Page 108 of Anton

My arm falls reluctantly, my palm still alive with the feeling of her skin, and the instant she turns toward the doorway, the thought of watching her leave presses painfully against my ribs.

“Thora.”

She stops and turns at the sound of her name. Her lips part, then close again, whatever she wants to say trapped behind them. And I would listen all night if that was what she needed.

“Don’t go yet.”

She releases a weary breath as her shoulders sag. “Okay. I’ll stay, but only for a little while.”

Everything in me fights those words, wanting her here longer than that. Needing more than the scraps I have no business taking.

But I know this is all I can have. Little pieces of her. Even though I need to let her go for good this time.

I push away from the counter, ignoring the burn in my arm as I lead her into the living room. I keep enough distance between us to not make this worse, because the second I put my hands on her, I won’t be strong enough to let go.

She sits on the couch, still visibly tense, her fingers twisting in her lap.

I grab the remote from the side table. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.” A half-smile touches her lips. “There’s actually one I’ve been meaning to watch.”

“As long as it isn’t romantic.”

She lets out a dry laugh. “Trust me, romance is the last thing I’m interested in right now.”

My mouth twitches. “Slava Bogu.”

I start the movie she chooses, and as the first scene begins, she shifts beside me, glancing toward the kitchen.

“Maybe we should make popcorn.”

“I can make it.”

“No.” She jumps to her feet. “You stay there. I’ll make it.”

“I’m not broken, Thora. It’s just a graze.”

“You’re not good at being taken care of, are you?”

I think for a moment, not remembering the last time anyone has done that. Probably not since my mother was alive, and I don’t even remember that.

There’s something knowing in her eyes. “Where’s the popcorn?”

“Pantry. Third shelf.”

She disappears into the kitchen, and I turn just enough to watch her without making it obvious, though I’m not sure why I bother. Nothing about me is subtle when it comes to her.

Her waves cascade over one shoulder as she grabs the popcorn bag and puts it in the microwave. The only reason I even have any is because I bought it for her after I noticed she ate it a lot when she watched movies, and I figured maybe if she was here…

I block out the thought as she returns to my side, leaving barely any space between us. Her leg brushes mine, and she goes still, fingers tightening around the bag. I feel it too: that rush of nerves moving through my body like a live wire.

She’s the most dangerous thing in this room.

For a while, she watches the movie while I watch her. The quiet laugh that slips out when a character says something funny. The careful way she eats popcorn one piece at a time, completely unaware that every small touch is worse than any bullet because it only makes me want more.

She scoots over until her shoulder rests lightly against my good arm, her eyes remaining on the screen as her body gradually relaxes against mine. I tell myself not to touch her. Instead, I draw her against me, watching goose bumps rise along her arm as my fingers trace from her wrist to her elbow, leaving more in their wake.

Her eyes find mine, and my thumb brushes over her lower lip.