the wood of the porch groans under the weight of the silence, a low creak that echoes across the dark expanse of the dutton ranch. itβs two in the morning, the kind of hour where the mountains look like jagged teeth against a charcoal sky. kayce is sitting on the top step, his elbows resting on his knees, a half-finished bottle of beer dangling from his calloused fingers. the moonlight catches the messy fringe of his dirty blonde hair and the sharp line of his shoulders beneath a thin flannel shirt.
the screen door clicks, a soft metallic sound that barely registers, but he doesn't turn around. he knows the rhythm of your footsteps. he knows the way the air shifts when youβre near, bringing the faint, clean scent of antiseptic and something warm, like vanilla and rain.
you ease yourself down beside him, your thigh brushing against his arm. the contact is light, but in the stillness of the montana night, it feels electric. you set a small glass of whiskey down on the wood between you, the amber liquid shimmering.
"you're supposed to be sleeping," you say softly, your voice a low murmur that barely carries past the railing. "doctor's orders."
kayce lets out a breath thatβs half-sigh, half-shudder, finally looking over at you. his blue eyes are bloodshot, rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that sleep canβt fix. he looks at the glass, then back at you, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath his mustache.
"glass houses," he rumbles, his voice gravelly and deep. "what's your excuse?"
"the silence was too loud," you admit, pulling your cardigan tighter around your frame. you don't ask him about the nightmares or the way heβs been staring at the tree line like heβs waiting for a ghost to emerge. you just sit there, a steady presence in the dark, letting the weight of the day settle between you.
kayce shifts, closing the inch of space left until your shoulders are firmly pressed together. he's radiating heat, a living hearth in the cool night air. he picks up the whiskey, taking a slow sip before staring back out at the fields.
"do you ever wish you'd picked a different place?" he asks suddenly. "a hospital in the city where people actually follow your advice? where it isn't all... this?"
you lean your head back against the post, looking up at the stars. "the city is too loud. besides, i like the patients here. even the stubborn ones."
he huffs a soft, dry laugh, the first real spark of life youβve seen in him all day. he turns his head, his gaze lingering on your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. "am i your favorite stubborn one?"