Page 37 of Sick(ness)

“What kind of things?” she pressed softly, though she wasn’t sure she wanted the real answer.

Sawyer’s expression darkened slightly. Not angry, but distant. “The kind that doesn’t make the news. We went where we were told, did what had to be done, and left before anyone knew we’d been there.”

Addy swallowed, her throat dry. “Sounds… heavy.”

“It was,” he admitted quietly. “But it was logical at that time. We had rules, structure, and a purpose. You learn to follow orders, keep your head down, and survive. Afterward, you return home and attempt to pretend that past version of yourself never existed.

She studied him in the firelight, the weight of his words hanging thick between them. “Did it work?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “You tell me.”

For a while, neither of them said anything. The fire crackled softly, and Addy found herself fiddling with the frayed edge of the blanket. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was almost intimate. She realized she was seeing pieces of him that no one else probably had. The cracks beneath the armor. Humanity under discipline.

She smiled faintly. “You know, I thought you were some quiet guy who lived down the hall and didn’t know how to smile.”

He smirked. “And now?”

“Now I think you might be part ninja.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Addy.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, hiding a grin as she pulled the blanket closer.

The fire died down, its glow fading to soft embers. Outside, the wind moved through the trees, whispering against the cabin walls. For a long while, neither of them spoke again.

* * *

She was moving, floating. Addy stirred, the soft sway of motion cradling her before she even opened her eyes. Warmth pressed against her side, strong and steady, and the faint scent of smoke and pine filled her nose.

When she blinked awake, she realized she was in Sawyer’s arms.

He was carrying her, his steps slow and sure, careful not to jar her. His breath was steady against her temple, his body radiating heat through her thin shirt. For a moment, she let herself drift, weightless in his hold. But instinct kicked in, and she shifted slightly.

“Shh,” he murmured. “You fell asleep. I was putting you to bed. Didn’t want to wake you.”

His voice was low, rough at the edges, but soft in tone. Addy tilted her head to look up at him, and her cheek brushed the coarse line of his beard. The dark stubble tickled her skin, and the unexpected intimacy of it sent a tiny spark through her chest.

She could lean in, she realized. A breath closer, and their mouths would meet. The thought came uninvited and startled her with its strength. It had been a long time since she’d even wanted that, longer still since the idea had made her heart stumble the way it just did.

She’d gotten used to solitude, to being self-sufficient, to not needing anyone for comfort. Life had taught her to keep things simple, mechanical even, easier to control that way. But Sawyer was anything but simple.

He set her down gently on the bed, tugging the blanket over her shoulders before stepping back. His hand brushed her arm as he did, rough calluses grazing her skin for the briefest moment, and it made her catch her breath.

“There,” he said quietly. “Get some rest.”

She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

He nodded, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “You’re welcome.”

He hesitated for a heartbeat, long enough for her to wonder if he sensed the same strange pull humming between them, before returning to the couch.

“Goodnight, Addy.”

“Goodnight, Sawyer,” she murmured.

The cabin seemed to exhale around her, settling into quiet. She lay staring at the firelight as it danced across the ceiling, her pulse still a little too fast, her thoughts tangled between exhaustion and something dangerously close to want. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to fall asleep or stay awake just to feel that spark a little longer.

* * *