I breathe in through my nose. Out through my mouth.
This is temporary. Just until they find my dad and the bastards he brought to my doorstep.
I repeat it the way someone repeats a prayer. This is temporary.
When I step back into the room, he’s still seated. Still silent. Still watching.
My breath hitches. Because I can’t read him, and that scares me more than anything. Not the ink or the scars or the silence, but the way he doesn’t look away. He’s willing to carry the weight of whatever I bring into this room. Even the parts I haven’t named yet.
The air shifts when I move past him. The tension between us is a wire pulled tight. It’s humming, vibrating, ready to snap. I feel his eyes on me the way you feel a touch, even though he doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t have to.
His breathing changes. Just a little. A fraction deeper. His chest rises in a way that says he’s bracing, too.
It’s him. The weight of him. The steadiness. He’s made of stone and fire and every single thing I’ve been missing.
And I hate it.
Because I want to crawl into that bed and forget everything. Want to let myself fall into the gravity of him just for one night. But I can’t.
I won’t.
I slip under the covers and keep my back to him. My hands fist the sheets like they’ll keep me grounded. The sheets are warm from him. From where he sat. His heat lingers, a ghost pressed into cotton.
I slip under the covers and keep my back to him. My hands fist the sheets, trying to stay grounded. The sheets are warm from him. From where he sat. His heat lingers, a ghost pressed into cotton.
My pulse thrums at the base of my throat. Too fast. Too aware.
My skin prickles when I slip beneath the blanket. Not from cold, but from how close he is. How much he isn’t touching me. How much I don’t want him to stop not touching me.
The mattress shifts behind me, slow and deliberate. I feel him lie down; his weight pressing into the bed, steady and real.
My voice is tight when I speak. “You didn’t ask if I’m okay.”
There’s a pause. Then, low and rough: “I didn’t need to. You’re alive. That’s what matters. For now.”
His words settle over me, a kind of armor. Not soft. Not sweet. But solid.
A knot loosens beneath my ribs. Not all the way, but enough.
I think he’s asleep, then I hear it. A breath just a little deeper than the others. Maybe he’s not watching me anymore, just remembering that I’m here. Maybe I’m not the only one trying to survive the night.
I close my eyes. Try to sleep. Try to pretend the heat radiating off his side of the bed isn’t messing with my head. That the scent of soap and leather and something darker doesn’t make my skin hum. That his silence isn’t the only thing keeping me from unraveling.
I don’t trust him.
I’ll leave as soon as this is over.
But I don’t ask him to move. Don’t ask him to leave. Don’t do anything at all except stay.
For the first time in a long time, the bed doesn’t feel too big.
It feels like maybe… I’m not surviving this night alone.
Chapter 22
Malachi
“Idon’tknowwherethe hell he’s hiding,” Nash mutters, voice gravel-thick and unshaken. “But someone’s helping him.”
