Chapter 28 Safety In his Arms
The light died early in that place, like it didn’t trust itself to linger. The lamp on the wall coughed and flickered, glass patched with cloudy seams, flame shrinking every time the wind pressed against the boards. Shadows stretched long and thin, turning the room into something smaller than it already was.
I moved without thinking about it, circling the space in quiet steps, always just missing him. Every time I turned, he was somewhere else—close enough to feel, not close enough to touch.
The floor dipped under my weight. The walls whispered with every gust outside.
I toed off my boots and left them by the bed. They hit the floor with a dull, final sound that made something in my chest settle and tighten at the same time. My coat followed, heavy and damp, peeling away from me with a soft drag.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Not sure what came next.
My shirt clung to me, cold and sticky at the hem. I grabbed it and pulled it over my head, breath catching as the chill hit bare skin. I scrubbed it through my hair, squeezing out rainwater that dripped down my spine anyway.
A shiver ran through me, sharp and sudden.
Something landed against my shoulder.
I flinched—then caught it.
A towel. Thin. Rough.
I glanced up.
Fisk had turned away, giving me his back like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just watched me strip out of half my clothes.
My fingers tightened on the fabric.
“Thanks,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure he heard.
I wrapped it around myself anyway, tugging it close. It didn’t do much for the cold, but it gave me something to hold onto.
Still, I could feel it.
His attention.
Not staring. Not crude.
Just… there.
Like heat from a fire you weren’t facing.
The bed waited.
I hated it a little for that.
Fisk crossed to it first, flipping back the blanket and giving it a sharp shake. Dust lifted, caught in the weak lamplight, then settled again. He lingered beside it, shifting his weight once, like even he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“If you want, I can take the floor,” he said.
I snorted softly, stepping closer despite myself. “You’d never fit.”
His mouth curved, quick and familiar. “I’ve managed worse.” He bent, already moving, folding a blanket into a long strip. He laid it between us, straight down the center of the mattress. A line drawn clean and clear.
“There,” he said. “Cross that and you might not survive.”
I huffed a quiet laugh, climbing in on my side. The mattress dipped under me, thin and unforgiving, but warmer than the air. “You’re all talk.”
“That’s what they say,” he murmured.
The lamp went out.
Darkness folded in, soft and close. The window let in just enough gray to shape him beside me—broad shoulders, one arm tucked under his head, the rise and fall of his chest steady and slow.
I turned onto my side, back to him.
It should’ve made it easier.
It didn’t.
The rain filled the silence again, tapping against the glass, slipping into the cracks in the walls. I counted it at first. Tried to match the rhythm.
Didn’t work.
My mind kept wandering.
To the ring.
To the weight that wasn’t there anymore. To the way his hand had felt over mine. I curled my fingers into the blanket instead. Beside me, his breathing stayed even. Slow. Grounded.
It settled something in me I didn’t want settled.
I shifted, pulling my knees up. The blanket tangled between us, bunching at the edge of that ridiculous line he’d made. My foot brushed it. Then his.
I stilled.
Heat bled through the thin layers between us. Subtle. Impossible to ignore once I noticed it.
“Can’t sleep?” he murmured.
His voice was rough with it, low enough it felt like it stayed between us instead of crossing the space.
I shook my head before remembering he couldn’t see me. “Never do. Not when it’s quiet.”
A pause.
Then, softer, “My old man used to say quiet’s when the sea starts thinking.”
I let out a breath that almost felt like a smile. “Your old man sounds like a liar.”
A quiet laugh answered me. Warmer than it had any right to be. “Best one I knew.”
The rain picked up, hammering harder now, rattling the window like it wanted in.
I closed my eyes. I tried to remember the ring. The feel of it against my skin.
But it slipped away, replaced by something else—his hand at my shoulder, steady and sure. The way he’d said he’d get it back.
Like promises weren’t things that broke.
Sleep came in pieces.
Jagged. Unsteady.
I dreamed of water rising, of running with nowhere to go, of faces that weren’t right—And then I woke.
Slowly.
Not to fear.
To warmth.
It took a second to understand it.
Another to realize I couldn’t move.
Something heavy rested over me. Firm. Anchoring.
An arm.
His arm.
It lay across my ribs, hand spread low against my stomach, fingers curved like they’d found something and decided to keep it.
I went still.
Not from panic. From… awareness.
I could feel him behind me. All of him. The solid line of his chest against my back, the steady rhythm of his breathing brushing the nape of my neck.
The barrier was gone.
At some point in the night, it had been kicked aside, flattened into nothing.
I should’ve moved.
Should’ve slipped out, put space back where it belonged.
I didn’t.
I let myself feel it instead.
The weight.
The warmth.
The way my body had already settled into it without asking permission.
Careful, slow, I shifted just enough to test it. His arm tightened. Not enough to trap me. Enough to notice.
My breath caught.
I didn’t pull away.
Behind me, he stirred, just barely. His thumb dragged a slow, absent line against my side, stopping just under my ribs.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice thick with sleep, close enough that the words brushed my skin.
“So are you,” I answered.
Quiet.
He shifted again, and the movement slid him closer instead of away. The blanket tangled around our legs, pulling us together, knotting us in place like the room had decided for us.
Neither of us fixed it.
Neither of us moved.
His hand stayed where it was.
Mine rested just in front of it, close enough that if I flexed my fingers, I’d touch him.
I didn’t.
Didn’t trust what would happen if I did. For a long moment, we just lay there. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same warmth. I let my eyes close again. Just for a second. Just to feel it without having to look at it.
I didn’t know how long it would last.
Didn’t know what it meant.
But I didn’t push it away.
Not this time.
I felt safe.