Page 66 of Hunting Gianna
“You’re leaving soon, right,” he says, so soft I almost miss it.
My pulse skids. I set my fork down, focus on the way it glints in the low light, anything to keep from looking at him. “I have to. I can’t live here, Knox. Surely, you know that,” I say.
He nods, jaw tight. “Will you come back?”
It’s a simple question, but it lands heavy. He’s never said it outright before, never let himself look needy. I glance at him, and for once, he looks human. There’s a shine in his eyes that makes me want to crack a joke, but the words die in my throat.
“I don’t know,” I say, which is a lie. “I want to.”
He looks away, the corners of his mouth turning down. “You don’t have to,” he says. “If you want to be rid of me, just say it.”
I want to throw the fork at his head. “I don’t want to be rid of you, asshole.” I say it too loud, the words bouncing off the walls. “I just… I don’t know how to make you fit in my world. My real one. With boats, and captains, and people who don’t eat dinner off a gun-cleaning rag. Come with me. I know you have your own apartment, but you can come live with me in mine. We can… we can try have something here.”
He laughs, sharp and sudden. “I’d ruin your life,” he says, almost proud.
“Maybe,” I shoot back. “But maybe it needed ruining.”
We go quiet again. He picks at the callus on his thumb, digging at it like there’s gold underneath.
“I’m not good at this,” he mutters, so low I have to lean in. “I don’t know how to want things without fucking them up.”
I slide my plate with me as I crawl towards him, closing the distance between us. I grab his hand—hard, like I’m trying to prove a point. His skin is rough, warm, real. He flinches, before steadying himself. The only glimpse of weakness I’ve seen him have.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” I say. “I’m just going to try and see if I can be a normal person again. Maybe I’ll fail. Probably will. But I want you there when I do.”
He snorts. “You really want to parade me around your friends? Take me to work parties, introduce me to your boss?”
I squeeze his hand tighter. “Let them see what you made me.”
He looks at me, really looks, and for a second, I think he might kiss me. Instead, he just laughs, a low rumble that starts in his chest and works its way up. “No one will understand.”
I brush my lips over his knuckles, one by one, tasting salt and chicken grease and the sharp tang of him. “They don’t have to.”
He’s quiet after that. We just sit, hands clasped, the world outside shrinking down to the small space between our bodies.
The chicken goes cold, the silence goes warm, and for the first time I think maybe there’s a version of this story where we both survive. Maybe even together.
Maybe that’s enough.
When the last word dies in the air, it’s like the whole world is holding its breath, waiting to see if we’re going to wreck this or just let it sit there and be sweet for a second.
I could let the silence take over. Could let us melt into the mattress and pretend we aren’t two fundamentally fucked-up people with a combined trauma history the length of the Mississippi. But I’m not that girl, and Knox is not that guy, so naturally he has to ruin it.
He clears his throat, staring at the bones of his dinner. “If we’re going to do this,” he says, “like, actually do it, you have to quit your job.”
I blink at him, fork paused mid-air. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, the motion tight. “It’s not safe. That fucking cruise ship? If you go back there, I’ll have to come with you, and nobody wants that.”
I can’t help it, I start laughing. Not a little giggle, but a full-on, snorting, chest-spasming cackle. He’s so earnest, so determined to keep me under his thumb, but he doesn’t even realize how much I want him to do it. How much I want to be wanted, violently, obsessively, completely.
“You’re insane,” I tell him, still laughing.
He leans back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I mean it, Gianna.”
“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” I say, voice thick with a happiness I don’t quite recognize.
He grins, feral and proud. “Good.”
