Chapter 5.
1105 Words
He thought about it. “Not of Kane. Not of bullets. I’ve faced worse.” He turned his head, met my eyes. “I’m scared of losing you. That’s the only thing that keeps me up at night.”
My throat closed. I pressed my face into his neck. “Then don’t.”
“Not planning on it.”
We stayed like that until the light outside started to fade. Gray turned to deep blue. Shadows stretched across the floor.
Marcus sat up eventually. “We need food. Real food. Not just eggs.”
I groaned. “I don’t want to move.”
“Too bad.” He stood, naked and unselfconscious, and offered me his hand. “Come on. Shower first. Then I’ll cook.”
I took his hand. Let him pull me up. My legs felt like jelly.
The bathroom was small. Shower barely big enough for one person, let alone two. We made it work anyway.
Hot water poured over us. Steam rose. His hands were everywhere—washing my hair, sliding soap across my back, gentle over the bruises he’d left during training. I did the same for him. Traced every scar. Every ridge of muscle. Every place he carried the weight of too many years.
When we were clean he wrapped me in a towel, dried me like I was something precious. Kissed my shoulder. My collarbone. The curve of my neck.
“Stop,” I whispered, laughing. “We’ll never eat.”
“Food can wait.”
But he let me go. Pulled on jeans. Left the top button undone. I stole another of his shirts—gray this time, soft from too many washes.
In the kitchen he moved with the same quiet efficiency he always did. Chicken thighs from the freezer. Onions. Peppers. Rice. He chopped vegetables with a knife that looked like it had seen combat. I sat on the counter and watched.
“You’re good at this,” I said.
“Had to be. Army food sucks. Learned to cook so I wouldn’t starve.”
He slid a cutting board toward me. “Dice the garlic.”
I did. Badly. He didn’t laugh. Just took the knife from me, showed me the right way—curling fingers, rocking motion. His chest pressed to my back. Chin on my shoulder.
“Like this,” he murmured.
I followed his hands. The garlic fell into neat little pieces.
“See?” he said. “You’re a natural.”
“Liar.”
He kissed the side of my neck. “Not about this.”
Dinner was simple. Spicy chicken stir-fry over rice. We ate at the table, knees touching under it. He poured us both water from a pitcher. No wine. No beer. Just clear, cold water and the crackle of the fire.
After we finished he leaned back, arms crossed. Watching me.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
“I’m planning.”
“Same thing.”
I pushed my plate away. “We need to leave soon. Tomorrow. Day after at the latest. The longer we stay here the more time Kane has to find us.”
He nodded. “I’ve got a truck in the barn. Unregistered. New plates. We’ll take back roads. No highways. No tolls. No cameras.”
“You’ve thought about this.”
“Every day since you showed up on my porch.”
I reached across the table. Took his hand. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “We’re walking into the lion’s den.”
“I know.”
He stood. Pulled me up with him. “Then we do it together.”
We cleaned the kitchen in silence. Side by side. His shoulder bumped mine. My hip brushed his. Normal things. Domestic things. Things that felt strange and perfect at the same time.
Later we sat on the couch. Fire low. His arm around me. My head on his chest.
“Tell me something good,” I said.
He thought. “When I was a kid my mom used to make pan de muerto for Día de los Muertos. Sweet bread. Orange zest. Sugar on top. She’d let me shape the little bones.”
I smiled. “Did you eat half the dough raw?”
“Every year.”
I pictured it. Little Marcus with flour on his nose. The image made my chest ache in a good way.
“Your turn,” he said.
“I used to want to be an astronaut.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. Watched every launch. Had posters. Told everyone I was going to Mars.”
“What changed?”
“Physics.” I laughed. “Turns out I’m terrible at math.”
He chuckled. Low. Warm. “You’re good at other things.”
“Like what?”
“Surviving.” He kissed my temple. “Fighting. Making me lose my mind in the best way.”
I turned in his arms. Looked up at him. “I love you.”
The words slipped out. No warning. No buildup. Just there.
He went still.
I felt heat flood my face. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
He cupped my cheek. Thumb under my eye. “Say it again.”
I swallowed. “I love you.”
His eyes closed for a second. When they opened they were bright. Wet, almost.
“I’ve loved you since you were nineteen,” he said. “And told me I was full of s**t at your brother’s birthday party.”
I laughed, shocked. “You did not.”
“I did. You were wearing this red dress. Hair up. Yelling at me about something stupid. I stood there thinking, ‘This is it. This is the woman who’s going to ruin me.’”
I stared at him. “You never said anything.”
“Couldn’t. You were Daniel’s sister. You hated me. And I was too messed up to deserve you.”
“You’re not messed up.”
“I am.” He said it quietly. “But I’m trying to be better. For you.”
I kissed him. Hard. Pouring everything into it.
When we pulled apart he rested his forehead against mine.
“We leave at dawn,” he said. “Pack light. Essentials only.”
I nodded.
“And Elena?”
“Yeah?”
“No matter what happens in Seattle… you come back to me. Promise.”
I laced my fingers through his. “I promise.”
He kissed me again.
- Writer
