Rewriting the Apocalypse novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: The Third Rule

Sam fell asleep at ten with his healed shoulder bare and one boot still on.

Jo stood in the doorway between the two rooms and watched him breathe.

He was warm, and loud, and alive.

When she turned around, Eli was standing in the middle of the other room with a wet cloth in one hand.

"For your face," he said. "You still have blood under your eyes."

She took the cloth and sat on the edge of the bed.

He did not sit.

She wiped her cheeks, her chin and the corners of her eyes until the cloth came away pink.

She was aware of him the whole time.

He stood a long arm's length away and watched her do it.

He had not put his gloves back on.

"You're staring," she said.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're alive," he said, "and I keep needing to see it."

Her breath caught.

She set the cloth on the nightstand.

"Come here."

"Jo..."

"I'm not asking you to take your clothes off. Come here."

He came.

He stopped in front of her knees.

She looked up at the scar through his eyebrow, his tight jaw and his gray-green eyes.

She took his bare hand in both of hers.

He went rigid.

She turned it over and laid her mouth against the cut across his palm.

A sound broke out of his chest.

"Rule two," he said hoarsely.

"Rule two is mine," Jo said. "I make the rules, and I'm breaking that one."

She stood.

She put her palm flat against his chest, over his heart.

She felt it slam against her hand.

"I won't rewrite you," she said. "I promised. I'm only touching."

"I know."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." The word came out ragged. "God, no. I just don't..."

"I know. You don't have to say it."

She pulled his shirt up over his head.

He let her.

His chest was lean and hard, crossed with pale old scars.

Under her hands his muscles flinched at every touch.

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