More than once I thought I saw him look my direction, too. The slightest hesitation before he drew a card, a momentary delay before he raised a bet. I’ll be the first to admit that I stayed there all night to see if he’d do it again, lingered to watch him finally play his winning hand. He’d looked at me one last time before he slipped out the front door, and I had followed.
I’ve been following ever since. And Cypress has been following me, too.
Last night, he came looking for me, another discussion thathad turned into an argument until he started to walk away, and I’d panicked at the thought of losing him, too. Losing him because he doesn’t understand…
The truth is, it’s not that he doesn’t understand. He does. He just understands it differently. And that hasn’t changed. No matter how many times we’ve argued and no matter how many times that argument has ended with us pushing and pulling at each other in an entirely different way.
Last night, I let myself go, tried to spend all my frustration and my anxiety and my want. Tried to bury it until I had nothing left, only for Cypress to grasp me firmly by the back of the neck while my heart was still pounding, forcing my eyes to meet his.
“It’s not selfish to want what is meant for you, Aiden,” he’d told me, his tone commanding and insistent. “It’s nottoo muchto think that you might deserve it. She was ours before I ever stepped into that bar. And we were hers long before we ever found her in that town.”
“Fate?” I jerked away from his grasp as I glared at him. Even as part of me wanted so badly to believe. “You’re going to risk her life because you think it’s fate? Fuck, Cy, what if you’re wrong?”
He is wrong. He has to be. And I am, too, for wanting what I shouldn’t. I already have Cypress. Already have more than I ever thought I’d get. How much more can I possibly take before God starts taking it back?
It’s what I’ve been asking myself every morning. From the moment I start running as soon as there’s enough light to see. Away from her. Away from him. Away from myself. I keep running in hopes that each morning will be different. That it will work.
It never does. I always end up stopping, shouting into my fists as I try to drown out the sound of my name on her tongue.Myname. The one she murmurs every night while she sleeps. While she cries. Tossing and turning like something’s still chasing her,and I’d protect her from it if only I could see it, too.
But I can’t. All I can do is sit with her, because it seems to help her. Because it’s what always seems to help Cypress. Because it’s what used to help me.
Don’t have to worry about the things waiting in the dark if you never sleep, and I’m not sure I have since that day I met her in Preston, since that first night after I heard her and crawled into the hayloft to find her huddled up alone and crying in her sleep on the floor. Since I started splitting my time between the stable and the boarding house, between the wagon and the campfire.
I know it’s my fault. I know I’m the reason everyone is still holding back, keeping to their separate corners. But it’s getting harder and harder to keep that line drawn in the sand without wanting to cross it.
I want things to be different. I want the reason my name is on her lips to be different. I want her to say it while I have my mouth on hers. While I have her close without having to let go. While she’s next to me, under me. While I’m drinking down the sound of herneedingme over and over even though she says she doesn’t.
“Aiden.”
I open my eyes at the sound of her voice, not even really sure when we arrived back at camp, too lost in holding her while we rode to realize that the time had come again for me to let her go. And I’m too fucking weak to keep myself from taking one more deep breath of the scent of her hair and the feel of her soft body against mine before I do.
“I’m sorry,” she’s saying softly, her voice hitching over the words. “I’m so sorry, Aiden.”
God, I want her so bad it aches. Want to know her. Want to touch her. Want to protect her so that she never has to be scared again. Never has to run again from things in the dark.
“Cora.” I can feel her shaking, though she’s trying not to.“Baby, please don’t cry.”
“I’m—I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I only wanted—please don’t make me leave.”
I should. Or I should find a way to convince her it’s what’s right, convince Cy and pray that someday he’ll forgive me.
He’s so sure. He’s always so sure about everything. And I am always so…
“I don’t want to leave,” she’s saying, so soft and quiet. “I want to stay with you. I want to stay with you and Cypress. Please, don’t make me go.”
I know if I look right now I’ll see Cypress already standing on the ground, waiting for this to all play out, waiting to see if history really does repeat. God, I really hate that he gets to be right.
He’ll never let me live it down.
My left hand reaches to cup her jaw, my thumb tracing the tear tracks along her cheek as I turn her face to look up at mine. “I don’t want you to go,” I murmur to her, brushing my mouth over her forehead as her eyes drift closed. “Don’t cry, Cora, please. I fucking hate it.”
She laughs softly, her hand coming up to cover mine as she sinks back into me even more, the smallest show of trust that I don’t feel like I’ve come close to earning. “I hate it, too.”
“I’m only trying to protect you,” I tell her. “That’s all I’ve been trying to do.”
“I know.” She sighs, her breath warm against my palm. “I know you are.”
“I’ve never wanted you to go,” I tell her, ready to hit my knees when she turns her head a bit, leaning the side of her face into my touch, and I can’t stop myself. Can’t help but drag my thumb across her full lower lip instead of her cheek. When it comes away red, I hope it fucking stains.