Page 21 of Pucked Up

"You're here," he said softly.

I nodded, holding his gaze in the flickering light. "I'm here."

The confession cost me. Admitting my presence meant admitting all that came with it—the fear, desire, and memories that clawed at the inside of my skull. I'd spent months in this cabin hiding from myself as much as from the world. Now, Noahhad dragged me into the open, armed with nothing but a candle and the quiet certainty of his touch.

Noah leaned forward. His breath skimmed my lips, warm and coffee-scented. I knew what was next, and this time, he moved slowly enough that I could count my heartbeats in the space between us. One. Two. Three. I had plenty of time to pull away, but I didn't.

I couldn't.

His lips brushed mine—so light I could have been imagining it. Then again, more firmly.

I remained frozen for three excruciatingly long seconds. Then, something inside me broke, and I kissed him back.

It was different from before. It began softly, almost reverently—the gentle press of his mouth against mine and the shared breath between us. My hand crept up to cup the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the short hair there.

Then, the kiss deepened, not from passion but need—raw and unfiltered. It wasn't hunger for sex but for a wound to be examined, pressed open, and cleaned out by the heat of desire.

His tongue traced the seam of my lips, asking permission rather than demanding it. I granted access, a groan escaping from deep in my chest.

His hands framed my face, thumbs stroking along my jawline. I pulled him closer, nearly into my lap, suddenly starved for contact. The candle between us fluttered in the draft, shadows dancing wildly across the walls.

Suddenly, reality crashed back.

I jerked away, not from Noah but from myself—from the hunger that threatened to consume us both. My back hit the wall with enough force to rattle a picture frame. Noah remained perfectly still, his lips parted and glistening in the candlelight, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Terror gripped me—not of him, but of what I'd allowed myself to want. My fingers curled into fists so tight my knuckles cracked. For a heartbeat, violence was possible. I could destroy something. Drive my fist through the drywall. Overturn furniture.

Instead, I pressed my clenched hands to my temples, squeezing as if I could physically contain the storm raging inside my skull. My breath came in ragged bursts.

"I can't… I don't..."

The words caught in my throat. My fingers dug into my scalp hard enough to hurt, and I welcomed the pain—something concrete, something I understood.

How could I articulate a lifetime of living in the shadows? How the locker room tiles were cold against my bloodied cheek at fifteen. The way I'd learned to throw the first punch before anyone saw what I really wanted. The careful walls I'd constructed, brick by bloody brick, mortar mixed with shame and fear, now threatening to crumble beneath the simple touch of Noah's mouth on mine.

"This isn't—" I swallowed hard. "I'm not built for this."

He didn't retreat. He didn't even flinch. His steel-gray eyes watched me, steady as a lighthouse in fog.

"You didn't break me," he said quietly. "That's not why I'm here."

His words sliced through the chaos in my mind. I'd been so certain he'd come for vengeance—to return the damage I'd inflicted and balance the scales. Instead of seeking retribution, he was seeking recognition.

I looked at him—truly saw him for the first time since the moment before the hit. He clenched his jaw while his unwavering gaze refused to look away, even when faced with my ugliness. I saw the quiet strength that had carried him through hospital rooms and rehabilitation all the way to my door.

For a breath, hope flickered—fragile as the candle flame between us. Then I closed my eyes, unable to bear the weight of possibility.

"What if I hurt you again?"

"You might," he answered simply. "I might hurt you, too."

The honesty in his voice startled me. No false promises. No pretense that whatever existed between us would be easy or painless.

"I've spent my career hurting people," I said, the confession scraping my throat. "What if that's all I know how to do?"

Noah's gaze never wavered. "Then we learn something new."

Outside, another loud crack resonated as a tree branch surrendered to the weight of snow and ice. The sound jarred me back to our surroundings—the dark cabin and dying fire.

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