Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Holly
I wake to moonlight painting shadows across his face and his flannel shirt wrapped around me.
He's still here. Still real. His features soft in sleep, stripped of the careful control he wears like armor. One arm's thrown over his head, his shirt riding up to reveal the trail of hair—surprisingly dark in contrast with his dirty blond hair—disappearing beneath his waistband.
Carefully, work my way out from under his arm and push myself up to sitting. He makes a small sound of protest in his sleep, his hand reaching for where I was.
My heart clenches.
This isn't part of the deal—him staying. Him looking like this. Making my heart do that stupid flutter thing that has nothing to do with antagonizing him and everything to do with how his hand found mine in the dark when I admitted my fears about the presentation.
Before I can stop myself, my fingertips hover over his jaw. The stubble has passed the sharp stage, edging into something softer—something that practically whispers, touch me.
"You're kind of beautiful, you know that?" I whisper, letting my fingers ghost along his cheekbone. "When you're not being an ass."
His chest rises and falls steadily, undisturbed.
Emboldened by the darkness and the quiet rise and fall of his breath, my fingers trace the arch of his eyebrow— why does that spot feel so intimate? —along the slope of his nose, learning him by touch. My thumb brushes the corner of his mouth, and his lips part on an exhale that sends a shiver racing through me, sharp and electric.
“What am I doing?” The words escape, barely a whisper. “This isn’t… we’re not…”
But we are. Something. Maybe we always have been—two lives running parallel, separated by time, but always on chaotic courses meant to converge.
My fingers drift lower, following the column of his throat to where his pulse beats strong and steady. His dog tags catch the moonlight, and I toy with the chain, remembering how they felt pressed between us when he kissed me.
"I don't know how to do this." I rest my palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart thud under my hand. "The whole... feelings thing. Give me a balance sheet, market projections—I can handle those. But this?"
He shifts slightly, and I freeze. But his breathing stays deep and even.
I drag the collar of the shirt my nose and inhale deep. “You make me want things I shouldn't." The confession slips out, soft and afraid. "Like maybe I don't have to be too much or not enough. Like maybe I can just... be."
My fingers curl against his chest, right over his heart.
"And that's terrifying. Because what if I let myself believe it? What if I let myself trust this—trust you—and it all falls apart?" My voice cracks. "What if I'm still just that kid you guys left behind, only this time it'll hurt so much worse because I know what I'm missing?"
The tear spilling over takes me by surprise, barely making it down my cheek before I’m swiping it away. The darkness and his deep, peaceful sleep no longer feel safe enough to hide.
God, when did I become this person? This soft, vulnerable thing who cries over sleeping soldiers?
"I should hate you for this," I whisper. "For making me feel things. For making me want more than what I've built. For making me..."
Care. Want. Need.
The words stick in my throat, too big and real to voice even in the safety of darkness.
Instead, I lean down and press my lips to his forehead—gentle, barely there. A ghost of a kiss that still somehow feels more intimate than any we've shared.
"This is such a bad idea."
I sink back into the spot next to him. Dabbling with temptation—with what could easily turn into addiction—if it hasn’t already.
Curling into a ball, I pull my knees to my chest. It’s not much of a barrier between us, but it’s something. A shred of distance I can cling to.
But not enough to stop me. Not enough to keep me from reaching out.
Sliding my hand over his stomach, I let it rest there, the tip of my index finger barely brushing his. The contact sends a quiet jolt through me, my skin tingling, my chest aching with words I can’t take back.
Even if he didn’t hear them.
Even if part of me wishes he had.
"Goodnight, soldier boy."
The moonlight catches on his dog tags again, glinting like a silent challenge, and I close my eyes against the sight. Against the want. Against everything I’m not ready to name.
But the darkness doesn’t save me. His presence fills the space between us, steady and unrelenting.
When his hand closes over mine, my eyes fly open. My breath skids to a stop, and my heart pounds so hard, I swear he has to hear it.
Breathing even, his eyes still peacefully closed, he drags my hand up his chest—his movements slow and deliberate, until he traps it under his, holding it steady over his heart.
Thu-thunk… thu-thunk… thu-thunk.
The rhythm reverberates through my palm, each beat grounding and overwhelming at once.
Tomorrow, I’ll be myself again. Sharp edges, steel spine, and careful distance.
But here, for now, in the quiet dark, it washes over me—his warmth, his heartbeat, the raw ache blooming in my chest—— I let myself feel it all.