SURRENDER
1405 Words
RHETT
She wakes up sharper.
Guarded.
The girl who used to smile easily at me is gone, replaced by a woman who moves like she’s daring me to say something wrong.
At breakfast, she barely looks at the plate I set in front of her.
“I can make my own food,” she says, her tone clipped.
“I know.”
“Then why do you keep doing things for me?”
Because it keeps you safe.
Because it gives me an excuse to stay close.
I say nothing.
She grabs her bag instead. “I’m going to the hospital.”
“I’ll drive.”
“I don’t need you to.”
I block the door.
Her eyes flash. “Move.”
“No.”
Silence stretches tight between us, thick with unspoken things. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless, uneasy.
“You don’t get to control me,” she says quietly.
“I get to protect you.”
She lets out a short laugh. “From what? Yourself?”
The words land like a blow.
I step aside.
At the hospital, I keep my distance deliberately. I stand near the window, my arms crossed, my senses stretched outward. When a man lingers too long near her, I shift without thinking, placing myself between them.
She notices.
Later, as we leave, she turns to me. “You don’t have to hover.”
“I know.”
“You do it anyway.”
“Yes.”
Her jaw tightens. “Why?”
I don’t answer.
That night, I leave a small box on her bed. Inside is a simple bracelet, woven with threads she cannot see, layered with protection she doesn’t know she needs.
“You bought this because you felt guilty,” she says.
“Yes.”
She slips it on anyway.
NOLA
The shower fogs the bathroom mirror until my reflection dissolves into a blur of warm shapes and steam.
I stand beneath the spray longer than necessary, letting the water run down my shoulders, along my spine, over skin that still feels too aware of everything. I use Rhett’s soap because it’s already there, sitting in a neat row on the ledge.
The scent clings.
I rinse it off anyway, even though part of me knows it doesn’t matter. I will still smell like his house.
When I step out, the tile is cold against the soles of my feet. I wrap myself in a towel that’s too thick, too large, swallowing my frame when I knot it above my chest. I tug at it absently, tightening the fabric, then loosening it again when it feels too restrictive.
I dress slowly.
A soft cotton bra that fits snugly, the fabric brushing sensitive skin as I hook it behind me. A simple top, light gray, thin enough that it clings a little when I pull it over my head. I wiggle into it, tugging it down, smoothing it over my ribs. I know it’s modest.
I also know it doesn’t matter.
My jeans take a little effort. The denim is stiff, cool when I slide them up my legs, hugging my hips before settling into place. I button them, zip up, then pause, hands lingering at my waist as I stare at myself again in the mirror.
I look… normal.
Too normal for how charged everything feels.
I finger-comb my hair, twisting it into a loose knot at the nape of my neck before changing my mind and letting it fall instead. It frames my face, still damp at the ends, smelling faintly of the soap I shouldn’t have used.
When I step into the hallway, Rhett is already waiting.
He leans against the wall near the kitchen, arms crossed, posture rigid. He looks like he’s been standing there for a while. His gaze lifts the moment I appear.
It drops just as quickly.
Not in a way that’s obvious. Not in a way I can accuse him of.
But I see it.
The way his eyes flicker down my front before snapping back to my face, his jaw tightening like he’s biting back something sharp.
“We need to talk,” he says.
I fold my arms, mirroring him. “About what now?”
“Rules.”
The word lands heavy.
I scoff. “You’re not my father.”
“No,” he agrees evenly. “And this isn’t a negotiation.”
Something about his tone makes my spine straighten. Makes my mouth open with a retort that never quite forms.
He pushes off the wall and gestures toward the kitchen table. “Sit.”
I don’t move.
His eyes narrow slightly. Not angry. Focused.
“Nola.”
The way he says my name does it. Low. Controlled. Final.
I sit.
The chair scrapes softly against the floor as I pull it out. He doesn’t sit across from me. He stands beside the table instead, hands braced against the edge, leaning forward just enough that his presence feels inescapable.
“Until we know what’s going on,” he begins, “you don’t go anywhere alone.”
“I have a job,” I snap.
“And I’ll drive you.”
“I’m not”
“You are,” he cuts in calmly. “No walks. No detours. No ‘I’ll just be a minute.’”
I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re alive,” he counters. “This isn’t about control. It’s about safety.”
My fingers curl into the fabric of my jeans. “You keep saying that like it excuses everything.”
His gaze drops.
Not to my hands.
Lower.
I feel it instantly, the heat that blooms traitorously beneath my skin. The awareness of my own body, of how the thin fabric of my top rests against my chest.
His throat bobs as he swallows.
Just once.
Then his eyes lift back to mine, expression locked down again.
“Windows locked after dark,” he continues, voice steady despite the flicker I saw. “You tell me where you’re going. You answer your phone.”
“And if I don’t?”
A pause.
He straightens slightly, his height suddenly overwhelming in the confined space. “Then I’ll make sure you do.”
The words aren’t a threat.
They’re a promise.
I shift in my seat, my knees brushing the underside of the table. When I move, his attention follows unconsciously, his gaze dipping again before he can stop it.
This time, I see the way his trousers pull tight across his thighs.
The outline of his d**k is impossible to miss once I notice it, can’t help the imaginations plaguing my head at this moment, I notice him briefly note on his lower lips, almost like he’s fighting inner demons.
Heat floods my face. I look away too quickly, my pulse hammering.
“Anything else?” I mutter.
“Yes.” His voice is quieter now.
“You don’t go near the woods,” he adds
I laugh softly, rolling my eyes. “You’ve been saying that since I was twelve.”
“And I mean it more now than ever.” He looks at me sternly, not breaking eye contact this time.
I push my chair back and stand abruptly, too close, I don’t realize how close until I’m there, until my shoulder brushes his arm.
The contact is brief.
Electric.
He goes still.
I do too.
The air between us thickens, charged, like something waiting to snap. I can feel the heat of him through my sleeve, solid and unyielding. His hand flexes once at his side, fingers curling as if resisting the urge to reach out.
I tilt my head up before I can stop myself. “You don’t get to order me around just because you feel responsible.”
His eyes darken. “You think that’s all this is?”
The question hangs between us, dangerous and unanswered.
I step back first.
“Fine,” I say tightly. “Your rules.”
Relief flashes across his face for half a second before it’s gone.
“Good,” he replies. “Because I won’t lose you too.”
I freeze.
Lose me?
But he’s already turning away, the moment shuttered, the distance rebuilt.
And I’m left standing in the kitchen, heart pounding, skin still humming where he didn’t touch me wondering when obeying him started to feel this much like surrender.
- Writer
