I could kiss her. Right now. I could lean in and do the one thing I’ve been trying not to think about since she crash-landed into my life with Peaches and pupcakes and that ridiculous tutu-wearing pug. And hell, I want to.
But instead, I shift. Just enough to put some air between us. Not because I want to, but because I have to. Because if I don't, I'm going to fall even harder for the one person who could destroy me just by leaving. And I can't—won't—let anyone get thatclose. I can't risk that kind of loss, not after what I’ve seen. So I create distance, even if it guts me to do it.
She notices. Of course she does.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice gentle but with a furrow between her brows that tells me she’s not buying whatever mask I might slap on next. It’s not just a polite check-in—it’s loaded with something deeper. Concern. Confusion. Maybe even hurt. Like she can already sense the war going on inside me and is trying to find a way in without pressing too hard.
I hesitate, my voice catching. “Yes. No.”
Her brow knits together as she tilts her head, her voice tentative. “Which one is it?”
I open my mouth, close it, then try again. “I don’t know. I mean... I do. I just—” I break off, dragging a hand through my hair. “I want to say no. But it scares the hell out of me.”
She stills, watching me with those big eyes of hers. “Do you want to talk about it?”
No. And also, yes.
I sit up, rubbing my hands over my face, stalling as I figure out how to even begin. My throat feels tight, the words stuck somewhere behind the mess of memories I never meant to say out loud. "There was a call. Years ago. Early in my career."
She stays quiet, waiting.
“There was this kid. Fourteen. He was being bullied at school, bullied online. His mom called rescue in a panic because she found him hanging in his room. We got there fast but it was too late.” I swallow. “He’d taken pills. Then he hung himself. Like... like he was making sure if option one didn’t work, option two would.”
I stare at the wall like it’ll give me strength, but all I see is that bedroom, the chaos, the raw panic. His lean, limp body suspended in the air. My gloved hands shaking as I cut him down. The silence that followed, louder than any siren I’ve ever heard. And then his mother—her scream wasn’t a sound, it was a rupture. Like the world split in two. I’ll never forget it. I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried. But that moment is branded into me. It’s the reason I keep my distance. Why I tell myself I can’t let anyone matter too much. Because losing someone like that? It destroys you from the inside out.
“I cut him down and did CPR until my hands went numb, but he didn’t make it.” I tell her.
Daisy’s breath catches.
“But the worst part,” I continue, voice flat, “was telling his mom. Seeing her fall to her knees, screaming. Like I’d ripped her soul out. That moment? That face? I see it all the time in my dreams.”
I glance at her, my voice low and raw. “I swore I’d never get close enough to anyone that losing them would feel like that. Watching that mother collapse—hearing that sound—I told myself I’d never let someone matter that much. Because if I ever lost them... I don’t think I’d survive it.”
Silence stretches between us. The kind that isn't empty but charged. I feel the weight of her gaze, the quiet way she waits without pushing, like she somehow knows this is hard for me. Like she's giving me the space to breathe while silently holding out her hand in case I want to leap. The words churn inside me, threatening to spill again, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or terrified by how much I want to keep talking. To keep unraveling. To make that leap. But I don't. I can't.
Then she reaches for my hand. Her fingers slide over mine, soft and warm, grounding me. “I’m so sorry, Ashe.”
Something cracks inside me and I lean in and she meets me halfway.
The kiss is soft at first. A question. Her lips are plush, yielding against mine with a tentative warmth that sends a shiver down my spine. She tastes like strawberry and something sweetly her—bright and wild and impossible to ignore. Her breath hitches, aquiet gasp that makes me want more. My fingers tangle in her hair, anchoring me as I deepen the kiss, and her body arches into mine like a response she doesn’t have to speak. Her skin is satin beneath my fingertips, soft and warm and driving me half-insane.
Everything about her—her taste, her touch, her scent—is overwhelming, a sensory overload I didn’t know I craved. And I know, even as I lose myself in her, that this is dangerous territory. But right now, I can’t stop. I don’t want to.
Her body presses closer, her leg wrapping around mine, and I lose the thread of logic. It’s just heat and need and the sound she makes when I kiss her harder. She’s so warm, so soft, every inch of her molding to me like she was made for this. My arousal is obvious now, thick and pressing against her thigh, and I stop caring. Let her notice. Let her know what she does to me. Her scent, her touch, the way she gasps when I deepen the kiss—it’s too much. I’ve been holding back too long, and now it’s like the floodgates are wide open and I don’t even want to try shutting them.
My shirt is gone. Her shirt rides up, exposing soft, warm skin that feels like temptation and comfort all at once. Her fingers explore my back—tentative at first, then bolder—and I can’t stop. I don't want to. She makes a quiet sound, breathy and wanting, and it undoes something inside me. The scent of her skin, the brush of her thigh, the soft heat of her lips—I’m drowning in it. My body doesn’t care about fear or hesitation anymore. I want her to see what she does to me, want her to feel how much I need her. And right now, I’m not hiding anything. Not the ache. Not the hunger. Not the fact that I’ve never wanted someone like this before.
Until I can't.
I tear my mouth from hers, panting, my forehead pressing against hers like it’s the only thing holding me together. My hand shakes where it grips her hip, fingers digging in like I can't let go even as my heart begs me to. Her breath mingles with mine, warm and inviting, and for a second I almost say to hell with it all. But the words claw their way out, raw and desperate. “I can't,” I whisper, even though every part of me wants to.
She stills. “What? Are you kidding me?”
“I can’t. I want to. God, I want to. But not like this. Not when I’m?—”
“You're scared.” she says softly.
I flinch. I close my eyes, and then I pull away completely. Out of the bed. Away from her heat. Her kindness.
