“Then you might be in that freezer too.”
Her sobs gradually quieted, the storm of grief receding to something more manageable, though no less painful.
For minutes—or maybe longer, time had lost meaning—they stayed like that, kneeling together under the spray. Rue felt hollowed out, scraped clean like the inside of a gourd. The pain was still there, a dull throb beneath her ribs, but the sharp edges had been worn smooth by tears and the simple comfort of being held.
Elliot shifted slightly, reaching up to turn off the water without letting go of her. The sudden silence was almost as startling as the absence of heat. Rue shivered, becoming aware of how cold she was, how her wet clothes clung to her like a second skin.
“We should get you dried off,” Elliot murmured, his breath warm against her hair. “Get into some dry clothes before hypothermia sets in.”
Rue nodded against his chest but made no move to pull away. She wasn’t ready to face the world outside this small sanctuary they’d created. Wasn’t ready to be strong again, to lead, to make decisions that might mean life or death.
His hand came up to cup her cheek, tilting her face toward his. Water dripped from his hair onto her forehead as he studied her with a gaze that seemed to see straight through to the heart of her.
“I’m sorry about Maren,” he said simply. “I know what she meant to you.”
The kindness in his voice threatened to undo her all over again. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, allowing herself this moment of weakness. But with Elliot, it didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like she could let her edges go ragged, and he would just... hold her until they found the shape of her again.
She turned into his palm, needing to be closer, too feel more of him. “Thank you for holding me through that.”
His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, wiping away either a tear or a drop of water. Impossible to tell which. “I’ll always hold you, Trouble.”
He pressed his lips gently to her forehead, and something sharp and bright flared between them. Grief slammed hard into want, pain twisting inside her and morphing by degrees into a need she hadn’t known she could feel. Every inch of her became aware of him: the broad planes of his chest and the steady drumbeat of his heart beneath her palm, the way his hand pressed against the hollow of her back.
Heat unspooled low in her belly, and she suddenly, desperately, recklessly wanted him. She pressed against him, like if she could just get close enough, she might burn the emptiness straight out of herself. She didn’t want soft words, didn’t want space or safe distance. She wanted the raw, physical truth of him—the solid proof that she was still here, still breathing, when Maren wasn’t.
She slid her hands up his chest to wrap around his neck. Elliot went still, his breath catching as her fingers traced the line of his collarbone, then curled around the nape of his neck.
“Rue,” he murmured, his voice deeper than before, questioning.
“I don’t want to talk,” she said, her voice raw from crying. “I don’t want to think. I just want you.”
She pressed her lips to his. He tasted like salt and heat and the edge of adrenaline, equal parts comfort and challenge.
He didn’t kiss her back at first. Just gripped the back of her neck, shock stiffening his entire body. Then his grip tightened, and he pulled her closer, his mouth moving against hers with sudden urgency. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against hers, and a jolt of electricity surged through her nerve endings.
This was what she needed. This raw connection, this proof that she was still alive when so many weren’t.
She tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper of his jacket, then with the buttons of the shirt beneath, her hands shaking from more than just the cold.
Elliot broke the kiss, his breath ragged against her cheek. “Rue, wait. You’re hurting. You’re vulnerable. It’s not the right time.”
She looked up at him. There was conflict in his eyes, his desire warring with his damnable sense of honor. His hair was plastered to his forehead, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, and a very obvious bulge pressed against her belly.
Even now, even like this, he was thinking about what was right.
She dug her fingers into his shoulders to keep him still. “There will never be a right time, Elliot. Never a perfect place for us. There’s only now. This moment. For all we know, we’ve been exposed to whatever killed Maren. This moment might be all we have.”
His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before returning to meet hers. She saw the struggle playing out across his face. He was fighting against every instinct he had to be honorable, to do the right thing.
“You know I want you,” he said, the words coming out rough, like they’d been dragged from somewhere deep inside him. “I always have. But I don’t want just a night, Rue. I don’t want itto be just because you’re hurting. Not just because you want to forget. If we go there, I’ll want all of you, not just your body.”
“I know.” And she did. She had always known, somewhere beneath the layers of friendship, that what simmered between them was real and permanent. It was why she’d always kept that distance of friendship between them.
“I want you, too,” she repeated, the simple truth of it burning away everything else. “I have for longer than I’ve been willing to admit, even to myself. Maybe especially to myself.”
Elliot’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her mouth again, lingering this time. His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, the touch feather-light, sending sparks dancing along her nerve endings.
“Rue,” he breathed, her name a prayer and a question all at once. His hand trembled slightly where it cupped her face, betraying the effort it took to hold himself back.
