Page 70 of Unclench Me Softly

“This is my truth,” he says solemnly. “I almost tripped on it. Then I looked down, and it looked back at me.”

“That stick looked back at you?” I ask.

“It whispered,” he adds. “Said, ‘You don’t need a rock. You need a weapon.’”

I stare at him.

He cracks a grin. “Or a walking stick. Or possibly something to threaten Miles with.”

I exhale. “Jax, this is not a weaponized scavenger hunt.”

“Isn’t it?” he murmurs, stepping closer.

Too close.

I can smell him, pine and smoke and sin.

His eyes dip to the robe. Linger. His voice drops. “So… about last night.”

I freeze.

Here it is. The awkward. The regret. The “let’s pretend it didn’t happen” talk.

But instead, he says, “I keep thinking about the sound you made. Right when you came.”

My stomach drops to my knees.

“You said my name like it was a fucking prayer, Bliss.”

My breath stutters.

He steps in, doesn’t touch me, but I feel him anyway, every molecule of heat between us vibrating like it wants another round.

“I don’t do feelings,” he says, voice rawer now. “I don’t do soft.”

I nod like I understand, even though I absolutely do not.

“But last night…” He looks down. Then up. “You didn’t feel like a mistake.”

My throat tightens.

“And I don’t know what the hell to do with that,” he says.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

He watches me for one more beat, then shoves the stick into my hand, rough, real, his. “You can burn it if you want,” he says. “But I found it for you.”

And he turns and walks out like he didn’t just take the breath out of my body and stab it into a piece of forest debris.

I stare at the stick.

It’s ugly. Sharp. Possessive.

And I clutch it tighter than I mean to.

The dome is quiet again, but the air feels watchful.

I don’t hear Jonah enter. I just feel him.

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