Chapter 5
Emmett
The fire has burned low, casting flickering shadows against the walls. The only sound in the cabin is the occasional crackle of embers and the quiet hum of the storm outside.
I should be asleep. Instead, I’m standing at the kitchen counter, a glass of whiskey in my hand, watching Raine from across the room.
She’s curled up in the corner of the couch, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the flames like they hold the answers to questions she won’t ask.
There’s something about her—something unshakable.
She’s been through hell. I can see it in the way she holds herself, in the way she doesn’t flinch at silence, at isolation.
But she’s still running.
And for the first time in a long time, I wonder if I am too.
Raine shifts, stretching her legs out, her gaze flicking to me with a lazy sort of amusement. "You keep staring at me like that, and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a crush."
Her voice cuts through the quiet, smooth and laced with sarcasm.
I take a slow sip of my drink. "Not my type."
She snorts. "Let me guess. You like women who don’t throw knives at your head?"
"That’s a good start."
She exhales a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s something lingering in her expression, something I can’t quite place. A weariness, maybe. A hesitance that she’s trying to cover with humor.
She does that a lot.
And I recognize it because I do the same damn thing.
I roll my shoulders, reaching up to shrug out of my jacket. The movement pulls at my shirt, just enough for the hem to lift, revealing the scar that runs along my ribs—a long, jagged thing that never quite healed right.
Raine’s gaze flicks to it.
Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t say anything at first. Then—
"What happened?"
I arch a brow. "You asking because you care, or because you’re looking for weak spots?"
She meets my stare, unflinching. "Both."
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "Honest. I’ll give you that."
She shifts, her body angling toward me, gaze lingering on the scar. "So?"
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I walk over, setting my glass on the table before sinking into the chair across from her.
"Knife fight," I say finally. "Long time ago."
She tilts her head, considering. "Did you win?"
I smirk. "I’m still here, aren’t I?"
Raine studies me, and I don’t know what she’s looking for. If she sees the man I used to be, the man I am now, or the one I’m trying like hell not to become.
And then, before I can stop her, she moves.
It’s subtle, a shift in the air, a moment where the space between us shrinks just enough to change everything. She reaches out, fingers ghosting over the scar, light and hesitant, like she’s testing a boundary neither of us knew was there.
I go completely still.
Her touch is warm against my skin, the kind of warmth that seeps past the surface, that lingers. It’s been years since anyone touched me like this—without violence, without expectation.
I should pull away.
But I don’t.
Neither does she.
My pulse kicks up, the air between us charged with something I can’t name. She’s looking at me like she sees something deeper, something beyond the scars, the blood, the choices that led me here.
Then, she shifts. Just a fraction.
And I swear to God, if she moves one inch closer, I’ll close the distance entirely.
I could kiss her. I could lean in, tilt her chin up, and taste the defiance, the fire on her lips. I could let myself drown in the quiet storm she carries.
But then—
She pulls back.
Her fingers leave my skin, her gaze dropping, and just like that, the moment shatters.
“I should sleep,” she murmurs, already standing, already moving toward the bedroom without looking back.
I watch her go, exhaling slowly.
The storm rages outside, rain hammering against the roof, wind howling through the trees. I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at the fire, thinking about things I shouldn’t.
About the way she looked at me.
About how easy it would have been to let her close that last inch between us.
About the fact that I wanted her to.
I press my hand against my ribs, feeling the lingering ghost of her touch. My past is carved into my skin, into the jagged lines of every scar. I used to believe they were warnings. Reminders of why I don’t let people in.
Because the last time I did, I lost everything.
I think of her. The woman who once looked at me like Raine just did. The woman I couldn’t save.
She was soft-spoken, the kind of person who could walk into a room and make it feel warmer. She told me I could be more than what I was—more than muscle, more than a weapon. And for a brief, stupid moment, I believed her.
Then she died. Because of me.
I should’ve kept my distance back then. Just like I should keep my distance now.
Raine is the same kind of dangerous. Not because she needs saving, but because she makes me want to try.
And I know better.
She’s going to leave. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week. But eventually. And when she does, I don’t know if I can take another loss.
I exhale sharply, forcing my shoulders to relax, but the weight in my chest won’t lift.
I used to think I was past this—past wanting, past needing anything that wasn’t survival. But now I’m not so sure.
I don’t know what just happened between us.
But I know one thing for sure.
She’s not the only one running anymore.