Page 14 of No Good Fight

Not after the breakup, or anything like that.

After I moved in.

I nod like I don’t hear the difference.

But I do.

When I turn around, she’s watching me too closely.

“For someone who just happened to drive by, you move through my apartment like you already know where everything is.”

There it is.

The thing I knew she’d notice eventually.

“I’m observant.” The practiced reply comes without me even having to panic.

“That’s one word for it.”

I hold her gaze because looking away would feel too much like admitting guilt, and I’m not ready for that. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Not when it comes to her.

Her hands tremble around the mug.

She notices me noticing and immediately sets it down on the kitchen island, tucking her fingers into the ends of her sleeves like that fixes anything.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re crashing from the adrenaline of everything that’s happened, and having me in your space.”

She lets out a breath and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “Could you stop being right? It’s getting annoying.”

I reach for her before I think better of it.

Slowly enough that she can move away.

She doesn’t.

My fingers close gently around her wrist, and her pulse jumps beneath my thumb so fast it wipes every useful thought out of my head for a second. She feels small in my hand. Warm. Delicate in a way that makes me want to be careful and completely fucking unreasonable at the same time.

Her breath catches.

So does mine.

We stand there in her kitchen with the coffee cooling beside us and the new lock on her bedroom window and every line I shouldn’t cross sitting right under my feet.

“Did he hurt you?” I ask.

The question comes out rougher than I want.

Alex shuts down instantly.

It happens so fast I almost feel the air change. Her face closes, her spine straightens, and whatever soft, shaky thing was between us disappears behind a wall I know better than to push against.

“I’m tired.”

I let go immediately.