She nods and follows me up the steps. I unlock the door and make damn sure she crosses the threshold first. That is how it works now. I protect her. She listens. We survive.
The deadbolt clicks behind us and some of the pressure squeezes off my lungs. Not gone. Just… contained for now.
She stands there in the middle of the room, twisting her fingers in the hem of her shirt. Like she doesn’t know what to do withher hands or her fear or her new reality. I drop her bag by the couch and flip on a couple lamps. Soft light fills the space. Warm. Safe.
“Come here,” I say, hand out.
She walks over slow, and when her fingers slide into mine, everything in me settles just a fraction. She feels small and delicate but she’s stronger than she knows. And the rest? I’ll cover for her.
I let myself breathe her in for one second longer than I should, then step back before I forget what the hell I’m doing and drag her into my bed without feeding her first.
“Go put your stuff in my room,” I tell her, nodding toward the hall. “I’ll get dinner started.”
She pauses, brows lifting like she needs the request clarified. “Your room?”
I look her dead in the eyes. “Yeah. Where else would you sleep?”
Color blooms on her cheeks and she drops her gaze for a moment. “Okay. Just tell me where you want it. Closet? Dresser? I can just keep it in the bag if that’s easier.”
I move behind her, hand curving around her hip as I lean in. “Wherever you want.”
She blinks up at me, breath held. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” My voice lowers even more. “I want your shit spread out all over my house, Bri. Bathroom. Closet. Dresser. I want to open my fridge and see your drinks next to mine. I want to trip over your damn shoes in the hallway and pretend I’mmad about it.” My thumb runs slow over her lower back. “I want this place to look like you live here.”
Her breath hitches, fingers white-knuckling the bag handle like she needs to hold on to something or she’ll float right out of her body.
“Blade,” she whispers.
I nudge her toward the bedroom. “Go on. Settle in. Make yourself at home before you pass out from stress.”
She nods but keeps staring at me like I just offered her the whole universe. Maybe I did. Hard to say anymore where she ends and I begin.
She turns and walks down the hall with a tiny smile she tries to hide but absolutely fails to bury. I watch her go and something unclenches inside me that has been locked up for years. This house has been too quiet. Too empty. Too full of ghosts.
Now there is something better inside it. Someone better. Her.
I turn toward the kitchen and crack my knuckles because I need a distraction if we’re going to eat before I lose every ounce of self control. She deserves dinner. She deserves peace. She deserves everything good.
She trusts me. I intend to be a man worth trusting. Time to act like it.
I pull open the fridge like I might find a miracle in there. Eggs. Bacon. Chicken I should have cooked two days ago. Bacon and eggs it is. Nothing fancy but warm food is still fuel, and she needs that.
I set a skillet on the stove, grab the bacon, and start working. I’m halfway through when her footsteps pad softly into the kitchen. Hesitant. Like she doesn’t want to intrude. Like she hasn’t earned a place here yet. She damn well has.
She stands in the doorway, nerves tucked behind a shy smile. “Your room is really clean,” she says. “Like suspiciously clean.”
I smirk. “Trust me. It gets messy fast.”
She shifts, leaning her shoulder against the frame, hands behind her back. “You’re really sure you want my stuff… everywhere in your space?”
I set the skillet down and face her, towel in hand. “Bri. I want you everywhere in my space.” My voice goes steady. Dead certain. “I want to wake up and see your shoes by the door and your lotion shit taking over the counter.”
Her lips twitch. “My lotion shit?”
“All seventeen bottles that somehow do the same thing,” I tease.
Then I cut the distance between us in half and let every wall I’ve been hiding behind drop.
