Chapter 13
Thirteen
Tobin ran out of the Savage’s basement like she was on fire. Parts of her were. That same fire had been stoked and fed by her dreams, breaking through the barriers she kept in place when awake. The feelings she’d been deliberately avoiding were no longer capable of being silenced. She wanted Grier.
But she couldn’t have her.
She’d fight her own desires, bottle them, bury them until they suffocated. A sacrificial offering—her heart for Grier’s impending hurt. It was an unequal but equitable trade, and it meant Grier would be safe. From her.
Tobin stared out the passenger window, knees pulled to her chest, trying to make herself as small as she felt.
She knew it would be a mistake going over there, asking for Grier’s help, knowing her self-control was dwindling.
But she had been in so much pain, and the memories of Grier’s effect on her arm had beckoned her to see what she could do for her back.
Lying there, with Grier’s hands roaming her body, she felt the stirrings of arousal instantly—and fought them with every hitched breath she tried to hide.
But Grier had read her like a book.
She chewed on her lower lip as memories of Grier swirled behind her eyelids like an afterimage of arousal. She could still taste the remnants of Grier’s chapstick on her lips, a light, invigorating mint tingled with the heat of their kiss.
Kisses. She could feel the feral growl caught in her throat when she demanded Grier return to her, her prideful teasing driving her toward Tobin’s own racing pulse. Subtly, she pressed her fingers to her throat, confirming what she already knew—her pulse was still racing, desire unquenched.
“We kissed.”
“I know, Tobin.” Harrow was unfazed by her declaration, but gentle.
“We kissed.” Tobin said again. Her body—ignited only minutes before—was numb, and her mind felt like a scratched record, looping the same sentence: We kissed. We kissed. We kissed.
“Tobin? Are you okay?” Harrow’s voice radiated concern.
She flung her head back against the headrest and groaned. “Everything is so much worse.”
“Worse? What are you talking about? Have you even noticed that you can walk again? Tobin, everything is better.”
No, Tobin thought. No, everything is definitely worse.
“Tobin. Have you noticed that you can walk?” Harrow pressed. “Hmm? What?” She whispered. We kissed.
“Have you noticed that you can walk?” Harrow drawled.
Tobin looked down at herself, releasing her legs from her chest and placing her feet on the floor. “I… feel nothing. I don’t have any pain.” She looked at Harrow, shock evident in the whites of her eyes. “You don’t have any pain? None at all?” Harrow’s voice softened.
Tobin came out of her fog, taking stock of her body. She noticed a light warmth in her low back, where Grier had released her straining muscles. She felt more air filling her lungs as she took gradually deeper breaths. “No. None.”
Slowly, she turned to look at Harrow, who hesitated to take her eyes off the road but met her sister’s gaze long enough for Tobin to blurt, “Harrow. We kissed!” Excitement erupted through her body, her nerves in an active storm, easily depolarizing with nervous energy.
She was grateful Harrow was with her, allowing her to roil through her hurricane-like emotions, conflicting thoughts proceeding each other, only seconds apart.
Her carefully constructed walls accepted Harrow as self, allowing her to bear witness to this side of herself—a side so few others ever saw.
“So you’ve said.” Harrow smiled, returning her eyes to the road. “Now. What are you going to do about it?”
Tobin buried her head in her hands, groaning. “What am I going to do about it? This can’t be happening. Seriously!” She looked to Harrow, panicked. “Why is this happening?”
She could still taste Grier. If she dared touch her face, she knew she’d smell the musky patchouli lingering on her fingers, the scent stubbornly adhered to her skin from when she’d tangled her fingers in Grier’s hair.
She was struggling to chase her own thoughts.
Everything she’d carefully planned for her future—everything she’d done to get here and to overcome her past—felt like it was twirling in front of her like a mobile on a fraying rope. “What am I going to do, Harrow?”
Harrow tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, considering. Tobin watched as she raised a brow. “If it were me, I’d start simple.”
“Simple. Yes. Okay.” Tobin sighed. Simple was good. “Wait… what’s simple?”
Harrow chuckled. “Seems appropriate to thank her, yeah?” Did she just hear her sister correctly? “For kissing me?”
“T, get your head out of your clit. Thank her for fixing your back!”
Duh. “Okay… then what?” Tobin’s mind started reeling again. Her racing thoughts couldn’t piece together the simplest of plans. She tapped her fingers along her thighs, trying desperately to expend some of the nervous energy coursing through her body.
“Then… you have to decide if you’re going to see if this goes anywhere. Which, for the record, literally everyone with eyes can see that it will.” Harrow shook her head in exasperation. “But you have to decide if you’re going to let it.”
Tobin’s shoulders slumped as she groaned. “What do I do, Harrow? What about the baby?”
“You already know what I think. In fact, I think you already know what you think. You just have to accept it.”
The next morning, Tobin lay in bed, trying to distract herself with cooking blogs. She had spent the night fighting dreams. She woke, heaving, crashing through dreams of Grier’s low, lascivious voice against her ear, the taste of her on her tongue, the feel of her teeth grazing her throat.
She could still taste the memory of Grier’s smile against her lips, of her knowing fingers pressed to Tobin’s pulse, gloating. She was the source of the untempered thrum in every cell of Tobin’s body.
This morning, Tobin fought through the fog of last night’s disorientation, recalling their kiss with renewed clarity.
Confusion followed swiftly—what did it mean for her future?
A baby was still her priority. Grier could be nothing more than hormones, an alchemy of desire.
But… she’d never experienced a first kiss like theirs, one that left her wanting. And daring.
The kiss had been her awakening, unleashing more than a carnal desire for Grier.
The kiss they shared, though brief, had ignited something in her heart that she’d walled off and forgotten in the aftermath of Talia.
Tobin had caught feelings—strong, sensational, outrageously loud feelings.
She couldn’t control them. But she could control what she did with them.
She hadn’t reached out yet, not even to thank Grier for the adjustment. She’d needed space last night to let her mind and body accept what had happened—and what could.
Cooking was a distraction, a way for her intuition to overtake her thoughts.
As she scrolled through a blog, she realized she had been selecting meals she wanted to cook for Grier.
Could this be her in? A simple thank-you meal?
Where they could talk and get to know each other, without the pressures of unrequited lust?
The idea grew. She loved to cook—particularly for others. It was a distinctly characteristic behavior for her, and one she knew would let her express her emotions in a safe, controlled way. It was too early for a date, but it could be a gesture toward something… more.
The truth was, she knew there was something worth exploring.
She wasn’t ready to give up her dreams of motherhood, but she also didn’t want to look back on this time and always wonder what if?
She didn’t want to raise a child she adored—but remember the time around their conception as one of uncertainty, or of missed opportunity.
Before she could think better of it, she opened her messages to Grier and typed a message.
TOBIN—7:23 a.m.
I owe you an explanation. And a thank
you. Do you like food?
She clicked her phone off and climbed out of bed. If she waited for a response, she’d only spiral, so she went downstairs in search of distraction.
Harrow was on the couch in yoga pants and a slouchy sweater, a small army of writing utensils tucked into her messy bun. Papers were scattered across the coffee table like battlefield debris. She didn’t look up as Tobin entered the kitchen, but called out, “How do you feel this morning?”
“Pretty good, actually. My low back’s tight, but I can move without wincing.
” Tobin grabbed her favorite mug from the dishwasher and poured a cup of coffee.
“Thinking I might go for a walk, see if that loosens things up.” She took a sip, eyeing the sprawl of notes. “Hard at work on a Saturday, I see.”
“Well, I had hoped to get this done last night, but my evening was redirected, as you might recall,” Harrow replied, still immersed in her papers. “A walk sounds good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Now, tell me how you’re feeling.”
Harrow’s eyes finally lifted, pinning Tobin with a look sharp enough to slice through pretense.
Tobin took a long sip of her coffee, checking in with herself before answering. The uncertainty was still there—but the kiss had solidified one thing: she knew she wanted to know.
She wanted to know if Grier could be a possibility.
She was trying to accept that it might mean changing her carefully laid plans, but for the first time, she felt somewhat at peace with the idea.
She had time before her fertility appointments began—time to explore, to learn, to understand what this could be.
Information, she reasoned, was her safest path forward.
Information meant communication. And right now, that’s all she was offering.
Information could help her determine her next right step.
“I’m feeling,” she said at last, setting the mug down. “Which, as you know, is not an externally shared talent of mine.”