“Because it’s what you needed,” he says simply. “And because I will do anything I can to make sure you have what you need. Even if you don’t ask.”
My throat closes.
He starts the car, one hand steady on the wheel, the other still warm against my skin for just a moment longer than necessary.
I curl around Olga, exhausted beyond words, and for the first time all day, I let myself breathe.
The house is quiet when we pull in, too quiet for how loud my chest feels.
Langston barely lets the car stop before he’s out, opening my door, guiding me inside with a hand firm and steady at my back. I don’t argue—not really. I don’t have it in me.
The second the door opens, Olga explodes into motion.
She tears through the entryway like she’s been shot out of a cannon—sliding on the floors, nails clicking, barking at absolutely nothing as if she’s announcing to the house that she’s home and everyone should be grateful. I let out a watery laugh despite myself.
“At least someone’s thriving,” I murmur.
Langston watches her for half a second, shaking his head, before turning back to me. His eyes soften, that worry still etched into his face like it hasn’t let go of him since the hospital.
“Come on,” he says gently.
“I can walk,” I protest when he bends down.
“I know,” he answers, already sliding an arm under my knees and another around my back. “But I want to do this.”
The words steal the fight right out of me.
I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me upstairs, my head resting against his shoulder. He smells like travel and adrenaline andhome. Olga races ahead of us, skidding into walls, then back out again like she’s lost her mind.
When he reaches the bedroom, he sets me down carefully on the edge of the bed, like I’m something fragile. Something that might break if he’s not careful.
I open my mouth to thank him.
He doesn’t give me the chance.
Langston drops to his knees in front of me, suddenly—abruptly—and presses his forehead into my stomach. His arms wrap around my waist, holding me there, grounding himself against me likeheneeds this as much as I do.
My breath catches.
“I was terrified,” he says quietly, voice muffled against me. “When Jack called… I thought it was you.”
My hands move to his shoulders without thinking, fingers threading into his hair.
“I couldn’t breathe,” he continues, words spilling now. “I kept seeing you hurt. Kept thinking about everything I’d said. Everything I didn’t say. About how I walked away this morning like an idiot because I was afraid.”
My chest tightens.
“I don’t care if you only give me one year,” he says, grip tightening. “I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t want you. Pretending I can pull away from you and be fine.”
I lean forward, resting my forehead against the top of his head.
“Langston,” I whisper. “I don’t want—”
He lifts his head.
And before I can finish, before I can say the words that feel too big and too real, he’s on his feet and his hands are on my face and his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss isn’t slow.
