Chapter eight
Lilly Rose
The worst part isn't the mission. It's not the gunfire or the blood or even the moment I thought I wouldn't make it out alive.
It's him.
It's Simon Riley disappearing behind that cold mask again, right after pulling me from the line of fire like I was glass about to shatter.
I'm not. I never was.
But he treats me like something fragile. Something breakable. Something his.
And that? That's the dangerous part.
I press the bandage tighter against a soldier's side, giving a tight smile. "You'll live. Which means you're going to owe me coffee when we get back."
He laughs weakly, and I move on, hands already stained from the last four patients. My arms ache. My head's pounding. But the only thing I can feel is the weight of Simon's eyes every time we're in the same room.
He hasn't said another word to me since the explosion. Since the kiss. Since everything.
And it's pissing me off.
⸻
Hours later, the sun is low, casting long shadows across the dusty camp. I finally take a breath outside the tent, needing a second—just one—to catch my balance.
But of course, the second I close my eyes, I hear him behind me.
"Lilly."
I turn slowly.
He's standing in the shadow of the tent, arms crossed, jaw tight. That look he gives when he's trying to feel nothing.
"You okay?" he asks.
I blink. "Are you?"
He doesn't answer. Just looks at me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve. Like he wants to feel, but doesn't trust himself with the outcome.
"What do you want from me, Simon?" I ask, voice quieter than I mean it to be.
He steps forward. "I want you to be safe."
"That's not the same as wanting me," I fire back. "And I'm not going to be your little secret, hidden in shadows and stolen glances. If you care, say it. If you don't—walk away."
His eyes darken. "You think I don't care?"
"I think you're scared to," I say. "I think you've buried your heart so deep you don't know how to use it anymore."
The silence between us stretches taut. Then—
He moves.
Closes the distance in two steps, grips my face like he's afraid I'll vanish, and kisses me. It's not clean, not composed—it's messy, desperate. The kind of kiss you give someone when you've been drowning in guilt and silence and fear.
I kiss him back like I've been waiting for this—because I have.
When he pulls back, his voice is hoarse. "You terrify me, Lilly."
"Good," I breathe. "Means you're still alive."
We stand there, tangled in shadows and breath, and for the first time… I think he might let me in.
But Simon Riley? He's still a battlefield.
And I'm still choosing to step into the war.