Between Us Novels & Stories

There's comfort in knowing that we are not alone. He understood my pain and I understood his. Hunter and I had found solace in each other. And tonight, neither one of us was alone.

At that moment, I knew I would be okay. We sat there, our chests rising and falling in unison. Our breaths filled the silence, the sound of our lives pulsing in the room. We didn't need to speak, our bodies communicate in a language all their own. We just held each other, letting the calm wash over us. It was a moment of peace, a moment of solace. And at that moment, we were connected, bound by something beyond words.

The exchange felt like a symbolic bridge, a tangible link between our present and the unknown possibilities that lay ahead. A blend of excitement and trepidation mingled in the air as our conversation continued, enveloped in the shared understanding of boundaries and the desire to nurture a genuine connection. We delved into stories and passions, laughter and contemplation, as if the realm of friendship had unveiled its own enchantments.

The space between us was no longer just physical—it was everything. And I wasn’t sure how, or if, we could ever bridge the gap.

It makes some sense, though. ‘Maybe.’ ‘Oye, I need to leave to meet someone from the Times. Will you be able to handle everything here?’ he asks. ‘Yes, I will.’ That is our code for a date. We have a few people working under us and we don’t want them to think that we go out during office hours for movies and dates. Because that’s something we do a lot! So whenever we have to go out, we say we have to meet ‘somebody from the Times’. I wave him goodbye, he checks his noodle hair in the mirror and leaves.

“No. Actually... I thought you were brave as hell for showing up.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Nobody had ever called me brave before. Pathetic, fat, weird? Sure. But brave? I lowered my arms slightly. “You don’t even know me.” “Maybe not. But I was curious.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why?” He offered a half-shrug, like even he wasn’t sure. “You read something once. In AP Lit. Junior year. Poem about the moon. It stuck.” My brain glitched. “You remember that?”

It was never boring to say the least. During our brief pause we shared a quiet moment—no words, just an unspoken understanding. We had always communicated well, but over time, it had become something deeper. Now, we didn’t need to speak to know we were all feeling the same thing. We steadied our heart rates and we were ready to head back. This time I paced them a bit longer but, of course, I had to show off. Around mile 10, I tapped into my second wind and again - dusted them.

The quiet tension in the office had become its own living, breathing thing. For the first two days after their return, Isabelle and Damian maintained a perfect, professional distance. They communicated through emails, despite being in adjacent offices. They spoke in hushed, businesslike tones during project reviews. The wall was up. But every so often, the facade would crack, a brief, silent admission of what had passed between them in the storm.

She stepped out, brushing past him on purpose. The packhouse loomed ahead — three stories tall, clean lines, dark windows. Wolves moved like shadows inside, their energy unmistakable even from a distance. Riley’s skin prickled. It had been years since she’d felt a bond link, even a fractured one. It was like hearing a song you hated but still knew every word to. She swallowed hard. “Your room’s upstairs,” Jaxon said as they entered the house. “Left side. Top floor. It locks from the inside. We’re not animals.”

People and noise and the indifferent machinery of urban life. But something had shifted in the specific atmosphere between us. We'd been many things to each other. Boss and assistant. Sisters in all but name. Colleagues. Friends. Now we were about to become something else too. Mothers together. The next version of us. Already beginning. Whether we were ready or not.