Chapter 1: Rain on the Roof
The rain whispered against the window, a steady tap-tap-tap that matched the rhythm of her heart against his. In the soft, amber pool of the bedside lamp, Mel’s ginger hair was a cascade of fire, falling around them like a curtain separating this room from the rest of the world. The sheet was tangled somewhere near their feet, forgotten.
She shifted above him, the muscles in her thighs tightening as she braced her hands on his chest. His skin was warm, marked with ink and old scars, a landscape she knew by touch. Jack’s hands came up, rough palms settling on the subtle curve of her hips, not guiding, just holding. A point of contact. An anchor.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice a low rasp in the quiet room.
She did. Her eyes, even in this light, were a devastating blue. He watched her as she sank down onto him, a slow, deliberate surrender that made the breath catch in his throat. It was a feeling that never got old, this moment of dizzying connection. He let his head fall back against the pillow, but his gaze never left her face.
“Good?” he breathed.
A faint smile touched her lips. “Always.”
She began to move, finding a pace that was all her own. He followed her lead, his hands memorizing the roll of her hips, the flex of her spine. The storm outside was building, wind groaning in the pines, and it was all wrapped up in the sound of their breathing, in the slick heat between their bodies.
He lost himself in it. In the smell of her skin, like vanilla and sage. In the little gasp she made when he lifted his hips to meet her deeper. For a while, there was just this: the perfect friction, the shared warmth, the silent conversation of their bodies.
But the mind has its own geography. A crack of thunder, louder than the others, shook the windowpane. It was just weather. It was just sound.
Yet, in the split second of that sharp report, the room changed. The warm lamplight flickered, stuttering in his vision into the stark, unforgiving glare of a desert sun. The clean scent of her hair twisted into something acrid—cordite, dust, and sweat. The comfortable weight of her body on his became a crushing pressure, a memory of a different kind of heat, a different kind of weight.
He didn’t flinch. He’d gotten better at that. But everything inside him went very still and very cold.
Mel felt it. She always did. Her rhythm faltered. “Jack?”
He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus on her face, on the concern now etched beside the pleasure. “I’m here,” he managed, but his voice sounded distant, even to himself. His hands, which had been gentle on her hips, were now rigid. He made himself relax them, smoothing his thumbs over her skin in a silent apology.
“You’re not.” She slowed, then stilled, but didn’t pull away. She remained wrapped around him, a different kind of anchor. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing. The thunder just…” He shook his head, annoyed at himself. “Just loud.”
“Bullshit.” She said it softly, without malice. She leaned down, her hair brushing his cheeks, and kissed him. It was slow and deep, a reclamation. “You’re here with me. In our bed. It’s raining. You’re safe.”
He knew the script. He’d recited it to himself a hundred times. Hearing it from her lips, feeling her breath against his mouth, made it more real. The phantom sensations began to recede, chased away by the tangible ones: the softness of her lips, the solid beat of her heart against his.
“I know,” he whispered into her mouth. “I know, Mel.”
“Then be here.” She kissed him again, then sat back up, taking him with her, her gaze holding his prisoner. “Just be here.”
She started to move again, and this time he was fully present. The jarring shift had left a raw edge on his nerves, making every sensation more acute, more vital. The pleasure was sharper, almost too intense, a lifeline he clung to. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her to pull her tight against him, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He breathed her in, only her.
Their joined rhythm grew urgent, a desperate, collaborative climb. The world narrowed to the points where they were connected: her arms around his neck, his around her waist, the deep, driving join of their bodies. The storm outside roared its approval.
When she came, it was with a choked cry against his shoulder, her whole body trembling, clasping him tightly. He followed her over the edge a moment later, a rough groan torn from his chest as he held her through the pulses of his own release, clinging to her as if she were the only solid thing in a spinning world.
For a long time, they just stayed like that, locked together, breathing hard. The rain settled back into a gentle patter.
Slowly, feeling returned to his limbs, a pleasant heaviness. He kissed her shoulder, then gently eased them down onto the mattress, keeping her tucked against his side. She trailed her fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest, her head on his shoulder.
“You back?” she murmured.
He turned his head, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Yeah. I’m back.”
“Want to tell me where you went?”
He was quiet for a minute, listening to the rain. “Somewhere hot. And empty. Somewhere I haven’t been in a long time.”
She didn’t press. She just listened, her hand still moving in slow circles on his skin.
“It’s less often,” he said, more to himself than to her.
“I know.”
“Still pisses me off.”
“I know that, too.”
He let out a long, slow breath, the last of the tension leaving his body. The room was just a room again: weathered wood, the flicker of lamplight, the scent of their skin. Her weight was a comfort. He pulled the quilt up over them both.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what?”
“For calling me back.”
She lifted her head then, propping herself up on an elbow to look at him. Her expression was serious, fierce in its tenderness. “Always, Jack. Every single time.”
He believed her. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The simplicity of the gesture, the domestic normalcy of it, felt like a victory. The night outside was deep and dark, but in here, they had built something that could hold the darkness at bay. For now, it was enough.
Mel settled back against him with a contented sigh. Just as his eyes started to drift shut, the sharp, two-tone ring of the bar’s business line cut through the quiet from the living room.
Jack stiffened. Nobody called that line after midnight unless it was trouble.