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“And it never occurs to you that I feel the same way? I’m expected to let you rush into danger at top speed over and over again even if it means you get killed. How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”
Again he breathes loud and raspy for a long time until the words finally come. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Why the fuck not? Because you’re somehow invincible? Unbreakable? Unkillable? You’re not. You’re not! You could die tomorrow just as easily as me, and then what would I be left with?”
Something hangs in the balance for a minute. Something important. I feel it shuddering in the air between us as both of us sit on the bed, panting and glaring at each other.
Then the moment shifts. The air shifts. The planet shifts. Grant glances away from me and mutters, “I’ve made arrangements if that happens.”
“What?”My voice breaks.
“I’ve made arrangements. You’ll be taken care of. You won’t be left unprotected.”
Nothing he’s said or done in five years has hurt as much as this does. My anger has been completely swallowed by something that feels more like heartbreak. “You think that’s what I’m worried about?” I ask in a hoarse whisper. “Protection?”
He makes a weird half shrug. He’s still not meeting my eyes. “And if you need more than that, there’ll be a line stretching more than a mile of men who want to fuck you.”
And that’s the very last straw for me. I fight back a sob so hard it comes out as a strangled whimper. I lower myself back to the bed and curl up into a ball, facing away from him. I don’t want him to see me cry.
“Princess,” he murmurs thickly. He puts one big hand on my shoulder.
I shrug away from his touch and don’t turn back toward him like I know he wants. “No. Just no.”
He’s silent for a long time. Then I feel him getting under the covers beside me and stretching out. He doesn’t touch me again. But after he turns out the lantern, he says, “I’m sorry. I really am.”
I believe him. But sorry isn’t going to touch what he’s just made clear to me. How things between us are never going to be what I need them to be.
So I huddle into myself and work on not crying until I finally fall into a restless sleep.
* * *
I don’t sleep well, and I wake up after just a few hours. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s pitch-black in our small room.
Tomorrow—or later this morning, depending on the time—Grant and I will get up before dawn and start on the trip to take the bunker back. I won’t be with him. Not in the same vehicle and not even on the same side of the camp.
He could die in a matter of hours, and I wouldn’t even be there to see it happen. I could die too, but that somehow matters less to me.
I’m still pained and exhausted and almost numb from the conversation we had in bed, but even that doesn’t matter as much as the thought of Grant dying later today.
In a lot of ways, he’s defined the shape of my life for the past five years. Even if he’ll never love me the way I need, I can’t stand the thought of him not being in the world anymore.
I shift in bed, feeling his big, warm body at my side. I hear him breathing. Slow and steady. Rhythmic. I reach over to rest my hand on his chest. He’s pushed the covers down to his waist so I can feel his bare skin. I find his heartbeat. Feel it slow and steady under my palm.
He’s asleep.
I sit up carefully, so as not to rouse him, and peer down in the darkness until my eyes begin to adjust. I still can’t see him clearly, but it’s enough. My hand is still lying on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
His body is relaxed. Warm. Human. Almost, almost vulnerable.
He wakes up with a sharp intake of breath. His body tenses up, and he immediately reaches down to where he keeps his gun right next to the bed.
“It’s just me,” I murmur, stroking his chest. His heartbeat has accelerated. He’s not asleep anymore. “It’s me.”
“What’s the matter, princess?” he asks, sleep still rough in his voice. “Y’okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Come back to sleep for a little while. It’s too early to get up.”
