Chapter 10: Cold Showers and Clenched Jaws
403 Words
They didn’t talk about it.
The dream.
The almost-touch.
The flash of hunger in his eyes when she flinched away.
Instead, Kade made breakfast. Elara sat silently. The tension between them crackled louder than the fire.
She’d slept like s**t.
So had he.
She could tell from the tight line of his jaw, the way he chopped vegetables like they personally insulted his ancestors. He hadn’t shaved. His hair was a mess.
She hated how hot he looked.
She also hated how kind he was being.
Because the more space he gave her…
The more she wanted to fill it.
⸻
That night, they ended up in the same bed again.
Out of necessity.
Only one bed.
Same blanket.
Backs to each other.
A full canyon of “we are absolutely not touching” between them.
Elara stared at the wall, blinking into the darkness.
“I had a dream last night,” she whispered.
She didn’t know why she said it.
Kade didn’t answer.
“I was back in Wales,” she continued. “And he was there. Telling me I was worthless. That no one would ever want me without him.”
More silence.
Then—
“What happened when you left him?”
Elara swallowed. “I ran. He didn’t chase me. No one did.”
Kade exhaled. “You were never worthless.”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t say the right thing just because you’re trying to fix me.”
He rolled to face her — just enough that she could feel the weight of his stare behind her back.
“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said. “I’m trying to understand you.”
Her throat tightened.
“I want to touch you so badly, Elara,” he added, voice low and rough. “But not if it’s going to break you.”
She turned slowly to face him in the dark. His face was shadowed, but his eyes shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
“I’m already cracked,” she whispered. “Touching me won’t break me.”
“It might break me,” he murmured.
And that?
That ruined her.
⸻
She didn’t touch him that night.
But she slept a little closer.
Not all the way.
Just… enough to feel his breath on her skin.
Enough to dream about what it would feel like to fall and not have to catch herself.
- Writer
