“You could have broken your neck,” he says. His voice is shaking. Nate’s voice never shakes.
“But I didn’t.” I’m laughing, adrenaline making me giddy. “You caught me.”
He doesn’t laugh. He’s looking at me like I almost died, like the world almost ended, and I realize he’s trembling. Nate Thorn, who never shows fear, who never loses control, is shaking because I almost fell.
“Hey.” I touch his face. “I’m okay. I’m right here.”
“You scared me.” He says it like a confession. Like it costs him something to admit.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He presses his forehead to mine. Closes his eyes. Just breathes for a moment, his arms still locked around me like he’s afraid to let go.
“I’ll always catch you.” His voice is rough. “You know that, right? No matter what. I’ll always catch you.”
“I know.”
“Promise me you’ll be more careful.”
“Nate—”
“Promise me, Cara.”
I kiss him instead of answering. Soft and slow, trying to put everything I feel into it. When I pull back, some of the tension has left his shoulders.
“I love you,” I whisper. “Even when you’re being overprotective and growly.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “I’m not growly.”
“You’re extremely growly. It’s very alpha of you.”
“Someone has to keep you from killing yourself on rope swings.”
“My hero.” I kiss his nose. “Take me home?”
He carries me the whole way back to the truck, even though I can walk perfectly fine. And when I complain, he just holds me tighter and says, “Let me have this.”
So I let him.
That was Nate. Intense and protective and terrible at saying what he felt, but so, so good at showing it. He loved with actions. With shoveled driveways and caught falls and arms that never wanted to let go.
Our eyes meet.
His are wide. Shocked. Like he didn’t mean to catch me, like his body moved before his brain could stop it.
I’ll always catch you.
He kept that promise. Even now. Even after everything.
This close, I can see the flecks of darker gray in his irises. Can see the slight part of his lips. Can feel his breath fog between us.
For one endless second, neither of us moves.
His hand is still on my waist. I can feel the heat of his palm through my coat, through my sweater, like a brand. My own hands have landed on his chest, when did that happen, and I can feel his heart pounding under my palms.
Fast.
Too fast for someone who’s supposed to be unaffected.
