Chapter 66: CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Damon's POV

The silence in the room feels louder than usual today. Winter is in the middle of adjusting my leg for another round of stretches, and I can’t shake the feeling that the air between us is heavy.

Every brush of her hand against my skin seems more deliberate now, even though I know she’s just doing her job. Still, I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something, and it’s frustrating not being able to put my finger on what it is.

I focus on the movement of my leg, trying to ground myself in the physical task, but my thoughts keep drifting back to everything that’s been happening. I don’t know how to make sense of it. This, us, whatever we are, feels like it’s starting to stretch in ways I’m not sure we’re ready for.

Winter’s fingers are warm against my skin as she adjusts the angle of my leg. It should be simple—therapy, stretching—but there’s nothing simple about it anymore. The pressure in the air is suffocating, and I don’t know if it’s just me or if she feels it too.

“How’s it feels?” she asks, her voice breaking the silence. It’s calm, professional—just like it always is. But there’s an undercurrent to it today, something unspoken. I can’t quite place it.

“It's fine,” I answer, my voice rougher than usual. The tension in my chest is growing, like I’m holding my breath waiting for something. Maybe for her to say something, maybe for me to find a way to say it.

She doesn’t let go of my leg, her fingers still firmly pressing against the muscle, guiding me through the stretch. I know she’s focused on the movement, but I can’t help but notice the way her eyes flicker up to mine every so often.

She’s watching me, gauging my reactions. I can feel her trying to figure out what I’m thinking—what I’m feeling. I just wish I could tell her, but I don’t know how to put it into words.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say after a moment, the words coming out almost instinctively. “About everything, about us.” Winter freezes for a second, her fingers briefly stilling on my leg before she continues the motion, keeping the stretch steady. “What about us?” she asks carefully, though I can hear the edge in her voice. She’s already setting up a boundary, keeping the conversation neutral.

I hesitate for a moment, wondering how much I should say, how much of what’s in my head I should let out. I already know this is complicated. It’s messy. But I don’t think I can keep pretending it’s not there anymore.

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this,” I say, my voice low. “You’re my therapist. But we’ve crossed lines. And I want more. I can’t pretend I don’t.”

Winter doesn’t immediately respond. She shifts her weight, standing up to move behind me as she adjusts the angle of my leg. It’s a professional motion, a methodical one, but there’s a shift in the way she’s standing now—more distant. More... controlled. She doesn’t say anything at first, and that silence makes everything worse. “You’ve made it clear you’re not ready for anything like that,” I add, my voice quieter now. “I get it. But, I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere.”

She moves back to the front of me, her expression unreadable, and I feel the tension between us escalate. “I’m not asking you to be anything other than what you are right now,” she says softly, finally meeting my eyes. “I’m just trying to help you get better. This... this is complicated enough as it is, Damon. We have to take it slow.” “I can take it slow,” I reply, my voice stronger now. “But I’m not walking away. I need you to know that.”

Winter exhales slowly, nodding slightly, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she finishes the stretch, moving on to the next exercise without further comment. Her movements are smooth, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw clenches as she works.

And for a moment, I’m left wondering if this silence between us is just another way of saying she doesn’t want the same thing I do. Or maybe she’s just trying to keep it professional, trying to keep herself from getting tangled in the mess that is me.

As Winter sets to the next exercise, my mind races. She’s always been the picture of professionalism—calm, collected, measured—but I can see through it. I know she’s not entirely unaffected by me. That subtle change in the air when I touch her, when I get close. I’m not imagining it. It’s there, just beneath the surface.

Still, I hold back for now, at least. I don’t want to push her. But I can’t ignore the pull I feel every time she gets near me. It’s like something inside of me knows we’re connected—our past, our pain, our desires—and yet, we keep pretending it doesn’t exist. I grit my teeth as she adjusts my leg again. I want to touch her. I want to say something that will shatter this whole professional facade between us. But I don’t. I can’t.

“You’re doing great,” she says, almost too brightly, breaking my thoughts. She’s trying to stay positive, trying to keep things light, and it’s frustrating. “Right,” I mutter. It feels hollow, like a routine. But maybe that’s what I need right now—a distraction from everything else. “Thanks.”

Winter doesn’t respond, her focus back on the task at hand. She moves with precision, every movement calculated. But I can tell she’s still thinking. She’s trying to figure me out. Trying to put the pieces together of whatever this is between us. And I wish I could tell her, but I don’t know if I can.

The stretch ends, and I’m left staring at her for a moment longer than necessary. It’s almost as if I’m waiting for something to shift. For her to finally admit that she feels it too, whatever this tension is. But I know that won’t happen—not today.

Winter takes a step back, pulling away from me as she reaches for the next tool. “We’re almost done for today,” she says, voice softer now, but there’s still something guarded in it. “You’ve made good progress.”

I nod, trying to hide the frustration building inside me, progress. That’s all I’ve been doing. Moving forward physically, but what about emotionally? What about us?

“Good,” I say, the word coming out clipped. I want to leave, want to end this session before it gets more complicated. But I can’t bring myself to stand up yet. Not when I’m feeling so damn restless. Not when everything inside of me is screaming for more.

Winter glances at me as she packs away the tools, and for a split second, her eyes soften. It’s so fleeting that I almost wonder if I imagined it. But I didn’t. She knows something’s changed, too. As I get up to leave, I stop for a moment and turn back to face her. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back.

“Thanks for today,” I say, my voice low, my gaze steady.

Winter meets my eyes, her expression neutral, but there’s a flicker of something behind them. She nods. “Of course, take care of yourself Damon.”

And as I walk out of the room, I can’t help but feel like I’m walking away from something—something that could change everything.

Your words, they pierce, but they don’t heal,

A tangled mess of what you feel.

You push me back, yet pull me nearby,

I chase the silence yet feel the fear.

Your eyes betray the fight within,

The things you’ve lost, the things you’ve been.

You wear your shame like a heavy crown,

But I can see the truth, it’s all coming down.

You try to hide behind the hurt,

The broken pieces of your shirt.

But I see through the cracks and seams,

The fear that haunts your quiet dreams.

If I could reach beyond the walls,

I’d catch you when you start to fall.

But you keep running, and I keep chasing,

The distance growing but never erasing.

I see your pain, I feel your doubt,

The things you’re too scared to talk about.

But I’ll be here when you decide,

To drop the mask and let me inside.

It’s not enough, but I’ll stay strong,

I’ll hold the pieces when they’re gone.

For in your heart, I still believe—

Even if you refuse to grieve.