After she leaves, the house feels too quiet. I can hear every creak, every settling sound, and each one makes my shoulders tense.
Zeke notices. He always notices.
"Come on." He stands, holding out his hand. "Let's go sit in the living room. More comfortable."
We settle on the couch, and he pulls me against his side, wrapping a blanket around us both. It's warm and safe and normal, and I try to let myself relax into it.
"Can I ask you something?" I say after a while.
"Anything."
"When you were hitting him-" I pause, trying to find the right words. "Were you scared? Of what you were capable of?"
He's quiet for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally says. "I was. When I saw him touching you, when I saw that gun, something in me just snapped. I wasn't thinking. I just knew I had to stop him,
