Page 73 of Trust

I pause, then mumble a drawn-out “Yeah,” unable to stop the blood from rushing to my face.

“Come sit. I’ll get you some coffee,” Chris offers, as if to rescue me from the embarrassment.

The warmth from both floods me at once. I join Cash at the table and sit stiffly, my hands knotting together in my lap. I don’t know what to do with myself. I stare at the tabletop briefly, then take a breath and speak before I lose my nerve.

“I don’t know how this works.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. Cash sets his mug down and leans forward, taking my hand. “Exactly like that,” he says. His thumb brushes gently across the back of my hand. “You talk to us. Speak your mind. Let us understand you.”

I nod, my heart constricting and melting all at once.

Chris places a mug of coffee in front of me, the scent grounding me. His hand lingers for a second, his fingertips grazing mine as I reach for the hot drink.

“We’ll figure it out together.”

I look at them. They don’t appear tense, or distant, or waiting for me to pick. And I believe them. It’s daring. This is more real than the life I left behind. It’s solid enough to hold, even if only for a little while.

Cash settles back into his chair. Chris takes a seat beside me.

“You up for throwing knives again today?” Chris asks.

“Different targets,” Cash adds. “Farther distances.”

I clasp the coffee cup between my palms and take a sip. “Yeah, that would be cool.”

The space between us softens, filling with words that come smooth and easy. The knot in my chest unwinds slowly, each thread loosened one by one. I laugh, really laugh. The sound is wild, spilling out of me until my ribs ache. It’s rare, this sense of belonging.

I’m not caught between choices.

I am chosen.

VOLTAGE

Cash

Finally. He kissed her. I would’ve bet good money they already had, with all that tension snapping between them. Even now, I swear I saw actual sparks when she took her coffee from him. He can keep pretending he’s in control. He’s not.

“The van’s full,” Stix mutters. We both know the longer we wait, the higher the risk it’ll rain again and the worse it will be hauling boxes through mud. He wants to get it over with. I’d prefer to stall until the coffee kicks in, but I get up anyway.

Then Sara, sweet, still-unsure-what-to-do-with-us Sara, chimes in. “I can help,” she says, already pushing her chair back, ready to join us. Knowing Stix stores more in those boxes than groceries, I hover by the door, curious how he’ll handle the situation.

I know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. “Thanks for the offer, but you’re not lifting a finger,” he says, not leaving room for argument. “Go study, that’s what you’re here for. Your future, remember?”

Subtle as a brick.

And boom, here we go. Her spine straightens, chin ticking up as voltage flares beneath her ribs, and I’m not sure if she’s going to fight or explode. Probably both.

Stix studies her. Waiting, testing her without realizing it, or realizing it all too well.

I jump in before she declares war. “Or,” I stretch the word, snagging her attention, “you can supervise.”

She sizes me up, suspicion written all over her face.

“You know, observe us unloading everything, and if it turns into a workout,” I glance at Stix, “you might get rewarded. We could lose the shirts.” I waggle my eyebrows so she knows I’m kidding. Mostly.

I wait. Three. Two. There it is.

Color rushes up her neck as she remembers the first time I caught her gawking.