Page 77 of Citadel

It’s more than the sunlight. The same air we breathe at night feels new—different—every morning. The trees and flowers and animals start fresh. Re-create themselves. And we try to do the same thing. All that feels so true, so visceral, so intense in the moonlight, settles into reality in the morning.

Usually I want that. Waking up, I can rein in wildly spiraling night thoughts and do what I need to do for the day. But this morning I wake up thinking about how the last time I was so sure of Cole, yet he was gone when I woke up.

I know it’s different now. It’s two years later, and we’ve both grown and changed. And he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be when I open my eyes, down by the river, splashing water on his face and chest. But I can’t shake a knot of anxiety, wondering if the same thing might happen again.

My body is stiff and kind of shaky as I stand up. We’ve hardly eaten anything for the past few days, and I’m no longer used to such deprivation. I’m mostly over the hunger pangs but not the weakness yet. I do a few stretches before going behind a tree to pee and then join Cole on the stream bank so I can wash up.

“Mornin’.”

“Hi.” I smile at him, strangely shy. Fluttery.

His eyes scan my face. Run up and down my body in a swift inspection. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah.”

“If we get started right away, we might catch up with them today. You ready for that?”

“Yes.” I nod firmly. “I’m ready. How’s your shoulder today?”

“Fine.”

His expression is stoic, revealing nothing. I reach over and rub his bad shoulder, pushing hard against the line of the tendons there.

Because I’m listening, I hear the slightest intake of his breath. “Cole.”

“It’s fine,” he mutters. “There’s nothing to be done right now.”

He’s right. We have neither time nor leisure for me to fuss over him the way I want.

And maybe he wouldn’t want that from me anyway. He’s always been supremely self-sufficient, shaking off any attempts at caretaking, any attempts to lay claim. Perhaps the main thing he wanted from me last night was sex, not everything deeper I want to offer.

He hasn’t shrugged away from my touch though. He closes his eyes briefly as I continue to rub him.

“Never knew what it was like,” he finally murmurs.

“What?”

“To have someone take care of me.”

Somehow—in some way—he was thinking something very close to my own thoughts.

“You could have had it,” I say, keeping my tone gentle so it doesn’t sound like I’m chiding him. “You didn’t want it.”

“I wanted it.” He gives his head a rough shake. “Just never thought I was allowed.”

He’s speaking the truth. I know it for sure, and it makes my heart ache in my chest. I lean over and press a soft kiss against the side of his jaw. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.

He turns his head toward me. Scans my face again with a different sort of urgency this time.

I have no idea what he’s looking for this time.

All he says is, “We better get going.”

So we do.

* * *

The morning passes the way the past two days have passed. Nothing but agonizing hiking, pushing harder and moving faster than is comfortable for my physical condition.

---