Chapter 32
N ora
I wake up to find Jericho snoozing with his head resting on the back of the couch. Soft snores come out of his slightly open mouth.
I’ve never seen him in such a relaxed state, so I take my time watching him. The deep lines on his forehead are now smooth. His lower lip looks fuller. I move my gaze to his eyes and find them open.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he croaks back. “What time is it?”
I glance at my phone I left on the floor by the couch. “A little after two.”
That’s it. We don’t say anything else. Just watch each other. His hands rest on my legs while his fingers trace lazy circles over them.
There’s something in the quiet. A slow, low hum between us.
I’m pulled toward him like he has a center of gravity all on his own.
It would be easy to move closer and lean into him.
It would be easy to meet him halfway, but I don’t want to rush.
I’ve waited years for something real. I can wait a little longer.
No matter how good he smells. Or how delicious the swell of his muscles looks under his shirt.
“I don’t usually like company,” he mutters after a long pause.
I glance over, grateful he’s broken this silent spell. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
“Don’t push your luck,” he says with a sleepy, lopsided grin.
I smile to myself and sink a little deeper into the couch. The porch light still glows through the window. The chicken potpie he didn’t finish is cold on the counter.
“I’m surprised you leave that light on,” I say quietly.
He shifts beside me. “What?”
“Outside. You always leave it on. There’s no one around, and it’s not like you get company here.”
“I have you here, don’t I?” he replies cheekily.
“True. But you know what I mean. It’s so odd to have another light on. The person who lived here before you never left the lights on. Ever.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then mutters softly, “Habit.”
I look at him. “From where?”
Another pause. Longer. He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Just something I picked up a long time ago. Makes it easier to sleep.”
Light makes it easier to sleep . I thought I was the only one like that.
I want to ask more. To ask why it’s easier to sleep. Is it the same reason as mine? But something in his voice tells me not to push.
So I don’t. Instead, I tuck one foot under myself and lean my head back. “I have a nightlight in my room.”
His brow lifts. “Seriously? ”
“One of those kids’ ones. It’s just… soft. I hate the dark when I’m by myself.”
He gently squeezes my foot. “Nora Moon is scared of the dark? The very same person who runs alone at night chasing the moon?”
“No,” I chuckle, then correct myself. “Sometimes. Yes. I think I’m more scared of what it means. Being alone in it.”
He goes quiet again.
I exhale slowly. “I don’t usually tell people that.”
He turns toward me. His eyes are darker in this light. Still sharp. But softer too. “Why not?”
“Because I have no reason to feel that way. I have a family who loves me. A job I’m good at. A house full of weirdness and warmth. But sometimes… I still feel like I don’t belong. Like I’m not really of this place. Like I’m just performing what everyone expects me to be.”
The moment I say all of that out loud, I’m overwhelmed with a wave of embarrassment. I hate oversharing. Hate these quiet moments when you suddenly let yourself feel vulnerable, and you hope the world will understand.
“I think,” I whisper when the silence is too loud. “I’m lonelier than I let on.”
The air shifts. He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t say anything comforting or sweet.
But he sees me. I feel that. And that, somehow, is better than words.
We stay like that—silent, breathing the same air. Every so often, one of our bodies shifts and we end up even closer together.
“I should go,” I say eventually, though I don’t move.
“Probably,” he says while still holding my feet hostage in his giant hands.
Neither of us moves.
I glance at my phone—we’ve been here for almost an hour. The house is too quiet, too still. If I stay any longer, I might do something reckless. Like fall asleep next to him again and never want to leave.
But then, just as I start to shift upright, we hear a pounding. Not on Jericho’s door, but nearby. My house is the only other possible source of the sound.
Then a voice.
Sharp. Slurred. Unmistakably male.
Jericho is on his feet before I am. His posture changes in an instant. Gone is the quiet man I was just spilling my guts to. This one is rigid. Coiled. Ready for something I can’t see yet.
The knock comes again, louder this time.
“Nora!” a voice slurs outside, loud enough for the whole neighborhood down the road to wake up. “I know you’re in there!”
I go still. My blood runs cold.
Jericho’s head snaps to me. “Dick?”
I nod.
His jaw clenches. “Of course it is.” He doesn’t wait for more. Doesn’t look back.
He opens the door and steps outside. Gone is the man I was just beginning to know. He’s been replaced by this quiet fury. Shoulders squared, eyes dark and unreadable, voice low enough to scare our fearless Karina.
I don’t follow him. I just grab my phone in case I need to call for help and stand by the open door in the shadow, hands gripping the wall.
“Get off her porch,” he barks as he strides toward my house.
Dick turns around, stumbling forward. His face is flushed with a copious amount of alcohol.
“So the whore went right to you, huh.” His disgusting words are accompanied by a hyena laugh.
Jericho crosses the driveway in three giant steps and lands next to Dick, grabbing him by his collar .
“Don’t say another word,” he hisses into his face.
“Yeah? Or what?”
Jericho says something I can’t hear, but it’s something that makes Dick laugh, which is not the reaction I would expect under the circumstances.
“Ye-ah,” he slurs loudly. “I knew you were one of us.”
That makes Jericho furious—his shoulders square even more, if such a thing is even possible.
He growls something back to Dick’s face, and I desperately want to hear what.
So, naturally, I tippytoe toward the edge of the porch which is closer to my house in hopes that it’ll be easier to hear something. Anything.
And it is.
“Who the hell are you, huh?” Dick’s voice gains more power. “Came here with no fucking name. This is my town, and you’ll soon learn that.”
I cringe, feeling secondhand embarrassment at such a bad movie line. I can’t believe I was ever into him.
“I see what’s happening here,” Jericho says. “You thought she’d be here when you were done dicking around, and now your plan is fucked.”
Dick is surprisingly quiet.
“I can promise you it’s fucked. Because she’ll never want you back. Ever.” Jericho’s voice is a quiet promise. He’s not yelling or growling. His tone is even. And that alone makes it even more promising.
But that makes Dick laugh. “She was mine first. And she’ll come back.”
The nerve of that man.
“She won’t.” Jericho gives him a shake, and my ex makes the first attempt to remove Jericho’s hands from his front. “I’ll make sure of that. Because once you’ve had a woman like Nora, nothing else ever comes close. And I’ve had Nora. And I’ll keep her mine. ”
I suck in a breath. The words crash into me like warm waves on a sunny day.
I’ll keep her mine.
Dick mumbles something, but he’s backing away now. Jericho’s still and silent and terrifying in a way that doesn’t need yelling. His presence alone is enough to shrink the air around them.
“Don’t come back,” Jericho says, pushing Dick off the porch. “You show up here again, and you’ll have trouble looking at your phone.”
“My-my phone? Why would I need my phone?”
“To call the fuckin’ ambulance. Now get the fuck out.” This is the first time Jericho has raised his voice since he sprinted out of his house. His patience is gone, that’s for certain.
After a second-long hesitation, Dick retreats to his car and peels out like a coward. Hopefully he won’t kill anyone on the road judging by how intoxicated he is.
The street goes quiet.
Jericho stays where he is for a moment. Breathing hard. Fists clenched. Like he’s waiting to see if there’s more. While he’s going through that internal turmoil, I pull out my phone and shoot a message to Cheryl.
Dick just left my house. Drunk out of his mind. Maybe you should check the road and lock him up for eternity.
Three dots instantly appear on the screen, letting me know that my sister never sleeps.
Are you okay???
Yes. Jericho was here. I’ll explain later.
K.
When he finally walks back and then inside his house, he doesn’t look at me right away. Even though I’m hot on his heels.
“Jericho?” I call gently.
He doesn’t speak, and I don’t push.
I take him in: heavy shoulders from the slow, deep breaths, guarded eyes, and unreadable expression.
This version of him… I’ve never seen it before.
And I don’t know what to do with it. Just when I’ve started thinking that I’ve cracked the shell of him, a new person emerges from the shadows. It’s still him but darker. Much darker.
He walks to the kitchen and grips the back of a stool. I follow him silently because I don’t want to leave him alone just yet, despite my desire to run and hide inside my room—from the whole world and from these new feelings.
“You okay?” he asks eventually, voice low.
I nod. “Yeah. And you?”
His chuckle is dark. “Yeah.”
My throat tightens. “You were really angry.”
“I was.”
I swallow before admitting something I can barely admit to myself. “You scared me there for a second.”
He finally meets my eyes. “I scare myself sometimes,” he admits after a long pause.
The honesty in it stuns me. Neither of us moves.
“I should go,” I say for the second time tonight, but it sounds different now.
His jaw ticks. “I’ll walk you.”
We walk in silence, side by side across the short stretch of land between our houses. No fences at the front. No space between us. Just that invisible wall we keep dancing around.
He waits until I’m at the door before speaking.
“I meant what I said to him,” he murmurs. “Even if I shouldn’t have. ”
I look back at him, finding his eyes darker in the night. “I know.”
He watches me for a moment longer, then turns and walks back to his house, shoulders still tense.
I step inside mine and softly close the door before leaning my back against it, trying to calm the rhythm of my heart.
Whatever this thing is between us—it’s not safe. Not quiet. Not gentle. It’s almost scary.
And I don’t do scary.
But it’s real.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s worth the risk.