“We’re beyond it, you’re right,” he says. “It’s like we started a book together but skipped to the tenth chapter.”

“More like twentieth,” I smirk.

“It was terrifying.” He glances from me to the stagnant water surrounding us, the herons and ibises pecking along the shores, the cattails swaying in the light breeze. “It’s almost worse now because I know you. It kills me to think that you could’ve been lost.”

“But I’m not lost. I’m here.”

“I’m forever grateful for that. And it means you get a free pass. As many as you want. You have nothing to apologize for. And honestly, I love that we’re beyond fucking pleasantries and basics. I hate that shit.”

“Me, too.” A laugh rolls out, bringing my hand to his strong arm like a magnet. “So, we’re good?”

“Always.” He drapes his hand over mine and holds it between us, oblivious to how this might play into my fantasy files later. Marnie, stop. “Still, I worry about you. What happened hits me every day like a freight train. I don’t think it’s hit you yet. Not fully.”

My brow pinches, but I laugh him off, pulling my hand free from his. “That’s because I stay off the tracks, Grady.”

“Yeah, that’s what I used to do, too. But you can’t avoid it forever. It’s not healthy.”

A scoff takes the place of my usual smile. “Agree to disagree? I’m not avoiding anything. I’m moving on. Kicking ass and taking names.” I motion to the new smoking porch, where the guys still arrange their spots while Wren dutifully assists. “What should I be doing, huh? Should I be at home? Throwing darts at a corkboard with Ashe’s picture on it? Or crocheting little knit hats for babies I’ll never have?”

I cover my mouth with my hand, shocked and immediately regretful that such a thing came out. What is it about this man that crumbles my carefully constructed barriers? My mouth is set to unfiltered gushing whenever he’s around.

With a gentle touch, he shifts my hand away from my mouth, easing me closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing you can’t say to me. Remember what I said to you? I want it branded on your brain.”

My thoughts swirl with his words, the ones I know he means. I’m here, Marina. Whatever you are. Whatever you need. Whenever you’re ready to fall apart.

“A sweet sentiment,” I allow, diplomatically. “For sure. But honestly, Grady, minus that one exception you witnessed at the hospital, I don’t do falling apart. Or neediness, generally. It’s just not who I am. I’ve been alone for over a decade, and, if anyone’s counting, years before that, so I’m sorry, but falling apart isn’t⁠—”

He steps closer, cutting me off. “You’re not alone anymore.”