Hovering in the air between them.
He didn’t turn around, didn’t move, only his back stretched once as he took in a heavy breath. Her hands ached to feel those muscles, feel those scars under her fingers. She clenched them into fists.
His own gun hung loosely by his side, his other hand going into his trouser pocket. Yet, he didn’t turn, didn’t face her, didn’t acknowledge her.
“I know…” she bit her lip, “Tristan.”
Hushed. Everything hushed.
He stilled even more, impossibly.
She stilled even more, reflexively.
The air between them stilled, dangerously.
She knew she’d crossed an invisible line they’d both repeatedly acknowledged but never toed. She knew that by calling him by his name, she’d ventured into territory unknown. And it scared her. So much, she stood trembling against the now calm gales, her hands balled into fists by her side as she kept her eyes glued to his back, waiting for a reaction.
It came.
He turned.
Lightning split the sky.
And in that momentary light, his magnificent blue eyes found her, imprisoned her, burned her.
Her throat locked, heart pounded, blood beat hard in her ears.
Her breath started coming faster, until she was almost on the verge of panting, because he stood a few feet away from her, cutting a lethal form in the darkness that enclosed him, wrapped around him like a lover, wrapped around her like a foe.
And he uttered not a word.
God, he wasn’t going to give her an inch, not unless she forced him to. And she would force him to. There was no other way, not now, not for her, not for him, not for them.
With that knowledge deep in her heart, she closed her eyes once, gasped in another breath, and forced herself to at least appear somewhat calm.
“Thank you,” she began quietly, her words, though soft, loud in the silence of the graveyard.
She couldn’t see his eyes clearly, so she didn’t know how he reacted to it. She was almost going into this on blind faith and hope.
So, without waiting for his reaction, or give herself more time to panic, she started to talk.
“Thank you, for saving me,” she spoke to his hard, motionless form. In a way, it was better that she couldn’t see him. It made this much easier of sorts. “Not only in the past few weeks but twenty years ago.”
His fingers flexed on the gun.
“I know it came at a cost nobody should’ve had to pay, least of all a young boy, and I’m so, so very sorry for all of it.”
Only the movement of his chest.
In. Out.
Her own breathing synced with his.
Okay.
“But I’m not going to discuss it, not like this and not when you don’t want to. We’ll only speak of it when you are ready because it’s your story.”
And now came the tricky part.