Okay.”
He looks at me for a long moment, like he wants to be sure I believe him. When I finally say, “It’s bedtime, I’m exhausted,” he moves to stretch out on the couch, but I stop him.
“Come here,” I say, standing, hand outstretched, an echo of the first time he pulled me into a kiss. He takes it without hesitation.
We settle into bed, skin against skin, his breath warm against my shoulder, and the world finally goes quiet. The rain’s stopped. My grief continues to ache, but it’s softer here, held between us. Being wrapped up in him tonight feels like a dream I never thought I’d have again, born out of a nightmare I never wanted to live through. But right now, he makes it easier to breathe.
Rafe
The light hits first. Soft, gold, warm against my face. I open my eyes and she’s already there beside me, still half asleep, her hair a dark tangle on the pillow, the sheet just high enough to make my heart ache. For a minute I just watch her breathe. When her eyes flicker open, I say it before I can stop myself.
“Good morning, gorgeous.” My voice sounds different, rougher than usual. “Is there a Polish word formost beautiful woman in the world?”
She laughs, voice still husky from sleep. “Yes, we have theperfectword for that.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
Her lips curve, eyes gleaming with that mischief that kills me every time. “Zona.”
