Page 32 of Axel Martin

“Ass,” Marley whispered under her breath.

“Do you know Fraiser?” Axel asked.

We met. She looked at us. “I have to leave. I’m on my way to the Gaza strip, I’ll call you when I get back.”

She hugged me. “ I love you, please stay safe.”

“I don’t think you should be going to the Gaza Strip, or anywhere right now; there are wars going on,” Axel said, looking at her.

Axel, thank you for your concern, but a promise is a promise. Believe if I stayed any longer, you would be kicking me out.”

“Where did you meet Fraiser?” I asked, curious.

I don’t remember it was where a war was going on. Bye,” she grabbed her bag and walked out the door.

29

Lark

The house was quiet.

Marley was gone—off to the Gaza Strip like she was heading to brunch—and for the first time in what felt like days, there were no alarms, no sarcastic commentary, and no Cheeto dust on Axel’s furniture.

Just me, Axel, and the sound of the wind whispering through the pine trees.

I stepped onto the back porch wrapped in one of Axel’s flannels, still oversized and smelling faintly of campfire and cedarwood. He was already out there, leaning against the railing, sipping from a chipped mug and watching the stars like they might give him answers.

The porch light cast his face in gold and shadow. He looked tired. And gorgeous. And maybe a little lost in thought.

“You always brood this hard, or is this a special occasion?” I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled—soft and slow. “Only when the woman I love keeps almost dying.”

I walked over and leaned beside him, careful of my still-bruised ribs. “You’re lucky. I don’t plan on dying again this month.”

“That’s a relief.”

We stood there in silence for a while, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but thick with everything unspoken. I could feel the weight of it in my chest. The ache of almost losing something before I’d even figured out what it was.

“Axel,” I said quietly, “I know I haven’t exactly been easy.”

He looked at me. “You’ve been honest. That’s harder.”

I turned toward him, arms folded. “I still don’t know what I want. Not all of it. But I know I don’t want to keep running. Or pushing away every good thing just because it might end.”

He didn’t say anything, just set his mug down and stepped closer.

“You scare me,” I admitted. “Not in a bad way. But because you make me want things I thought I didn’t deserve.”

His hand found mine, fingers brushing over my knuckles like a promise. “You deserve all of it, Lark. Peace. Love. Someone to stand still with, even if you keep chasing storms.”

A lump rose in my throat. “What if I’m still figuring it out?”

“I’ll wait,” he said. “Hell, I’ll build you a landing strip if that’s what you need. But I’m not going anywhere.”

My breath hitched. “You’re really saying all the right things tonight.”

“That’s because I mean them.”

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