Page 69 of Burn

I lean onto my knees, pressing the lid of my suitcase down, trying desperately to zip it closed to no avail. I groan in frustration, and the sound has Adrian popping his head in the door, then stepping in to stand next to me.

“Need help?” he asks. These are the first words he’s said to me in days. So long, I almost forgot his low, rough voice’s impact on me.

I look up at him, letting my eyes roam over his body, up the short shorts stretched across his thick thighs, over the bulge in his groin that has my mouth watering, up his chest, landing on his mouth. It quirks into a half smile, and when we make eye contact, I know I’ve been caught drooling over his body.

My cheeks flush, and I clear my throat. “Yes, please. I can’t get it closed.”

He chuckles as he leans over, easily zipping my overstuffed bag closed. I lean in, breathing in his scent. He got back from the gym thirty minutes ago and hasn’t showered. I could never admit to him that this is when he smells the best. Salty, musky, smoky. He sinks onto his haunches and tilts his head slightly. The look on his face makes me dizzy, and I fidget, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“You ready for this?” he asks, holding my stare.

No.

“Yeah. I think so,” I meekly reply.

He laughs, “You really are a terrible liar.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since he last told me I was a bad liar, since hockey tryouts, two weeks without fighting. The splitin his lip has all but healed, and the bruise across his nose that runs under both eyes is a sickly yellow color only visible in bright light. Two weeks since he wrapped his arm around me, kissed me, and drove me home, acting like a completely different man than the one who drove me to the arena.

We haven’t fought since the arena, but we also haven’t really spoken. We’ve coexisted in this space like ships passing in the night. This last stretch was the longest; we went four days without speaking a single word to one another. I didn’t tell him that I was going back to work. I got up on Monday morning, got dressed, and slipped out quietly. He didn’t text. He didn’t call.

It was both peaceful and lonely.

Olivia and Kendall took me out for dinner after, and we chatted so long that I started dreading going home, anticipating a fight. I stayed out until midnight and then snuck back into the apartment like the true fucking coward that I am. Adrian had been asleep, and when I woke up the next day, he was gone to work himself. It was Wednesday night before we saw each other; he was mid-Zoom call with his team and gave me a wave as I walked in from work.

That was it.

Now it’s Thursday, and his voice has heat sweeping over my body. I shift to my feet and move to stand when his hand enters my view. I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. He trails his hand down my arm, and I lean into it, loving the way his touch sends shivers down my spine.

“It’s gonna be okay, you know?” he says softly.

I look up at him. Into his warm brown eyes. This Adrian is so different from the one I fought with weeks ago. His face is calm, relaxed, and free from the lines that form between his brows when he’s on edge. I want to kiss this Adrian more thananything, and I start to push onto my toes when his phone rings in the kitchen. He hesitates before sighing and stepping away from me.

He speaks in a hushed tone, and I catch a couple of words here and there. Despite the lack of fighting, I still feel like I’m on eggshells, and it takes me a few minutes to build up the courage to step out of the safety of the bedroom. He’s leaning casually against the counter, a smile on his face while he speaks. His eyes flick to me, and he tells whoever is on the phone, “I don’t know, man, I’ll ask her. We have an early flight tomorrow.” He lowers the phone, speaking to me, “Cally and Rosie are going out to dinner.” He pauses when my eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “I know. They want to know if we want to come.” I stare at him silently until he laughs and returns his attention to the phone. “I don’t think it’s gonna work tonight. Maybe next time.”

He wraps up his call, and the second he sets his phone down, I ask, “What do you mean they’re going out to dinner?”

He shrugs, then turns to the fridge and grabs a beer. I watch the way his throat bobs as he takes a long drink. “I’m not Colton’s mother. No idea what he’s up to with your friend.” With that, we return to our agreement of silence. Him on the couch, watching a horror movie, and me, in the bedroom, quietly losing my mind over returning to my hometown.

It’s just before midnight when I hear the television click off. I hear his feet on the tile floors as he moves around the apartment, before the door creaks open.

“I can sleep on the couch again,” he says, his voice low and thick with sleep. “I just thought, with the flight…” he trails off at the end.

I shake my head, moving to the edge of the bed. “No, it’s okay.”

He pulls off his shirt and slips into bed beside me. His warmth hits me immediately, but instead of pulling me into him, he rolls onto his side with his back to me, leaving what might as well be an ocean between us. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, and the steady sound lulls me to sleep shortly after.

It’s not quite 6 A.M. when we arrive at the airport. Security is quiet, and we move through in record time, not speaking to each other. We don’t talk on the plane. I stare out the window, and he drifts off to sleep before the wheels are off the ground. I watch him, wishing I were brave enough to curl into him and try to get a little more sleep myself, but I can’t. It’s not until we start to descend that his eyes open again. He looks at me with a sleepy smile, unaware I’m coming undone the closer we get to touching down.

My hands are clammy as I wait for him to fill out the rental paperwork. My gaze darts around the airport, looking for familiar faces, but we’re still too far for me to know anyone here. When we’re in the car, I key the address for the only motel in town into the GPS, then I watch, consumed with dread, as the miles tick down to me setting foot in Coldwater for the first time in over three years.

As we pass the sign welcoming people to town, the sky is covered with thick, heavy clouds blocking the late morning light. It mirrors my general mood. A big, dark storm cloud. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and without looking at me, Adrian’s hand moves across the divide, landing protectively on my thigh. It’s warm, possessive, and comforting in the most confusing way. I glance down at it, at how his veins twist around his forearm and through the top of his hand that encompasses the expanse of my leg.

My rapid heart relaxes as his warmth seeps into my skin, and I silently thank him for doing this. For traveling across thecountry with me when I didn’t have the strength to ask him for it. For knowing I couldn’t have done this without him next to me. What a mind fuck it is, needing someone so much, while also feeling the need to run from them. For the first time since leaving Torhaven, I lean into his touch and cover his hand with my own as the Coldwater Inn comes into view.

Adrian

Quiet is nothing new for this girl. What is new is the edge of fear radiating off her as we pull into the lot for this run-down, dingy old motel. If it weren’t for the ‘Vacancy’ sign glowing bright on the street, I would have assumed it was condemned. It’s that dilapidated.

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