Chapter 10: The Morning After
The morning light was a grimy yellow through the motel blinds, slicing across the rumpled bed where they lay.Skin to skin. Jake woke first, the reality of it—Amy’s back pressed against his chest, her dark hair tickling his nose—hitting him with a silent, profound force. He held his breath. She stirred, a soft, sleepy sound escaping her lips, and he felt the exact moment she snapped into awareness.The subtle stiffening of her spine.
For a long minute, neither moved. The previous night hung in the air between them, thick as the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. The shared shower, the locked eyes under the spray, the unspoken, furious agreement in that steam-filled space.It had dissolved something.A wall.A rule. A very specific, Santiago-esque prohibition.
Wordlessly, she shifted, sliding out from the tangle of sheets and his arm.The cool air hit them both. She didn’t look at him, just padded on bare feet towards the bathroom, the curve of her spine, the swing of her hips a silent invitation he felt in his bones.Jake followed, the peeling linoleum cold under his feet.
The bathroom was still humid from the night before, the mirror fogged at the edges. She turned the shower on, a hiss and then a rumble in the pipes. The spray hit the porcelain, clouding the stall with steam. She stepped in first, a flash of pale skin swallowed by the haze.Jake hesitated for only a second before joining her.The water was almost too hot. It needled their skin, flushing it pink. They stood facing each other, the space small enough that the spray hit them both. Last night’s electricity was still there, a live wire strung taut between their gazes. Amy’s hair plastered to her shoulders, water tracing the lines of her collarbones. Jake’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, hopeful drumbeat.Her hand moved first, not towards him, but to herself. A deliberate, slow motion, her eyes never leaving his.A challenge.An affirmation. Jake mirrored her, his own movement hesitant, then certain as he saw the answer in her face. There was no awkwardness, only a fierce, focused synchronization. Their breathing soon matched the rhythm, sharp inhales lost in the drumming water, the world narrowed to this square of slick tiles and shared, shuddering breath. It was more intimate than any touch. It was a conversation in glances and gasps, a mutual surrender to the tension that had coiled between them for months. They finished within moments of each other, a silent, breathless climax that left them leaning against opposite walls, spent and staring.
Amy turned off the water with a decisive click.The sudden silence was ringing. She pushed past him, grabbing a thin, motel-issue towel. As she dried her arms, she glanced back at the shower floor where the evidence of him was swirling in a slow, vanishing vortex towards the drain.
She let out a short, sharp breath that was almost a laugh. “You know, Peralta,” she said, her voice remarkably steady, almost dry.“You could at least aim for the drain. Now I have to shower in your… residue.”
Jake, still catching his breath, leaning against the wet tiles, felt a familiar, defensive grin spread across his face. It was easier than trying to find the words for what had just happened.“Sorry, Santiago.Next time I’ll bring a target. Little plastic ducks. For accuracy.”
She rolled her eyes, but the towel hid the smile he knew was there.He could see it in the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She tossed his towel at his face. “You’re disgusting.”
“You love it,” he shot back, the old rhythm returning, but now underscored with something new, something terrifyingly solid.