Chapter 13 During
During Penny
“Boomer, what a chef you are.”
Her voice is teasing, light, but her eyes are still soft at the corners, still shadowed from last night. Her eyes are a bit red, and I know it's because she spent the night crying.
Because of the words she kept replaying. The way her voice cracked when she said Asher wouldn’t tell her the truth. Wouldn’t let her in.
And the way she looked at me when he sent her here instead — when he said, take her, keep her safe for a while, I have to deal with the Vultures.
Now she’s perched on my counter, bare legs swinging, oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder. She looks out of place and at home at the same time, like the kind of vision I’ll never forget no matter how much I try.
I grin, trying to play it off. “It’s just eggs and cheese and toast. Been making that since high school.”
She shrugs, lips curving. “Still. Better than anything I can do.”
I lean back against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching her while the sandwich crisps in the pan.
It’s been two days since she showed up here. Two days of Penny in my space, leaving traces of vanilla lotion and the faint sound of her humming in every room. Two days of me waking up and remembering she’s here — and feeling both the best and worst I’ve ever felt.
The best, because she’s here in ways I never thought I’d get. Her shoes by my door, her sweater draped over my couch, her voice echoing off my walls. I get to see her when she’s not on — not the Penny who smiles for cameras, not the Penny who holds herself up when the world weighs her down. Just her. Bare-faced, quiet, making tea in my kitchen at midnight because she can’t sleep. The girl who curls her legs under her on my couch and hums along to old songs I put on without thinking. I’ve caught her looking at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention, and it’s enough to make me wonder if maybe—just maybe—she feels this pull too.
But it’s also the worst. Because I know she’s here because she’s hurting. Because her heart’s broken, and not because of me. Because Asher trusted me with her, and that should mean one thing: keep her safe, keep her steady. Nothing more. And yet every time she laughs at something dumb I say, every time her shoulder brushes mine in the kitchen, I feel this ache, this impossible want.
I’m living the dream and the nightmare all at once.
And I don’t know how much longer I can survive it.
She glances at me, catches me staring, and doesn’t look away as quickly as usual.
I clear my throat, turn back to the pan, slide the sandwich onto a plate and cut it in half. I hand it to her, and when her fingers brush mine, a jolt runs through me. She doesn’t seem to notice — or maybe she does, because her smile falters for half a second before she takes a bite.
“Oh my God,” she groans, hand pressed to her cheek as she chews. “This is amazing.”
I laugh, climbing up to sit on the counter next to her, plate in my lap. “Been perfecting it for years,” I say with a wink.
She tilts her head at me, lips twitching like she’s fighting another smile. “Egg grilled cheese. A man of many talents.”
I take a bite of my own, chewing while I watch her. The tension hangs there — not heavy enough to break us, but enough to make the air feel different. She’s close, so close, her knee brushing mine as she shifts, and I wonder if she feels it too.
Her eyes linger on me for a second longer than they should, and then she looks down at her plate, chewing slowly.
After we finish eating, Penny helps me clear the plates. I tell her she doesn’t have to, but she just rolls her eyes and starts rinsing the dishes. So I stand next to her, exaggerating every movement like I don’t know how to stack things properly, bumping the sponge into my own shirt, pretending to almost drop a plate.
Her laugh breaks through — soft but real. It’s worth making a fool of myself for.
“Boomer,” she says, shaking her head, “a big Navy SEAL like you isn’t that clumsy.”
I wink, laughter in my voice. “Yeah, you got me.”
She shakes her head again, smiling, and I grab a clean T-shirt and change in the other room. When I come back, she’s curled on the couch, remote in hand. “Wanna watch something?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual, though my chest feels tight. I sit down, but not too close — enough distance to remind myself of lines I shouldn’t cross. She scrolls through options and finally picks a movie, the flicker of the screen painting her face in pale blue light.
For a while, it’s quiet. But not long into the movie, I notice her lip trembling. That bottom lip she always bites when she’s trying to keep herself together. My stomach twists.
I turn, and move to kneel down in front of her. “Penny?” I ask softly. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes fill fast, tears spilling over before she can stop them. “Why didn’t he tell me the truth, Boomer?”
I breathe out slow, the answer heavy. “Asher wants to keep you safe,” I say. “He cares about you. Loves you.”
So do I.
I push the thought down, force myself to keep steady for her. “He’s just trying to protect you. Everything will be better soon.”
She sniffles, wiping at her cheek. Then, after a beat: “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately, too quickly, because the truth is she could ask me anything and the answer would always be yes.
Her voice cracks. “Can you please hold me for a bit?”
My treacherous heart does a flip, my throat tight. I swallow hard and nod.
I get up, lean down, and scoop her gently into my arms, settling back on the couch with her in my lap. She tucks against me like she’s always belonged there. Her head rests against my chest, her hair brushing my jaw. I run my fingers slowly through her strands, twirling one curl, then tracing circles on her thigh with my thumb.
“It’ll be okay, Penny,” I whisper, though I don’t know if I believe it. “You’ll be okay.”
Her breaths slow, softening against me. Before long, her eyelids flutter shut. She falls asleep clutching my shirt, knuckles pressed to my ribs like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
And I sit there in the dim glow of the TV, every nerve in my body alive, holding the one person I can never truly have.