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41
The rain followed us out of Lena’s shop like it had been waiting, falling in sharp, cold needles that stuck to my skin. I barely felt it.

My hand still tingled from where I’d pressed Lena’s fingers, telling her to lock her doors. The look in her eyes lingered with fear, sympathy and the quiet knowledge that once again, I am walking into something dangerous with Damien.

Behind me, his footsteps were uneven. Every scrape of his boot on the wet pavement made my chest tighten but I didn’t turn, I couldn’t.

If I looked back at him, if I let myself see the pain etched across his face, I might soften, and softening around Damien was the one thing I had promised myself I would never do again.

We walked in silence. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty but heavy, dragging behind us like chains. His presence was too close and familiar that, even with my anger and distrust blooming sharp and wild in me, there was a pulse of something deeper beneath it. Something that made me feel alive and ruined at once.

When we reached my house, I fumbled with the keys longer than necessary. My hands were shaking, though I tried to blame it on the rain. Finally, the lock clicked and I pushed the door open.

“Get inside,” I muttered.

Damien obeyed, stepping into the shadowed hallway. The light caught him and my chest squeezed at the sight of him. His shirt clung dark and wet against him, torn at the shoulder.

Blood marked the side of his temple but already dried at the edges, and bruises were forming across his jaw.

“Sit down,” I ordered, my voice sharper than I intended. “And don’t move.”

He lowered himself onto the couch, wincing as his body folded. I dropped my bag and hurried into the kitchen pulling out the first-aid kit, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. The whistle of the flame lit the room in bursts of orange.

I needed something to do with my hands, something to keep me from thinking about the way my heart had stuttered when I saw him stumble.

When the water warmed, I poured it into a bowl and grabbed a clean cloth. Carrying everything back into the living room, I placed the supplies on the coffee table. Damien’s eyes followed me quietly.

“Lift your chin,” I said, kneeling in front of him.

His breath caught, almost imperceptibly. Slowly, he tilted his face toward me, his jaw rough with stubble, his eyes dark and unreadable.

I dipped the cloth into the warm water, wrung it out, and pressed it against the cut near his temple. He hissed, his body tensing.

“Hold still,” I whispered.

The silence between us thickened. His skin was hot beneath my touch, his body radiating heat despite the damp clothes.

I wanted to pull back, to remind myself that this wasn’t safe, that I'm safe with him but my hands betrayed me, moving carefully and tenderly as though they remembered what my heart didn’t want to admit.

I bandaged his temple, then moved to his wrist, wrapping it tightly. My fingers brushed over his veins, and a memory slammed into me, his hands gripping mine in the dark, the way he used to anchored me when the nightmares came.

I swallowed hard. “You’re lucky it’s not worse.”

He gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Luck’s never really been my thing.”

I should have ignored and let the words pass like water slipping away but instead, they lodged in me, sharp and tender all at once.

When I finished, I stood, needing space. “I’ll make something for us to eat,” I said, already moving toward the kitchen.

He didn’t argue.

I cooked on autopilot, pulling together something warm and simple, soup, bread and tea. The motions grounded me, yet the entire time my mind spiraled.

I remembered every night I use to cooked for him, the way he used to steal bites just to make me chase his hand away, the grin he’d flash when he won. God, I hated how the memories still clung to me, how much of me still belonged to him.

When it was ready, I carried the tray into the living room. Damien tried to sit straight but I shook my head.

“Don’t. Just... stay still.”

I placed the tray on his lap, then perched on the edge of the couch beside him. For a moment, he only looked at the food, then picked up the spoon but his hand trembled slightly.

Without thinking, I reached for it. “Here.”

He froze. “Camille...”

“Just eat,” I interrupted, wrapping my fingers around his. My voice was steadier than I felt.

He let go, letting me take the spoon. I lifted it to his lips, when he leaned forward parting them, something inside me cracked wide open.

Each time he took a bite, I was reminded of nights when love had been simple, when trust haven’t been fractured by secrets and lies.

I tried to ignore the way my pulse raced, the way his gaze lingered on me longer than it should.

“Better?” I asked softly after a few spoonfuls.

He nodded. “Better.” His voice was low and rough.

I set the spoon down, my hand trembling. I wanted to say something, anything but the words tangled in my throat.

Instead, I busied myself with brushing crumbs from his shirt, fussing over details that didn’t matter. My fingers lingered longer than they should have.

His chest rose beneath my touch, steady but strong, making the memory of his body against mine surged back so vividly I had to bite down on my lip to keep me from shaking.

God, I wanted him. Even now, even when I shouldn’t. My body remembered him like it have never forgotten, like he was stitched into my skin. Every look and breath between us is an ache I couldn’t soothe.

Yet, underneath the longing, fear pressed close because this isn’t forever, the investigation isn’t over.

My therapist is gone, Isabella and Natalie too. Nolan is still out there. Boone, the program. All of it hovered over us like a noose waiting to tighten.

When he finished eating, I took the tray and set it aside. By the time I returned, exhaustion was pulling at me. My body ached, my eyes were heavy, I had to curled onto the far end of the couch and wrapping my arms around myself.

Damien shifted slightly, watching me with something unreadable in his eyes. For a heartbeat, I thought he might reach for me. I almost wanted him to but he didn’t. That's why, as the storm rattled outside, I finally let my body sink into the cushions, my eyes slipping shut.

The last thought that clung to me before sleep took hold was one I hated myself for.

What if this is what love supposed to feel like?

Broken and dangerous but somehow impossible to let go.