Missax.21.02.12.aila.donovan.kit.mercer.slide.p... Here

"You almost fell off the scaffolding," she said. "I had to grab your belt. You laughed. I thought you were going to pull us both down."

She didn't turn. She knew the voice. Kit Mercer's footsteps were heavy on the wet wood — less tentative than they used to be, but still carrying that same careful weight, as if he was always apologizing for taking up space.

Kit stopped three feet away. Close enough to smell the pine soap he still used. Far enough to be a stranger.

Aila took a sip. The liquid burned a path through her silence. MissaX.21.02.12.Aila.Donovan.Kit.Mercer.Slide.P...

"Do you remember the day we built the Slide?" he asked.

"Because I want to remember how it felt before the fall," she said. "Not the crash. The slide itself."

"I'm still scared," she said.

"We were alive," Kit corrected. He sat down on the edge of the Slide, letting his legs dangle over the drop. "I never stopped loving you, Aila. Not for one day."

"Go."

"Why then?"

She sat beside him. Their shoulders touched. It was the first physical contact in seven years, and it felt less like a spark and more like the slow, steady warmth of a banked fire.

He turned to her. His hand found hers — cold fingers interlacing.

"I left because I was tired of sliding," she whispered. "Tired of the rush, then the drop. Tired of pretending that loving you wasn't like standing at the top of that thing, knowing I'd eventually hit the water alone." An hour later, the rain had softened to a mist. Kit found Aila at the base of the ladder leading up to the Slide's launch platform. The wood groaned under her first step. "You almost fell off the scaffolding," she said