if you feel it, chase it

It wasn’t clear to Tyler whether this was something to talk about. He wasn’t trying to pry. What was going on between them was new and felt fragile, some rare flower that only bloomed once a decade, but he also didn’t want to be that guy who shied away from the hard shit and she’d been through it, well before El Reno.

(There were old pictures at her mom’s house that included a guy who was probably Kate’s dad, but neither Kate nor her mom had mentioned him. Tyler knew enough not to broach the subject the first time he showed up at the place, even if he’d fucked up the guest-gift, handing over some Wranglers merch to Cathy who’d given him a look so bemused, he’d caught himself about to say, My mama didn’t raise me to have such poor manners, ma’am as Cathy had shrugged and smiled her thanks. So, Kate’s dad was most likely dead, a while back, unless Cathy was the most forgiving woman in the world and kept photos of the guy who’d ditched her on the front hall table.)

So yeah, he hadn’t mentioned anything, just asked her one time about the way she took her coffee and memorized the answer, making sure to have a mug ready when she woke up, adding the milk once he heard her stir in the bed, the creaky frame finally a plus. He didn’t try to wake her up if he woke up while she was dreaming, but not because of the conventional wisdom that you shouldn’t wake someone up during a nightmare. He had no idea what he’d say to her other than, you were dreaming, Kate, and she’d either know that or not as soon as she opened her eyes. He didn’t see it helping.

She wept by the end of most of them. He’d tasted the salt of her tearstains the first morning he’d woken her up to fuck at dawn. The tears had run into the hair at her temples and he’d kissed her there first, big spoon wrapped around her. He’d been drowsy himself, hadn’t had the awareness to say anything and now there was nothing to say.

She needed to cry when she slept because he’d never seen her do it awake, not concussed, not even when she’d had too big a mouthful of Dani’s jalapeno dip. They didn’t talk about that either. They talked about storms and the music on the radio, what she missed about New York, his old dog Sassy and how he wanted to get a new dog but he didn’t think it was fair, how she only read non-fiction and he had a soft spot for old school sci-fi, with lots of aliens and lasers, and also the Vorkosigan saga because he had some standards, no matter what she thought.

She’d grinned then and asked what she should read. He told her Cordelia’s Honor and that he didn’t expect her to read any of the others.

She fell asleep with the book held in her hand. He used a receipt from the hardware store as a bookmark so she wouldn’t lose her place. He turned off the light and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of her breath. He’d always been a light sleeper and he’d wake up if the pressure changed, a storm on the horizon a lure more than an interruption.

He’d wake up when she had a nightmare. It amounted to the same thing.