Page 34 of Theirs to Hunt
Iwatch from the idling car across the street, concealed by tint and shadow, as Reagan exits the gym.
She laughs.
The sound doesn't carry, but I feel it.
The tilt of her head, the curve of her mouth, soft and unguarded.
It's a laugh she's never given me.
Not yet.
Reign walks beside her, easy and relaxed.
He leans in slightly.
She doesn't edge away.
I curl my fingers around the edge of the armrest.
I told myself patience was necessary.
This had to unfold on her timeline, not mine.
Brooks was the gentler route.
The bait before the snare.
But watching her now, flushed from exertion, eyes glittering with challenge.
I remember why I didn't wait.
I take.
I move the board.
I do not linger on the edges some ghost while my son shares glances and grins with what's mine.
She thinks she's choosing.
She isn't.
She thinks she's navigating the map.
But the map leads exactly where I intend.
Still, something coils low and sharp in my chest as I watch her brush her arm against Brooks'.
Not romantic, not yet, but intimate.
Willing.
I clench my jaw.
She's enjoying the illusion of freedom.
Fine.
Let her.
