Chapter Five: Dangerous Territory

Nelson didn't show up for Sunday service.

Ayana sat in the family pew, hyperaware of the empty space where he should have been. Her father kept glancing toward the door, frowning. Her mother whispered speculation about illness. Catherine shot Ayana knowing looks that she steadfastly ignored.

But Ayana knew exactly why he wasn't there.

Last night had changed everything. They'd kissed until her lips were swollen, touched until they were both shaking, whispered confessions that couldn't be taken back. He'd told her things about Sarah, about the accident, about twenty years of grief so heavy it had crushed the life out of him.

And she'd held him while he broke apart.

She'd left at dawn, both of them knowing they'd crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. He'd walked her to her car, kissed her one more time soft, reverent, terrified.

"I don't know what happens now," he'd whispered against her lips.

"We figure it out together."

But apparently "together" meant him avoiding church while she sat through her father's sermon about temptation and sin, every word landing like an accusation.

After the service, her father pulled her aside. "Have you heard from Nelson? He's not answering his phone."

"No, Dad. Maybe he's sick?"

"Maybe." But her father looked worried. "He's been off all week. Distracted. Not like him."

Because of me,Ayana thought, guilt and satisfaction warring in her chest.

---

She waited until afternoon, until her parents left for a church council meeting and Catherine disappeared with her fiancé. Then she drove to Nelson's house.

It sat behind the community center—a small cottage, neat but spartan. She'd never been inside. Had only glimpsed it from a distance, wondering what kind of life he lived in his self-imposed isolation.

She knocked. No answer.

"Nelson?" She tried the door. Unlocked. "I'm coming in."

The interior matched his office—sparse, functional, devoid of comfort. A couch that looked rarely used. A kitchen that held only necessities. Bookshelves crammed with social work texts and philosophy. And everywhere, that sense of someone just existing, not living.

No Christmas decorations. No personal photos except that one of Sarah in the bedroom she glimpsed through an open door.

She found him on the back porch, sitting on the steps, staring at nothing. He wore jeans and a thermal shirt, no coat despite the cold. He didn't look up when she approached.

"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.

"You didn't come to church. Dad's worried."

"I couldn't." He finally looked at her, and the torment in his eyes made her chest ache. "I couldn't sit there with your family, pretending everything's normal, when all I can think about is—" He stopped. "You need to leave, Ayana."

"No." She sat beside him on the cold steps. "We need to talk."

"About what? About how I took advantage of you last night? About how I'm exactly the kind of man your father warned you about?"

"You didn't take advantage of anyone. I came to you. I kissed you first, remember?"

"You're twenty-four. You don't understand—"

"Stop." She grabbed his hand, forced him to look at her. "Stop using my age as an excuse. I'm an adult. I made a choice. We both did."

"A choice that will destroy everything." But his fingers tightened around hers. "Your family, my work, this community—"

"Or maybe it saves us both." She shifted closer. "Nelson, what we did last night—that wasn't wrong. It was honest. Real. The first real thing either of us has felt in God knows how long."

"It was selfish."

"Good. You've earned the right to be selfish." She squeezed his hand. "Twenty years of penance, Nelson. Twenty years of punishing yourself for surviving. When is it enough?"

"Never." His voice broke. "It's never enough. Because she's still dead, and I'm still here, and nothing I do will change that."

"You're right. Nothing will change it." She turned his face toward hers. "But continuing to die slowly won't honor her memory. Living will. Being happy will. Letting yourself feel something other than guilt will."

"I don't know if I can."

"Then let me teach you." She kissed him softly. Felt him resist for half a heartbeat before surrendering, kissing her back with desperate tenderness.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "This is insane."

"Probably."

"We're going to get caught."

"Probably."

"Your father will hate me."

"He'll forgive eventually. Or he won't. But Nelson—I'm not giving you up to make him comfortable."

He pulled back, studied her face. "Why? Why risk everything for this? For me?"

"Because you're worth it." She cupped his face. "Because you're brilliant and broken and beautiful, and you deserve to be happy. Because watching you exist instead of live breaks my heart. Because—" She hesitated, then dove in. "Because I think I'm falling in love with you."

He went completely still. "Ayana—"

"I know it's fast. I know it's complicated. But I've spent four years trying to forget the way you made me feel, and then I came home and you looked at me like I was everything you'd been denying yourself, and—" She stopped, vulnerable. "Tell me I'm not alone in this."

For a long moment, he just stared at her. Then: "You're not alone." His voice was raw. "God help me, you're not alone. I've been half in love with you since you were eighteen, hating myself for it, relieved when you left because it meant I didn't have to fight it anymore. And then you came back, and you're not a girl anymore, you're this incredible woman, and I—" He stopped, breathing hard. "I can't fight it anymore. I don't want to."

She kissed him, pouring everything into it—relief, joy, need. He kissed her back, pulling her into his lap, hands sliding into her hair. The kiss deepened, heated, became something more.

"Inside," he murmured against her lips. "If we're doing this—if we're really doing this—not out here where anyone could see."

She let him lead her inside, through the sparse living room to his bedroom. It was as bare as the rest—queen bed, simple furniture, nothing decorative except that photo of Sarah on the dresser.

Ayana hesitated. Nelson followed her gaze.

"I should put it away," he said quietly. "It's not fair to—"

"No." She turned to him. "Don't hide her. She was part of your life. That doesn't change just because—" She gestured between them. "This doesn't erase her, Nelson. It just means you're finally letting yourself move forward."

Something in his expression cracked open. "How are you so wise at twenty-four?"

"Boston taught me a lot." She smiled. "And maybe I just see you clearly. All of you. Including the parts you think are unlovable."

He kissed her like she'd given him permission to breathe. Slow, thorough, reverent. His hands trembled as they slid under her sweater, finding skin. She gasped, arching into his touch.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered against her throat.

"Never."

They tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. He removed her sweater with shaking hands, stared at her like she was art. When he kissed her again, it was with less control, more need.

"I want you," he breathed. "God, Ayana, I want you so much it terrifies me."

"Then have me." She reached for his shirt. "Stop thinking. Stop fighting. Just feel."

They learned each other slowly—every touch, every sound, every shiver. He was careful with her, gentle despite the hunger in his eyes. When he finally moved inside her, they both gasped, overwhelmed.

It wasn't perfect. It was fumbling and intense and emotional. He whispered her name like a prayer. She held him like he might disappear.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, hearts racing, reality slowly seeping back in.

"We can't tell anyone," he said finally. "Not yet. Not until—"

"I know." She traced patterns on his chest. "But Nelson—this isn't just a moment for me. I meant what I said."

"So did I." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Which terrifies me more than anything else."

They stayed like that until the sun began to set, knowing they were playing with fire.

But neither of them could bring themselves to stop.