Page 46 of Romancing in Rot

The first time Poppy’s arrow slips sideways and skids into the leaves, my body goes tight, braced for the sigh that always came before Russ would explode.

Jesus, Poppy.

How hard is it to listen?

Do I have to do everything myself?

But Leon doesn’t sigh.

He crouches beside the crooked arrow, picks it up, and brings it back to her. Then he points to her feet, taps his own shoulder, and shows the motion again. Slow. Clear. Patient.

Poppy copies him.

Misses again.

Leon gives her a thumbs-up, then comes over to help her aim for the next shot.

For the next hour, Leon walks her through the basics. Positioning. Breathing. Timing. How to hold tension without locking up. How to release without flinching.

Poppy misses more than she hits. A lot more. But she doesn’t get smaller. She laughs when the arrow skids into the leaves. Tries again when it bounces off the bark. Pumps both fists when one finally sticks low and crooked near the edge of the X.

Leon plants one hand over his heart like she just won a war.

Poppy beams.

Failure isn’t failure with him. It’s information.

A correction.

A reason to adjust her feet, lift her elbow, breathe again, and try one more time.

By the time we head back, something in me feels looser and more bruised at the same time.

The world is still terrible. A pink bow doesn’t change that. But if my body freezes again, maybe she has one more chance to move.

And maybe knowing that gives me one more chance to move too.

Poppy runs ahead, already rambling about what she’s going to name her bow. “I’m thinking Princess Murder Sparkle,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Workshop it,” I call back.

She waves one hand without turning, too busy admiring her bow to question anything.

Preteens. I slow my steps. “Go on up to the others, Poppy. Leon and I will be there soon.”

She sends us another backward wave and runs toward the glow of the fire.

Leon stops beside me, but his gaze stays on Poppy until she reaches the others.

Making sure she gets there safely.

That does something dangerous to me.

I reach out before I can talk myself out of it and catch his arm.

He stills beneath my touch.

“Leon.” The words clog in my throat for one awful second, but I force them out anyway. I have to know. “Why are you doing this?”