76. It’s Just Water #2
I keep talking, about work, about the clinic, anything but grief.
Anything but Piotr. He doesn’t press. He just listens, gently rubbing my arm with his thumb.
When the moment settles, we end up the way we were at the cabin, me half on him, his arm under my neck, fingers tracing idle lines across my shoulder.
He speaks softly. “I really liked your brother. I was hoping to get to know him better.”
My breath catches. “Yeah. He is—was a great brother. I would have loved that, for you to become friends. He was mine, a friend. Not just a brother. Probably my best friend, thinking about it. You would have been close I think, in time.”
He nods against my hair. “I’m sorry, Kasia.”
“I know. Me too.” I sigh, like every hope I’ve ever had leaves my body in one go.
He squeezes my hand, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. “I have no idea how you feel, but whatever you need, just let me know. If you need to cry, if you need to scream—I’ve had a lot of practice at that one. I can teach you how to do it without losing your voice.”
That draws a soft laugh out of me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Or if you need food, or if you just need to be. Don’t try to tough it out like you usually do.”
I pretend not to understand, though I do. He’s always been able to read the things I try to hide. Eventually his clothes finish drying. I slip into pajamas while he changes into warm cotton and jeans. The night grows quieter, the storm outside easing to drizzle.
When I realize I haven’t looked at my phone all day, panic spikes. I grab for it, but he’s faster.
“Hey,” he says, taking it gently from my hands. “You’re allowed one day to grieve and get your shit together. Trust me. I know all about it.”
He holds up his right hand. New scars run across his knuckles, thin pale lines under the lamplight.
My stomach flips. I grab his wrist, pull his hand closer to my face. My glasses fog at the proximity. “What the fuck did you do?”
He exhales through a crooked smile. “I may have pulled some stupid, cliché, rock star bullshit when you ended things. Trashed a room. My fist found a couple of mirrors." He shrugs, his nonchalance trying to deflect the gravity of his pain. "Some of it stayed with me.”
He flexes his hand. My heart aches at the sight.
“Rithy was like a field nurse, plucking shards out. Kiri got the first aid kit. Ronan grabbed tweezers. It was a group effort.” He shakes his head. “I’m fine now. The point is, I needed a day, and so do you. Tomorrow, you can go back to being there for everyone, okay?”
I nod, throat tight. “Okay.”
He looks at me for a long moment, like he wants to be sure I believe him. When I finally say, “It’s bedtime, I’m exhausted,” he moves to stretch out on the couch, but I stop him.
“Come here,” I say, standing, hand outstretched, an echo of the first time he pulled me into a kiss. He takes it without hesitation.
We settle into bed, skin against skin, his breath warm against my shoulder, and the world finally goes quiet.
The rain’s stopped. My grief continues to ache, but it’s softer here, held between us.
Being wrapped up in him tonight feels like a dream I never thought I’d have again, born out of a nightmare I never wanted to live through.
But right now, he makes it easier to breathe.
Rafe
The light hits first. Soft, gold, warm against my face.
I open my eyes and she’s already there beside me, still half asleep, her hair a dark tangle on the pillow, the sheet just high enough to make my heart ache.
For a minute I just watch her breathe. When her eyes flicker open, I say it before I can stop myself.
“Good morning, gorgeous.” My voice sounds different, rougher than usual. “Is there a Polish word for most beautiful woman in the world?”
She laughs, voice still husky from sleep. “Yes, we have the perfect word for that.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
Her lips curve, eyes gleaming with that mischief that kills me every time. “?ona.”
I try it out clumsily. “Zona?”
She nods, smile tugging wider.
“What does it actually mean? That smirk is giving you away.”
She meets my gaze, steady. “What every good man calls his love.”
I arch a brow. “Don’t leave me in suspense here.”
She leans into me, right against my ear and whispers, “Wife.”
Something in my chest goes hot and unsteady. I lean into her this time, something dark and sure coating my tongue as I tease the word right along that sensitive spot on her neck. The one I know drives her insane, her nails digging into me every time my mouth finds it.
“?ona.”
It makes her shiver, a tiny sound escaping her throat before she can catch it. I feel it through my skin, the vibration of it. My hand finds her neck, thumb tracing the line of her pulse, along the place where her necklace used to rest.
“When I bought you that charm,” I whisper, “the pomegranate one… I remember thinking the box looked a little like an engagement ring box. I didn’t hate the idea, not even then. Go ahead, call me fucking crazy.”
She looks up at me, that small, knowing smile on her face.
I know she still has it, top drawer, same place she keeps everything that matters too much to touch.
When she kisses me, it’s everything she’s been holding back, months of ache and distance and missing that cut both ways.
It’s the kind of kiss that makes your chest hurt, like your body’s trying to remember how to breathe while you’re drowning in something you can’t stop.
“Kasia…” I manage, pulling back just enough to see her face. “What are you doing?”
She covers my mouth with her hand. Her eyes shine with a mix of tears and fire.
“I’m tired of fucking waiting. I tried to keep everyone safe, happy.
I did the right thing and I lost so much time with you trying to protect everyone I love and I still lost Piotr.
I can’t keep doing this. I want you. I love you.
I want us. I want to live my life while I have it, with you. ”
Her hand slides down, trembles against my jaw. “Touch me, Rafe. You told me to tell you what I need. I need you.”
Whatever’s left of my hesitance disintegrates.
I kiss her, hard, desperate, like I’m trying to make up for every day we lost. The morning fades into afternoon, the light moving across her skin, the sheets, our bodies tangled in it.
There’s no rush, no fear, just us finding each other again in the wreckage, hands, mouths, breath, forgiveness.
When it’s still again, I pull her close.
My fingers trace the curve of her shoulder, slow and aimless.
Her head rests on my chest, heartbeat matching mine.
It feels like coming home. Like all the wrong turns, all the years before we found each other, all the mistakes, were just trying to bring us right back here.