Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Swift
The city didn’t sleep, not really.
It slowed down, sure. The chaos dulled, and the drunk college kids thinned out; the noise dropped from a roar to a steady hum, but Madison never really shut off.
Not on State Street.
I leaned against the window with it cracked open just enough to let the smoke out and the cool night air in. The cigarette burned slowly between my fingers, the orange tip flaring every time I took a drag.
A couple walked too close together, laughing like the world wasn’t trying to kill people two blocks over.
A guy on a bike wove through traffic like he had somewhere better to be.
A group of students stumbled past, loud and careless, the kind of oblivious that came with being young and not knowing how bad things could get.
I exhaled a slow stream of smoke out into the night and watched it disappear.
Everything looked normal.
That was the thing about danger.
It didn’t change the way the world looked, just the way you saw it.
My eyes tracked every movement automatically now.
Every person. Every car that slowed too much or lingered too long. Every shadow that didn’t quite match where it should be.
The black SUV from earlier kept replaying in my head and the way the window rolled down. The way the gun appeared and how time stretched just enough for me to know exactly what was about to happen.
And then the shots.
I rolled my shoulder, feeling the soreness settle in deeper now that the adrenaline had long since burned off.
It all could’ve gone differently. If I had been one second slower, I could be in a body bag.
I wouldn’t be leaning against this window and thinking about the woman asleep in the next room.
My jaw tightened as I took another drag.
Britta.
That almost-kiss had done more damage than the gunshots.
Which was saying something.
I hadn’t planned it or gone into that moment thinking I was going to cross that line. But then she’d looked at me, and everything in me had shifted.
It wasn’t just attraction.
It wasn’t just proximity.
It was something deeper than that.
I wanted her. That part was simple. Clear and undeniable.
But I didn’t just want her like that.
Didn’t want one moment. I didn’t want something that happened because the day had been too much and she needed something to hold onto.
I didn’t want her to say yes and then regret it when things settled.
Didn’t want her to wake up in the morning and feel like she’d made a mistake.
I wanted her to choose it.
To choose me fully, with her head in it as much as her body.
I blew out another stream of smoke, watching it curl into the night.
She wanted me. I wasn’t blind. I’d seen it and felt it. The way she leaned closer without realizing it. The way her breath changed when I touched her. The way her eyes dropped to my mouth like she was already imagining it.
But she wasn’t ready.
Not all the way.
Her life had been turned upside down in the last week.
Shot.
Threatened.
Her brother suddenly in question.
Her sense of normal was completely wrecked.
And now me. Standing in her space. Sleeping on her couch. Watching over her like she was something that needed protecting from everything out there.
I took one last drag and crushed the cigarette into the ashtray on the windowsill. The ember died with a soft hiss.
The kiss was going to change things. That wasn’t a question.
That moment on the couch had already shifted something between us. The line was there now, clear and visible. Neither of us could pretend we didn’t see it anymore.
But change didn’t mean bad. It just meant different.
And I wasn’t afraid of different, not when it came to her.
A soft sound came from the bedroom.
I stilled and listened.
Another small noise, a whimper.
I pushed off the window and moved quietly down the hallway, my steps light out of habit more than necessity. The bedroom door was open just enough for me to see her.
Britta was on her back, the blankets twisted around her legs, her brow furrowed slightly like something in her sleep wasn’t sitting right.
Her breathing was uneven and shallow.
I stepped inside without making a sound and moved to the side of the bed. For a second, I just stood there, watching her.
Even like this, she was… something. Soft, strong, and beautiful.
All wrapped up in one person who had no idea how much space she was taking up in my head already.
Her hand twitched against the sheet, and her lips parted slightly, a faint frown pulling at them.
I reached out before I could think too hard about it and brushed a strand of hair back from her face.
My fingers barely touched her skin, but it was just enough that her breathing shifted instantly. Slowed and evened out.
The tension in her brow eased like she recognized the touch even asleep. Like her body knew I was there.
Something in my chest tightened.
I let my hand linger for a second longer than necessary, then pulled it back and stepped away.
She didn’t wake or stir again. She just settled deeper into the bed, her body relaxing into the mattress like whatever had been bothering her had let go.
I watched her for another minute, making sure she stayed calm.
Making sure she was okay.
Then I turned and walked back out into the living room.
Back to the window.
Back to the street.
I cracked it open again and grabbed another cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of the lighter.
The flame danced for a second before I pulled in a breath and let it die.
I leaned my shoulder against the wall and stared out at the city. Until Britta decided she wanted me… I’d be right here.
Waiting.