It was everything and nothing all at once.
The kiss hit like a wave breaking against a cliff—wild, hungry, and full of a desperation I hadn't been ready for. It wasn't soft. It wasn't the kind of kiss you wrapped in promises. It was frantic, aching, like he thought he could pour every broken thing inside him into me, seal the cracks with nothing but skin and breath.
And for a moment, I let him.
For one sharp, gasping heartbeat, I let myself believe in it. Let myself believe that maybe this was the answer to all the nights I'd spent staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of a truck in the drive that never came. Maybe if I just closed my eyes and kissed him back hard enough, I could fill the hollow places he always left behind.
My hands slid up his chest, fingers curling in the damp fabric of his shirt, feeling the heavy, uneven pound of his heart against my palms. It was strong. It was real. And it was breaking my heart.
Because under the heat, under the frantic clutch of mouths and hands, the doubt was already blooming. Curling cold and slow in the pit of my stomach.
This isn't right.
It wasn't the kiss itself—it was what lived underneath it.
The way he kissed me like he was trying to stitch shut a wound we both knew was still bleeding.
And once I heard it—felt it curling like smoke inside my chest—there was no unhearing it. No closing the door against the ache that came roaring up in its wake. I kissed him harder, more fiercely, trying to drown it out. I held onto the fabric of his shirt like it might hold me together too. I let him pour every broken part of himself into me, thinking maybe I could be the one thing he didn't have to lose.
But all the while, something inside me was breaking anyway. Quietly. Steadily.
Because deep down, I knew this wasn't a kiss born from hope. It was born from fear.
Fear of losing each other. Fear of the silence winning. Fear that when the night was over, there'd be nothing left but the ruins we hadn't been brave enough to name.
When Colt finally pulled back, it was like surfacing too fast, lungs burning, ribs aching. He didn't move far, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath still rough and uneven against my skin. His hands stayed tight on my waist, holding me like if he let go, I'd slip right through his fingers and disappear.
I stayed still, heart hammering, breathing too shallow, too broken. Part of me wanted to sink into him, to let this closeness be enough. To pretend it was simple. That the kiss had fixed the damage we never spoke of.
But it hadn't.
And we both knew it.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering longer than it should have, like he didn't want to lose even that small tether. His thumb brushed my cheekbone, and for a second, just a second, it almost made me cry again. Not from sadness. From how familiar it felt. How long I'd wanted it.
His voice broke the fragile silence, low and rough as gravel:
"Is this what you wanted?"
The words didn't land soft. They fell hard, heavy, splintering the air between us.
I willed myself to nod, to find the smile he needed to see. I shaped the lie the way you shape a bandage around something too broken to heal.
"Yeah, Colt."
The words came out on a breath that didn't feel like mine.
"It's... what I wanted."
I could feel the lie sitting between us, thick and metallic on my tongue, sinking into the floorboards at our feet like something rotten, something we would both step around until it consumed us whole.
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Firefly Nights
Não Ficção▍ AN ORIGINAL ╱ western romance There's a kind of wild you can't outrun. Lemon Odell knows this better than anyone-the kind that lives under your skin, that shapes the way you move, the way you fight, the way you break. Born into a bloodline stitch...
