15. Could Be
Fifteen
Could Be
She was warm, warmer than she’d been in days, wrapped in Sawyer’s arms, his body a fortress against the bitter chill that had seeped into her bones since the world ended.
His chest rose and fell against her back in a metronome rhythm, steady and slow, and the soft brush of his breath warmed the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, sending pleasant shivers down her spine.
His arm draped over her middle, heavy and protective like an anchor keeping her from drifting away, and his calloused fingers were laced lightly through hers, their hands fitting together like weathered puzzle pieces.
For a long time, she didn’t move. She remained there, taking in the calm pattern of his breaths and the soft breeze on the walls.
It hit her all at once: how strange and beautiful it was that this man, the gruff, closed-off neighbor she’d barely spoken to a few weeks ago, had somehow become her anchor in a world gone to hell.
The cranky guy who used to avoid eye contact in the hallway was now the reason she was safe enough to close her eyes.
She smiled faintly, remembering those awkward glances across the apartment complex, him with his quiet, deliberate way of moving, her with her forced small talk that he’d always seemed to want to escape from.
If someone had told her then that she’d end up here, wrapped in his arms in the middle of an apocalypse, she’d have laughed them off.
But now, his arms were solid around her. His warmth was real.
She could sense the steady beat of his heart against her back, a simple, grounding sound that somehow meant more than words ever could.
Addy shifted slightly, turning her head enough to look at him. His face was relaxed in sleep, the sharp lines softened by the morning light. He looked younger like this, peaceful even, the soldier stripped away, leaving only the man underneath.
Her fingers brushed lightly over his forearm, tracing the faint scar that ran along it. He stirred a little but didn’t wake, his grip tightening around her for a heartbeat before settling again.
Addy emitted a little sigh, the sort that escapes when the world appears temporarily settled, even with the awareness of its fleeting presence.
She didn’t think about what waited outside — not the sickness, not the static on the radio, not the uncertain roads ahead. But at this moment.
Him.
And though she didn’t say it aloud, she thought it, the quiet truth that had been growing in her chest since the cabin, since the first time he’d said, “I love you.”
She loved him too.
And that terrified her.
She turned slowly in the shelter of the covers, careful not to disturb the fragile peace that lingered in the space between waking and the world. Her movement was gentle, a subtle rotation that let her study Sawyer’s face in the hush of morning.
She reached up and let her fingers hover above his cheek, reluctant to break the spell, but compelled by the need to touch something real.
Her hand finally made contact, fingertips grazing the stubble along his jaw, trailing to the faint nick in the skin beneath his cheekbone.
It was a slow, curious exploration, as if she were learning a language she’d never be able to speak out loud.
She traced the path down to his throat, the steady thrum of his pulse, the warmth of the blood beneath his skin.
Sawyer’s eyelids fluttered. He blinked awake, bleary at first, then focused on her with a clarity that startled her, as if he’d known she was there the whole time, but had been waiting for her to look closely enough to see him.
He smiled, a crooked, lazy expression that belonged to no one else, and in that moment he looked both impossibly young and anciently tired.
“Hey, you,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep but softened at the edges. Her breath caught at the intimacy of it, at the way he let down his guard. Without hesitation, he leaned in, closing the small distance, and pressed his lips to hers.
It wasn’t a cautious kiss, or a hesitant one; it was hungry and warm and honest, his mouth moving slowly but insistently against hers.
She tasted the traces of the night before: the salt of sweat and the faint sweetness of the whiskey they’d shared in the dark.
His tongue slipped past her lips, testing the warmth and yielding on the other side, and she let herself be drawn in, responding with a heat that surprised her.
They settled into the kiss as if it were a secret only they could share.
Her hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
His arm, heavy and sure, wrapped around her back and gathered her in, pressing her body flush against his.
He made a small, contented sound at the contact, not quite a laugh, but something like gratitude, and deepened the kiss, the way a drowning man might cling to a raft.
Time stretched, suspended. The world narrowed to this point of contact, this small haven in a landscape of ruin and fear.
For a few bright minutes, there was no hunger, no cold, no threat lurking outside the door.
There were only their bodies, and the shared breath between them, the knowledge that they had survived one more night.
When they finally broke apart, it was with reluctance and a lingering smile.
Sawyer tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, deliberate and awkward, as if he’d only recently remembered how to be gentle with another person.
She rested her forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed, letting herself be still in the moment.
“You’re not getting up yet, are you?” she whispered, half a plea, half a joke.
“Not a chance,” he whispered back, pulling her closer until the world outside faded to nothing.
* * *
The rich aroma of coffee mingled with the sizzle of frying eggs, filling every corner of the small cabin with a deceptive sense of normalcy.
Jay stood at the ancient cast-iron stove, his weathered hands moving with practiced efficiency, the spatula scraping rhythmically against the blackened pan.
Across the room, Addy sliced through stale bread, the knife catching on the hardened crust with each downward stroke, before arranging the pieces on a flat stone near the crackling fire to toast. Sawyer sat rigid at the rough-hewn table, silent and watchful, a deep crease carved between his brows as he tracked the pale winter light strengthening through the frost-laced windows.
“Those eggs smell like heaven,” Addy joked, her voice cutting through the heavy morning quiet.
Jay gestured toward the eggs on their plates. “Preserved them myself,” he said with a hint of pride. “Old method my grandmother taught me: lime water solution in mason jars. Got about three dozen more stored down in the root cellar.”
They ate in near silence at first: the scrape of forks, the low hum of the generator, and the occasional crackle from the fire. Addy tried to enjoy it, tried to pretend it was simply breakfast, not survival. But Sawyer’s quiet had weight to it, and Jay picked up on it before long.
“You’ve got that look again,” Jay said, setting his mug down. “The one that says something’s gnawing at you.”
Sawyer hesitated and sighed. “There’s something you should be aware of.”
Jay leaned back, arms crossed. “Go on.”
“When Addy and I left our last cabin before the storm hit,” Sawyer began, “we realized we weren’t alone. Two men showed up, armed. They’d been following us for a while, maybe longer. It ended in a firefight.”
Addy’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. The memory of that day — the shouting, the sound of gunfire, Sawyer dragging her to the truck — rushed back in a blur.
Jay frowned. “And you think they survived?”
“I have no idea,” Sawyer replied. “The storm came down fast. We left before we could find out. But even if they didn’t, there could be more.”
Jay was quiet for a moment, staring at the table. When he spoke again, his tone was flat. “They weren’t following you for your supplies.”
Sawyer’s eyes flicked up sharply. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because I’ve seen what kind of men are out there now,” Jay said. “The ones still wandering, still hunting. They’re not looking for food, they’re looking for power. And in a world like this, women are the first thing they try to take.”
Addy felt the words hit like ice water. “You’re saying… they wanted me?”
Jay met her eyes, grim. “I’m saying it’s likely. You’re young, you’re healthy, and you’ve got someone protecting you. That makes you a target for men who’ve got nothing left to lose and no law to fear.”
Sawyer’s jaw tightened, his voice a low growl. “That’s not happening. To anyone.”
Jay held up his hands. “I’m not saying it will. I’m saying you need to understand what we’re dealing with. The rules are gone. People are desperate, and desperation turns ugly fast.”
Sawyer leaned forward, his forearms on the table, every line of his body taut. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you do,” Jay said evenly. “But she deserves to know it too.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Addy stared at the fire, her hands trembling slightly around her coffee mug. She wanted to argue, to say Jay was wrong, but deep down she knew he wasn’t. She’d seen enough of the world in its last weeks to recognize how easily it had turned cruel.
Finally, Sawyer spoke again, his voice quieter but no less certain. “They come near her again, and they won’t walk away a second time.”
Jay nodded once. “Then we make sure they don’t get the chance. I’ll double the perimeter traps today. You help me move the generator to the back side of the cabin, keep the noise down.”
Sawyer’s expression softened slightly. “Good idea.”