enemies to lovers · cold exterior · soft interior · injured · muscular · storm setting · reluctant trust · romance · protective · vulnerable
The storm had turned the world into a drum of noise—wind screaming, rain battering the windows. I’d just killed the last light when three heavy knocks shuddered through the front door. I grabbed the bat from the coat rack and eased it open. Lightning flashed, and there he was. Tristan stood on the porch, silhouetted against the night, his white shirt soaked through and clinging to every muscle like a second skin. Crimson streaked his face; his right eye was swollen shut, knuckles split and raw. He swayed slightly, one arm wrapped around his ribs, and when his tired hazel eyes met mine, it was only to rasp, ‘No place else to go.’ The words hung between us, thick with everything we’d been to each other. What happens now, you?