Cool air hits my skin. His gaze locks onto the clear wrap along my ribs. “What is that?” he asks, voice lower now.
“It’s not an injury,” I say softly. “I went to Black Iron.”
His eyes flick up to mine, then back to the wrap. “You got a tattoo?”
I nod, suddenly aware of how vulnerable this moment feels now that it’s here. My fingers find the edge of the wrap. “I wanted you to see it.”
He hesitates like he’s afraid of hurting me, and then I slowly peel one corner back just enough for him to see the ink beneath. His name. The date beneath it. His breath leaves him in a quiet rush, like something punched straight through his chest.
“Brooke…” He lowers himself in front of me without even thinking about it, kneeling in front of me so he can really see it. His hands hover near my waist, not touching, like the moment itself deserves reverence. “That’s… that’s me,” he murmurs, eyes tracing the curve of the script.
“That’s the day you saved me,” I say quietly. “Everything changed after that. I wanted to carry it with me. I wanted you with me.”
His throat works as he swallows. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” I tell him gently. “I wanted to.”
His fingers finally settle lightly against my side, careful of the tender skin. He leans in and presses a slow, reverent kiss just below the fresh ink, his lips warm against my skin, grounding and steady. Emotion swells inside me so fast it makes my eyes burn. “You put my name on your body,” he says softly.
“Your real name,” I whisper. “That part’s just for me.”
Something in his expression cracks open completely, the hard edges of him softening into something raw and unguarded. He rests his forehead briefly against my stomach, breathing me in like he’s anchoring himself. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he murmurs.
A quiet laugh slips out of me, thick with feeling. “Good.”
He stays there for another second, his lips still warm against my skin, his hand resting carefully at my waist like he’s anchoring himself to something real. When he finally looks up at me, his eyes aren’t guarded anymore. They’re open. Bare. The kind of look that makes my chest tighten and my throat go thick all at once. “I love you,” he says quietly.
The words hit harder than I expect, not because I didn’t know it, but because of the way he says it. My breath catches. “I love you too.”
His hand tightens slightly at my side, protective even in something this tender. “You’re mine,” he says, voice low and absolute. “You’re my forever, Brooke.” My heart stutters, emotion swelling so fast it almost makes me dizzy. “You’re gonna marry me,” he continues like this is simply a fact he’s announcing to the universe. “You’re gonna have my babies. We’re gonna build something real. Safe. Ours.”
I blink at him, a laugh bubbling up through the sudden lump in my throat. Trust him to go straight from reverent devotion to full future takeover.
I tilt my head, smirking despite the way my eyes sting. “So this is your way of asking me to marry you?”
His mouth curves into something dangerous and amused at the same time. “Princess,” he says calmly, eyes burning into mine, “I’m not asking.”
I lift a brow. “Oh?”
“This is happening,” he says simply.
The certainty in his voice sends a warm, reckless flutter straight through my chest. The kind that lets me breathe deeper instead of pulling tight.
I laugh softly and slide my hands into his hair, leaning down until our foreheads touch. “Good,” I murmur. “Because I would’ve said yes.”
Something shifts in his face, the tough edges giving way to pure, unguarded emotion. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a long time and finally lets it go.
He rises and pulls me into his arms carefully, mindful of my ribs, holding me close like this is exactly where I belong. And it is. His heartbeat is steady under my cheek. His arms are warm and strong around me. The world outside this room fades into background noise.
I close my eyes and let myself settle into him completely. He’s it for me. The man who carries the weight so I don’t have to. The man who loves me without hesitation. The man whose name now lives under my skin, right over my heart when he pulls me close. Whatever comes next, whatever storms wait down the road, I’m not walking into them alone. I’m walking into them with Javier.
EPILOGUE
REV
Eight yearslater and my house smells like pancakes, coffee, and the faint hint of strawberry shampoo. The sun is barely up, pale light sliding through the kitchen windows. I’m standing barefoot on cool tile in nothing but sweatpants, flipping pancakes one-handed while my daughter narrates my entire existence like she’s hosting a cooking show.
“Daddy, you’re gonna burn that one.”
