“You think I’m afraid of this,” I say, my voice low, breaking with the truth clawing its way out of me. “But I’m not. I want it. God, I want you. Every piece. The good parts, the broken parts, the dangerous parts. Every truth you think will ruin you. We said no lies, Stella. So here’s mine: let me carry your storms. Let me drown in them, burn in them, be undone by them, if it means I get to keep you.”
Her head finally turns, eyes finding mine. A shuddering breath escapes her lips, shaky and raw. She rises slowly, shoulders squared as if she’s made some kind of decision, and then she holds out her hand.
“Walk with me.”
I don’t hesitate. My fingers close around hers, and together we step off the porch. The storm rolls closer with every heartbeat, our hair tangling together as the air whips around us, heat crackling in the air like the sky is daring us to defy it. We walk until the first cool drops fall, splattering against our skin, and then she stops.
She pulls me in without a word, crashing her mouth against mine. The kiss is deep, desperate, searing—everything unspoken between us breaking free. I clutch her to me, one hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed to her spine, and the rain pours harder, drenching us, washing the night clean.
Thunder growls low as she leans her forehead to mine, both of us breathless and trembling. And then, slowly, she guides me into a sway. Her arms loop around my neck, mine circling her waist, our bodies pressed close, we dance as if the storm itself is our music. We move together in the rain, unhurried, clinging, a rhythm only we understand.
Lightning splits the sky, watching us come undone and be remade in each other’s arms. Her lips brush my ear, her whisper carried by the storm so soft I almost miss it.
“I don’t know what the future will hold, Elaine. This fight with Donovan—it's going to get really fucking messy. But I’ll face every drop of it with my head high… as long as you’re beside me.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. Not because of the storm, not because of the chaos waiting for us—but because she doesn’t see it yet. She doesn’t see that there was never another ending. It was always going to be her and me, standing in the storm.
I don’t answer with words. I grab her, hard, pulling her flush against me. My mouth finds hers, rain-slick and desperate, and the kiss is fire, teeth, a dare neither of us can take back. My hands slip lower, curling around her waist, then tighter, rougher, until I’m lifting her clean off her feet.
She gasps into my mouth, but it isn’t a surrender. It’s hunger. Her legs lock around my hips, dragging me closer, answering my fire with her own, like she’s daring me to hold tighter, never to let go. I hold her there, her weight pressed against me like she was always meant to fit, my grip unyielding, my kiss nothingshort of defiance, against him, against everything trying to break us.
The storm screams its approval, lightning tearing the sky wide open, thunder rolling like a promise. But none of it matters. Because right now, in the middle of the wreckage of everything she thinks she’s lost, she’s in my arms. And I’ll never fucking let her go.
Stella
It’s 5:30 in the morning, and the rain is still falling hard. I left Elaine in my bed, her dark hair spilled across my pillow like ink, perfect even in sleep. I didn’t want to wake her, so I slipped out quietly and padded downstairs.
Blythe is in the kitchen, baby Sage tucked against her chest, feeding. Exhaustion clings to her face, but somehow her heart still looks full.
In the living room, I shove the coffee table toward the fireplace and stretch out on the rug. Ansel joins me without a word, dropping beside me in silence, the kind that feels like understanding.
Forty-five minutes later, Elaine appears in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her gorgeous brown eyes. She freezes when she sees us sprawled in the middle of the room, then quirks a brow.
“What are you doing, Widow?” she drawls, humor curling in her voice.
I tilt my head back so I can see her upside down and smirk. “Ansel and I are doing yoga.”
Elaine snorts. “Yoga? You’re both are just lying there.” She perches on the couch, curling her legs to her chest, watching us.
“It’s called corpse pose,” Ansel chimes, eyes closed, perfectly deadpan. “And we’re killing it.”
I haven’t stopped thinking about Donovan’s threats, waiting for the other shoe to fall. Every car that slows outside, every ring of the doorbell—it all makes my chest tighten. I’m braced for the revenge he promised me, certain it’s already on its way.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep living like this, jumping at shadows, choking on the silence between storms.
I roll out of corpse pose and push myself to my feet. My eyes find Elaine’s. “Will you come upstairs with me? I need to talk to you,” is all I manage.
Ansel whoops from the floor, throwing her arms up like she’s at a concert. “Somebody’s about to get laid!”
I glance back at her, deadpan. “Do you ever think of anything other than sex?”
Her grin is shameless. “Nope.”
Elaine and I make it to my room, and I start pacing the second the door shuts. The walls feel too close, my chest too tight. She sits on the edge of my bed, watching me, waiting for me to break the silence.
“We know at any moment Donovan can turn around and take everything from me.” My voice shakes, but my eyes stay fixed on her, waiting for an answer I already know.
“Yes, Stella. He made that apparent.” She doesn’t soften it, doesn’t feed me pretty lies.
