He shakes his head, eyes flashing with something fierce and unspoken. “I couldn’t—” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, collecting himself. “I tried to. I did. But I couldn’t do it, Lo. I couldn’t leave you.”
My throat tightens, and I press my face into his palm, the warmth of his skin the only real thing in the world right now.
He looks down at me, eyes softening in a way I’ve never seen before. “You’re okay,” he says again, more to himself than to me.
I nod, still clutching his hand. “I am now.”
Damian lets out a shaky breath, and his other hand finds the back of my neck, pulling me just a little closer. I close my eyes, feeling his touch, the safety it brings.
I’m safe. I’m safe because he came back.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and whisper, “You saved me.”
His lips press against my forehead, gentle and lingering, and I let the tears come, because I know he’s here, and he’s not going to let me go.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
MARLOWE
Right before my knees buckle, Damian scoops me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my face against his shoulder to block out the world. The smell of him—sweat, blood, and something inherently him—grounds me.
He murmurs something I can’t make out, his lips brushing the top of my head as he carries me to the SUV. I don’t want to look around, don’t want to see what’s left of Joel’s body in a heap outside the hole. I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my face into Damian’s neck, willing the images away.
He tucks me into the passenger seat, making sure I’m buckled in before he shuts the door and moves to the driver’s side. I catch a glimpse of Bridger, his face drawn and serious, checking on the others. I can’t think about any of it. Not yet.
Damian climbs in, turning the key, and the engine roars to life. His hand finds mine, resting on the console between us, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. I don’t let go. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.
The drive back feels like a blur, my mind too fractured to make sense of anything. My body aches, bruised and scraped, but it’s nothing compared to the hollowness in my chest.
By the time we get to the Cross brothers’ house, the sky is starting to darken, streaks of pink and gold on the horizon. Damian helps me out, keeping one arm around me as we walk inside. I can’t stop leaning into him, afraid that if I don’t, I’ll collapse.
As soon as the door closes behind us, I break. The tears come fast and hard, and I can’t hold them back. Damian pulls me against him, his hands running up and down my back, murmuring that it’s okay, that I’m safe, that he’s here.
I clutch his shirt, my fingers digging into the fabric, and sob into his chest. The weight of everything crashes down, all the fear and the helplessness, the anger and the betrayal.
“I thought you left me,” I whisper, barely audible. “I thought . . . I thought you were gone. That I’d never see you again.”
His arms tighten around me, his lips brushing my temple. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I didn’t think I deserved to?—”
I pull back, wiping my face, shaking my head. “Everyone leaves me, Damian. Everyone always leaves.”
He lifts my chin with his finger, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are fierce, unwavering. “Not me. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever. I swear to you.”
I can barely breathe, my heart twisting in my chest. “You mean it?”
He nods, pressing his forehead to mine. “Yeah. I mean it.”
Bridger clears his throat from the doorway, but he doesn’t interrupt. Damian doesn’t move, his hand still cradling my face.
“We still don’t know where Vick or Taylor went,” Bridger says, and I stiffen.
“I don’t care,” I cut in, surprising myself. “I don’t want anything to do with them. When I get back to New Jersey, I’m filing restraining orders against both of them. I’m done.”
Bridger gives a slow nod. “Probably smart. You did good back there, you know. We’re glad you’re okay.” He hesitates, looking between me and Damian. “I’m sorry, Marlowe. About what happened. But I always knew you had nothing to do with taking Delilah’s money.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry you got involved in this.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, wiping my cheeks. “You both had every right to doubt me. I would have, too.”
Bridger gives a small, tight smile and steps out, leaving us alone. Damian doesn’t let go, his hand still on my cheek, his other arm wrapped around my waist. “I never really wanted to leave you,” he says, his voice rougher now, like he’s confessing something he’s been holding back. “I just thought . . . I thought I’d ruin you. That I wasn’t good enough to keep you.”
