Chapter 20 #2
“Oh, fuck off,” Stan mutters. “So we’re… Um, shit. Just tell her, man.”
Sterling doesn’t pause. “I was born in November. You were born the next June.”
I blink, tilting my head to the side. “Hm, that’s only seven months apart.”
Stan goes still for a second. His lips pull into a pout before he smooths it out.
“Oh,” I say slowly, straightening as I stare at Stan. “So…you must have been premature?”
Stan’s face scrunches. “The hell? No, I wasn’t—wait.” He narrows his eyes. “Was I?”
Sterling dusts off his hands. “It would explain a lot.”
Stan gapes at him. “Dude.” Then he turns to me. “Elle, I need you to know right now, I was a healthy, adorable baby with above-average muscle tone.”
I can’t help it. A little laugh bubbles up out of my lips, and Stan throws his hands in the air, looking quite victorious.
“There it is!” he shouts. “That’s the sound we live for!”
Sterling rolls his eyes, but I catch how his mouth twitches. So subtle that if I blinked, I would’ve missed it. But I didn’t. And I can’t help the smile that stays on my lips.
Sterling shrugs as he hefts another log. “I’m just saying, premature birth can have effects on brain development.”
Stan’s jaw drops. “Are you calling me stupid?”
Sterling simply turns back toward the pile, stoic as always. “I didn’t say that.”
“You totally implied it!”
I press my knuckles to my lips, but a laugh slips through as I speak. “There’s nothing wrong with premature babies. You turned out alright, Stan.”
He whips toward me, eyes wide, mouth already stretching into a grin. “See? Elle’s on my side. She thinks you’re full of shit, Silver.”
Sterling doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even glance back this time. Instead, he picks up another log and sets it down like the conversation hasn’t touched him in the slightest.
I shake my head as they keep going—Stan poking, Sterling ignoring, the two of them settling into a rhythm I can tell is theirs. It’s the most normal I’ve felt in a long time. They make noise I don’t mind hearing. The type that fills a space instead of drowning it out.
Eventually, after a minor argument over “stacking integrity” and Stan loudly declaring that “piling wood isn’t a real science, dude,” they seem to silently agree the firewood quota for the day has been filled.
Sterling brushes off his hands. Stan stretches his shoulders.
I take that as my cue and step toward the cabin’s open door.
The warmth inside greets my skin. Before I fully step in, I glance back.
They’re still out there for the moment, still pulled by the same uneven gravity they seem to have shared their whole lives.
And I’m…here. With two men I’ve come to care about in ways I can’t quite define.
We’re all okay, despite everything. That helps me stay in the present. I don’t feel like I’m helplessly, hopelessly floating on air that’s suffocating me. Instead, I’m…home.
***
The air inside is warmer, steeped in the scent of freshly cut wood and warmth that’s faintly herbal, probably the tea Sterling keeps brewing.
They both step in after me, the floor creaking beneath my feet while I walk toward the couch.
It’s small in here, but not cramped. It feels lived-in, in a way that makes it feel safe.
Sterling glances at me as I settle onto the couch. “You feeling alright?” he asks, calm but braced for my answer.
I nod, shuffling under the weight of his gaze.
“Better,” I admit. And it’s true, mostly.
The fog hasn’t cleared completely, but it feels lighter.
I feel better. I am better, because of him and how he takes care of me.
The tea has been helping, even if it tastes like herbs and earth.
Knowing Sterling made it just for me…that part makes it easier to swallow, makes it taste a little sweeter.
My eyes follow him as he turns to the stove, reaching for the kettle like he knew I’d want more.
Stan drops onto the couch beside me with a groan so exaggerated it makes the floor protest. “Man, I’m starving,” he announces, rubbing his stomach with both hands like he expects sympathy or snacks. “I could eat a whole deer.”
Sterling angles himself enough to glance back. “I’d like to see you take one down in your current state.”
“You kidding me? I could still out-hunt you with one hand tied behind my back.” Stan scoffs, sitting up straighter with mock offense. “Is there even any game out here?”
“There’s some,” Sterling replies, pouring warm water into cups. “Deer. Rabbits. Wild boar, if you’re lucky.”
Stan perks up. “Boar? That sounds like a good meal. When’s the last time we had a proper spit-roasted anything?”
Sterling doesn’t answer. He brings me the steaming mug instead and passes it over gently with the handle facing me. His eyes linger as I wrap my fingers around the warmth. Our eyes stay on each other’s as I take a sip. I smile wide. It’s perfectly warm, perfectly comforting.
“Not sure I’d trust you even with a kitchen knife right now,” Sterling says to Stan, still watching me.
Stan frowns and clutches his chest. “Wow. No faith. Ya hear this, Elle? He thinks I’m fragile.”
I lift a brow and take another sip. “I mean…he’s got a point.”
Stan gasps. “Et tu, Elle?” His tone is theatrical, but the smile tugging at his bruised mouth is genuine.
Sterling smirks a bit, enough to show he might be enjoying this more than he cares to admit. “She’s being realistic.”
Stan slumps in place, mumbling about betrayal and injustice. A moment later, he leans back, arms crossed behind his head, glancing sideways at Sterling. “Say, Silver,” he says, dragging out the nickname, “you don’t mind going out to hunt, do ya?”
Sterling doesn’t answer right away. He’s cleaning out a rifle now, focused and calm, barely acknowledging the question.
But Stan keeps going, looking quite pleased with himself. “I mean, it’d just be me and Elle here. Alone. Could be good for both of us, y’know. Little bonding time.”
Sterling doesn’t react as openly as Stan would. But I see how Sterling’s shoulders go still and how his hands slightly hitch. It’s a pause anyone else would miss. I don’t.
Stan grins wider, eyes glinting. “Unless you think I’d try something. But that’d be ridiculous, right? I’m super trustworthy.”
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh into my tea.
Sterling lifts his head slowly. His gaze lands on Stan, flat and cold. It might scare others, but it doesn’t seem to be working on me or Stan. In fact, I find it rather endearing.
Stan shrugs, unbothered. “So what’s it gonna be? Trust fall or trust issues?”
Sterling, to his credit, doesn’t take the bait outright. He flicks his eyes to me once—quicker than a blink—then turns back to Stan. I can almost hear the thoughts churning behind his eyes.
“You hunt,” Sterling says, flat and direct. He tosses the rifle without ceremony. “Get out.”
Stan fumbles it against his chest. “Wait, what?”
“You want meat? Get it yourself.”
I sip my tea, catching the way Sterling avoids looking at me now, his jaw a little too tight. His mouth, even tighter. He’s flustered. And honestly…it truly is endearing.
Stan whoops, already on his feet. “Hell yeah! Been ages since I had a good hunt.”
He heads for the door, the rifle slung over his shoulder with dramatic flair. Then, just as he’s halfway out, he turns to face me.
“Oh, Elle!” he adds. “Don’t miss me too much. I know it’ll be hard.”
“Mm-hmm, I’ll try…”
I sip more of my tea, hiding a smile behind the rim of my cup as I watch Stan disappear toward the woods.
He leaves the door ajar. The cool breeze comes in.
It’s a welcome way to soothe the thumping of my heart now that I’m alone with Sterling.
He sighs and sinks into the seat beside me, rubbing his temple as if Stan took five years off his life. I don’t laugh, but it’s close.
“You let him get to you,” I say.
“He gets to everyone,” he mutters, and I hear his reluctant fondness buried in his words.
From the corner of my eye, I study him. Sterling is all sharp lines and stillness, made of tension and control. Stan’s a hurricane in a fitted shirt. Watching them exist in the same room is like watching fire and water figure out how not to consume each other. Somehow, they make it work.
But now it’s just him and me in the quiet. And when he’s this close—close enough to reach, yet far enough not to—my heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. It slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break free to get to him.
It makes my ribs constrict in a way that makes it hard to breathe. But I’ve gotten better at settling for moments like this, by simply staring at him, taking in his effortless beauty, his serene calmness, and his utter perfection.
Sterling’s quiet again, watching me finish my tea, eyes on my lips. His gaze doesn’t waver as I set the mug down.
Then, finally, his voice fills the room, fills my soul. “Does it taste as bad as Stan said?”
I tilt my head. “No,” I say with all the certainty I can muster. “I really love it.”
His posture shifts slightly, a breath of something easing in his chest.
“Especially since you made it for me,” I add.
Sterling clears his throat, looking away as if I said something scandalous. A faint blush creeps, barely there on his cheeks, but it stays. He stands abruptly and turns toward the lit fireplace. “I should add more wood.”
The fire’s doing fine, but I don’t say anything. I simply stay still, holding my tea and smiling into the faint steam.
A mercenary who blushes? Yeah… That’s definitely endearing.