Chapter 6: The Morning After the Storm
Riley woke to heat.
Not the suffocating kind that clung to her skin during desert deployments, but the soft, living warmth of another body pressed against hers. Kenzie's back was flush to Riley's chest, her hair spilling across the pillow like spun gold, her breathing slow and even. One of her legs had tangled between Riley's during the night, and her hand was curled loosely near her face, fingers twitching slightly like she was dreaming about something she couldn't quite catch.
Riley didn't move.
She lay there, eyes open, watching the gray morning light seep through the blinds and paint stripes across the ceiling. Her arm was asleep beneath Kenzie's weight, pins and needles crawling from her shoulder to her fingertips, but she didn't shift. Didn't want to break the spell.
The apartment smelled different. Coffee and gun oil still, yeah, but underneath it something new. Something floral and warm and human. Kenzie's shampoo, maybe. Or just Kenzie.
Riley's chest tightened.
She'd woken up next to women before. Plenty of them. Bar hookups, mostly, whose names she forgot by the time she was tying her boots. A few repeat offenders over the years, girls who knew the score and didn't expect breakfast. Riley liked it that way. Clean. Uncomplicated. No one left behind, no one holding on.
But this was different.
This was Kenzie.
Kenzie, who'd shown up at her door at midnight with tears on her face and nine years of silence pressed between her ribs. Kenzie, who'd kissed her like she was drowning and Riley was air. Kenzie, who was still here, still asleep, still tangled up in Riley's sheets like she belonged there.
Riley's throat burned.
She let her gaze drift down. Kenzie's bare shoulder. The curve of her spine. The faint white lines on her skin—stretch marks, maybe, or old scars from a childhood she'd never told Riley about. Riley's own body was a roadmap of damage: a puckered scar on her forearm from a barbed wire fence when she was twelve, a shiny patch on her thigh from a mugging gone sideways in a Jacksonville parking lot, a round scar on her shoulder that ached when it rained.
She reached out. Traced the line of Kenzie's spine with one finger, feather-light.
Kenzie stirred.
"Mmm." She shifted, rolling onto her back, blinking up at Riley with sleep-soft eyes. "What time is it?"
"Early."
"How early?"
Riley glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Six-forty."
Kenzie groaned. Closed her eyes again. "I have shift at eight."
"You want coffee?"
"God, yes."
Riley started to move, but Kenzie's hand shot out, catching her wrist.
"Wait."
Riley paused.
Kenzie opened her eyes. Looked at her. Really looked, the way she had in the bar, the way she had in the diner, the way she had last night right before she'd fallen apart.
Then she leaned up. Pressed her lips to Riley's chest. Just above her heart.
Riley's breath caught.
Kenzie pulled back. Her eyes drifted lower, to the scar on Riley's shoulder. She reached up, fingers brushing the raised tissue.
"What's this one?"
Riley swallowed. "Gunshot."
Kenzie's fingers stilled. "Combat?"
"Yeah. Afghanistan. 2019." Riley's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. "Through-and-through. Clean shot. Doc said I was lucky."
"Lucky." Kenzie repeated the word like it tasted wrong.
"I was. Bullet missed the artery by about an inch. Two weeks of light duty and I was back on the line."
Kenzie's fingers moved again. Traced the scar on Riley's forearm. "And this?"
"Barbed wire. I was twelve. Stupid kid, trying to impress my dad. Climbed a fence I shouldn't have." Riley smiled, small. "He patched me up himself. Didn't even take me to the ER. Just poured whiskey on it and wrapped it in a clean rag."
"That's so—" Kenzie shook her head. "That's so Marine."
"Yeah." Riley's smile faded. "It was."
Kenzie's hand slid lower. Found the scar on Riley's thigh. "This one?"
"Mugging. Jacksonville. Off-base bar. I was twenty-one, dumb, and didn't know when to keep my mouth shut." Riley shrugged. "Guy pulled a knife. I took it from him."
"You took a knife from a mugger?"
"Disarmed him. Broke his wrist. Then I broke his nose."
Kenzie stared at her. "You're terrifying."
"Thank you."
Kenzie laughed. Soft. Real. It was the first time Riley had heard her laugh since the bar, and it hit her somewhere deep, somewhere she didn't have a name for.
Kenzie's fingers kept moving. Mapping Riley's body like she was memorizing it. Across her stomach, the dip of her waist, the ridge of muscle along her hip.
"Your turn," Riley said.
Kenzie's hand paused. "What?"
"Scars. Stories. You show me yours, I'll show you mine."
Kenzie was quiet for a moment. Then she sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist, and turned slightly. Pointed to a faint scar just below her collarbone.
"Appendectomy. When I was fourteen. I was in the hospital for three days and I missed a cheerleading competition." She grimaced. "I was more upset about the competition than the surgery."
"Priorities."
"Shut up." Kenzie smiled. Then her expression shifted. "This one's more complicated."
She shifted again, angling her body so Riley could see the inside of her left thigh. A thin, silver line, barely visible against her pale skin.
"What happened?"
"I was nineteen." Kenzie's voice dropped. "I was at a party. Frat house. I'd had too much to drink, and this guy—" She stopped. Swallowed. "He was persistent. I told him no. He didn't listen."
Riley's blood went cold.
"He didn't—" Kenzie shook her head. "He didn't rape me. But he tried. And I fought him off. Cut my leg on a broken bottle when I shoved him away. He ran. I never told anyone."
"Kenzie—"
"I know." Kenzie's voice was steady. Too steady. "I know I should have reported it. I know I should have—"
"Hey." Riley reached out. Cupped Kenzie's face. Forced her to meet her eyes. "You survived. That's what matters."
Kenzie's lip trembled. She nodded.
"I spent the next year trying to convince myself I was straight," she said. "Told myself it was a fluke. That I was drunk and confused and didn't know what I wanted. But the truth was—"
She paused.
"The truth was that I'd already known. Since I was fifteen. I just didn't want to admit it."
Riley's thumb traced her jaw. "What happened when you were fifteen?"
Kenzie laughed. Hollow. "I fell in love with you."
Riley didn't say anything. Just held her.
"I've spent the last ten years trying to pray it away," Kenzie whispered. "Trying to be good. Trying to be what my family wanted. I almost married a man. Did you know that?"
"No."
"His name was Nathan. He was a youth pastor. We dated for two years. He proposed on my twenty-fourth birthday." Kenzie shook her head. "I said yes. I don't know why. I thought if I went through with it, I'd finally be normal."
"But you didn't."
"I broke it off three months before the wedding." Kenzie's eyes were wet again. "I told him I wasn't ready. That was a lie. The truth was that every time he touched me, I felt like I was dying. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't spend the rest of my life pretending."
Riley pulled her closer. Kenzie's face pressed into her neck.
"And then I saw you again," Kenzie said. "In that bar. And I knew. I knew the second I saw you."
"Knew what?"
"That I was done pretending."
Riley's arms tightened around her.
They stayed like that for a long time. Minutes. Maybe longer. The light outside shifted from gray to gold, and Riley's stomach growled, and Kenzie laughed against her skin.
"I should feed you."
"You should."
Riley kissed the top of her head. Then she pulled away. Grabbed a sports bra off the floor, boxers, socks. She could feel Kenzie watching her as she dressed—the weight of her gaze, the heat of it.
Riley liked it.
She padded into the kitchen. The linoleum was cold under her socks. The counter was cracked, scrubbed raw from years of use, and the microwave hummed like it was dying. The potted plant on the windowsill was yellow at the edges, mostly dead. She'd been meaning to water it for weeks.
Whatever.
She pulled eggs and bacon out of the fridge. Set a pan on the stove. The bacon sizzled as it hit the heat, filling the apartment with the smell of salt and grease.
Behind her, soft footsteps.
Kenzie appeared in the doorway, wearing Riley's USMC t-shirt and nothing else. The shirt was too big on her, hung past her hips, the words across the chest faded from years of washing. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were still puffy from crying.
She looked like something out of a dream Riley hadn't known she was having.
"Smells good," Kenzie said.
"Bacon fixes everything."
Kenzie crossed the kitchen. Wrapped her arms around Riley from behind. Her cheek pressed against Riley's back, her hands flat on Riley's stomach.
Riley froze for a second. Then relaxed into it. Leaned back. Let herself feel the warmth of another body against hers.
They stood like that while the bacon cooked. While Riley scrambled the eggs. While the coffee brewed.
"So," Kenzie said eventually.
"So."
"What happens now?"
Riley flipped the eggs. "I don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
Kenzie's arms tightened. "I have to work in an hour. I have to go back to my apartment and put on my uniform and pretend like nothing happened."
"And?"
"And I don't know if I can do that."
Riley turned off the stove. Turned around. Kenzie's arms fell to her sides, but she didn't step back.
"You don't have to pretend with me," Riley said.
"I know." Kenzie's voice was small. "But I have to pretend with everyone else. My family. My coworkers. My church." She paused. "I don't know if I'm ready to come out. To all of them. It's not that simple."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Riley's jaw tightened. "I came out when I was fifteen. My dad was the only one who didn't look at me like I was broken. My mom cried for a week. My brother didn't speak to me for a year. My pastor—" She shook her head. "It wasn't simple for me either. But I did it anyway. Because I couldn't breathe otherwise."
Kenzie looked at her. "And now?"
"Now I'm a Marine Gunnery Sergeant with a spotless record and a shitty apartment and a dad who still calls me every Sunday to tell me he's proud of me." Riley shrugged. "I don't need anyone else's approval."
"But I do." Kenzie's voice was barely a whisper. "I know that makes me weak."
"It doesn't make you weak." Riley stepped closer. Cupped Kenzie's face in her hands. "It makes you human."
Kenzie's eyes filled again.
"I'm scared," she said.
"I know."
"I don't want to lose you."
Riley's thumb brushed a tear off her cheek. "You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've spent nine years trying to forget you." Riley's voice was rough. "And I couldn't. So I'm not going to let you go. Not now."
Kenzie kissed her.
It was different from the night before. Slower. Softer. Less desperate, more deliberate. Like a promise instead of a plea.
When they pulled apart, Kenzie's cheeks were wet.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?"
"Okay." Kenzie nodded. "I'll tell my family. Maybe not today. But soon. I'll tell them."
"And your church?"
Kenzie flinched. "One thing at a time."
"Fair."
"And you?" Kenzie asked. "Will you tell your dad?"
Riley thought about it. Thought about the framed photo on her desk. Thought about Sunday phone calls and the way her dad's voice got quiet when she talked about being lonely.
"Yeah," she said. "I'll tell him."
"Today?"
"Maybe."
Kenzie smiled. Small. Real. "Okay."
Riley turned back to the stove. Piled eggs and bacon onto two plates. Handed one to Kenzie, who took it with both hands like it was something precious.
They ate standing up, leaning against opposite counters, watching each other.
"So," Kenzie said around a mouthful of bacon. "What happens next?"
Riley chewed. Swallowed. Set her plate down.
"Next," she said, "you go to work. I go for a run. And then tonight—"
"Tonight?"
"You come back."
Kenzie's smile widened. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Kenzie set her plate down too. Crossed the kitchen. Kissed Riley one more time, quick and fierce.
"Tonight," she said.
Then she walked out the door.
Riley stood there for a long time after the door clicked shut. Listening to the silence. Feeling the ghost of Kenzie's lips on hers.
Then she grabbed her running shoes.