Eamon stared down at our joined hands, his jaw working like he was fighting an internal battle. When he looked up, his eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“I want to tell you everything,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how much I want to tell you the truth.”
“So tell me.”
“I can’t.” The words sounded like they were being tornfrom his throat. “If I could, if there was any way…but I can’t, Charles. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” He closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. “Because you wouldn’t understand. Because it would change everything between us. Because?—”
“Because you don’t trust me.”
“No!” His eyes flew open, fierce and desperate. “Because I trust you too much. Because I love—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Fuck.”
My heart stopped. “You love what?”
Eamon pulled his hand from mine, standing abruptly and turning toward the window. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
But I couldn’t forget. I could still hear the word hanging unfinished between us, could see the tension in every line of his body as he stared out at the darkening afternoon.
I stood and walked over to him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you’re hiding, whatever you think is so terrible that you can’t tell me— It won’t change how I feel about you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” I turned him to face me, my hands framing his face. “I know you, Eamon. Maybe not all the details of your past, maybe not your whole story, but I know who you are. I know you’re good and kind and protective and that you care about me more than you probably should. That’s what matters.”
“Charles…” His voice broke on my name.
“I don’t need to know everything right now.” I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. “But I need you to trust that I’m stronger than you think I am. That I won’t break orrun away when you’re ready to tell me the truth. Can you do that?”
For a moment, I thought he might crumble entirely. His hands came up to cover mine, his eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.
“That’s not your choice to make.”
He opened his eyes then, and what I saw there made my chest tight. Love, yes, but also a grief so profound it took my breath away. Like he was already mourning something he hadn’t lost yet.
“Come here,” I said, pulling him into my arms.
He held me like I might disappear, his face buried in my neck, his breathing uneven. I stroked his hair and murmured wordless comfort, wishing I could take away whatever pain he was carrying.
We stood like that for a long time, wrapped around each other in the fading afternoon light. Outside, the snow had stopped falling, leaving the world pristine and silent. Inside, the fire crackled softly, and the lingering scent of fresh bread made the cabin feel like a home.
It was perfect. Too perfect.
And I was beginning to understand that perfect moments were often the most fragile ones.
“Whatcanyou tell me?” I asked when he finally let go. “Has there been a new development in the case?”
He blew out a breath, his shoulders slumping. “The NYPD suspects they have a mole. Their undercover inside man went missing.”
I swallowed thickly. “What does that mean?”
“That means we no longer have eyes on Carlo, no longer know where he is or what his plans are.”
My blood ran cold, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice down my back. “He could be looking for me.”
