Emma's hand wrapped firmly around my bicep as I drove, her cheek resting against my shoulder like it belonged there. The warmth of her seeped through my shirt, anchoring her to me.
Outside, Lincoln Heights blurred past in streaks of muted green and gray. Inside the Audi's cocoon, the silence hummed with unspoken things.
An urge tightened in my chest—a question I needed to ask, but one that scraped against an open wound. Asking it meant dredging up Trent. And while she'd made a terrifying, courageous leap toward confronting that darkness yesterday… it still felt like picking at a scab barely formed.
I stayed silent, focusing on the road.
Her thumb stroked slow circles on my arm. Gentle. Persistent. Then, she lifted her head slightly, her lips brushing the back of my knuckles on the steering wheel—a kiss that lingered, warm and deliberate.
