Page 41 of Wreckage

I swallowed hard and whispered, “I promise.”

Something in his expression eased. “Good.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.

“Little dancer,” he murmured. “That’s what you are. My little dancer.”

The nickname and sentiment sent a fresh wave of warmth through me. Before I could even begin to unravel what any of this meant, Troy’s expression shifted, something almost regretful slipping into his gaze.

“I’ve always cared,” he admitted quietly. “I just… I was an ass. And I’m sorry for that.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me. Troy had never apologized for anything in his life. The move was surprising and caught me off guard.Everything he was saying to me was so out of the norm that I suddenly thought that maybe I was in a dream and none of what was happening was real.

He let out a slow breath. “I want to make it right somehow. Will you let me, little dancer?”

I hesitated, my fingers twitching slightly before I reached up, cradling his cheek. The move took every ounce of bravery I had. The rough stubble on his face tickled my palm.

We stared at each other, the moonlight washing over us, exposing every unspoken word, every lingering wound.

Then, finally, I whispered, “Yes.”

His lashes fluttered at my words, his lips parting slightly before a sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He looked as vulnerable as I felt.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion tugging at my limbs, and felt his fingers intertwine with mine beneath the blankets.

He held my hand, grounding me, and I let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull me back to sleep. There were so many unspoken things hanging in the air between us.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t entirely hate the feeling.

Chapter 16

Troy

Three days had passed since that night with Elena, and I still couldn’t get it out of my head.

I had replayed every second of our whispered conversation more times than I cared to admit. I remembered the way her voice had softened when she told me her favorite color, the way she hesitated before confessing her dream of dancing, the way she had cradled my cheek when I asked for forgiveness, the way she had whispered yes and shattered something inside me.

It was distracting. She was distracting. And too damn sweet to be real. I’d never met another woman like her, and god knew I’d gone through enough of them.

It didn’t help that we were trapped in this frozen hell together, pressed close every night to keep from freezing. The smell of her hair, the way she trembled when the cold got too unbearable, the soft sound of her breathing—everything about her was getting to me.

I needed air.

I shoved my arms into my jacket and stepped out of the plane, the cold biting at my skin instantly. The wind had picked up, sharp and cutting, carrying the telltale signs of snow with the heavy clouds and rapidly graying skies.

A storm was coming.

I exhaled heavily, dragging my hands through my hair before forcing myself to do something—anything to keep my mind from spiraling.

Gathering wood had become my excuse to get outside, away from the too much that had started to weigh on me. I already had a decent-sized pile against the plane, but I kept going, breaking down old branches and pulling at the wreckage for anything burnable.

I didn’t know why I was bothering.

It wasn’t like it was going to save us.

Maybe it was just something to do, something other than sit inside that cramped metal coffin and stare at her, pretending I wasn’t starting to want something I shouldn’t.

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