I tilt my head back, exhale slow.
The TV glows faint blue across the room—some movie menu frozen mid-frame. Outside, headlights smear across wet glass. Laughter echoes faintly from the street below.
Normal sounds.
Normal life.
I glance down. My fingers still in her curls. She looks so damn peaceful. Her brow creases like she’s dreaming, and I wonder what about.
I think about what she’s told me—her father, the church, Gideon, her so-called fiancé.
Then I think about what she hasn’t said.
The way she flinches when I move too fast.
How she watches me like she’s waiting for the blow that never comes.
She doesn’t deserve any of that.
My jaw tightens. I can still feel the echo of my old man’s fists, the sting in my ribs that never really faded.
Back then, I’d brace for it.
Oh, Dad lost another fight? Cool, time for another ass-kicking and a speech on how to be a man.
Mom would be drinking. I’d play hero—put myself between them, thinking maybe if I took it all, they’d stop hurting each other.
They didn’t.
Mom didn’t stop drinking.
Dad didn’t stop being angry.
And me? I started sweating every time I heard a door slam.
I run a hand over my face, exhale through my nose.
Sera’s the same kind of brave—quiet, unknowing, too used to pain to call it what it is.
And I hate it.
I hate that I understand it so damn well.
My thumb brushes her temple. “I’m gonna keep you safe, Dove,” I whisper. “I swear it.”
Then my brain immediately chimes in…Please stop touching the sleeping girl, bro. You’re giving off 1960s Disney energy.
Right.
Not Prince Charming.
But then my subconscious pipes up again, smug bastard that it is…
You know Dove means peace, right?
Oh, it knew. It’s been sitting on that revelation for hours like it’s clever.
No shit, Sherlock.Go to sleep, you sassy twat.
