"You don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do. You could've been hurt. Evan could've—"
"He couldn't." Holt's voice is flat, certain. "I've handled worse."
I look at him—really look. His knuckles are bleeding. Split skin across three of them, blood dried dark in the creases.
"Your hand."
He glances down like he's surprised it's attached to him. "It's fine."
"Let me see."
I stand before he can argue, go to the tiny bathroom, and come back with the first aid kit. It's bigger than you'd expect—Finn's paranoid about shop injuries—and I kneel on the floor in front of Holt this time, taking his right hand in both of mine.
"Scout—"
"You're always taking care of me." I open an antiseptic wipe, careful not to meet his eyes yet. "Let me do this for you."
He goes quiet. Lets me clean the cuts, his hand steady even when the antiseptic must sting. I work carefully, learned from watching him patch me up that first week when I sliced my palm on a fender. His knuckles are messed up—old scars layered under fresh splits, skin that's seen too many fights.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Liar."
His mouth twitches.
I wrap gauze around his knuckles, tape it down, efficient because I've seen him do this a hundred times. When I'm done, I don't let go. Just hold his hand, feel the calluses and warmth and realness of him.
"I meant what I said. I choose this. I choose here."
"I know."
"I choose you."
Holt's breath catches. I hear it, feel it in the space between us.
"Scout—"
"I love you."
The words just slip out. Not planned, not dramatic—just true. I realize I've said them as they're leaving my mouth, and for a second I freeze, waiting for him to pull away or tell me it's too soon or—
Holt stares at me like he's not sure he heard right.
"Say it again."
I'm crying now, smiling through it. "I love you, Holt Ward."
He cups my face. His thumbs brush away tears that won't stop coming, and his eyes are so blue it hurts to look at him. There's no walls there, no armor—just him, looking at me like I hung the fucking moon.
"I love you too." His voice is rough, scraped raw. "So much it scares me sometimes."
I laugh through the crying. "Me too."
He kisses me slow, deep. When we pull apart, I rest my forehead against his.
