I shake my head. “I can’t. Every time I close my eyes I think I’m there again.”
He leans closer, lowering his voice so it’s just for me. “Then we do it different,” he says. “We sit. We breathe. We keep the lights on. You hold my hand. You lay in my arms. You don’t gotta be brave alone.”
My chest caves. Because that’s the thing. I’ve always been brave alone. I didn’t realize how heavy it was until someone offered to carry it with me.
I nod, small. Miles’ gaze flicks to Grandpa who is awake again.
“Sir,” he says, respectful. “I won’t let anything happen to her again.”
Grandpa’s eyes shine. “I believe you,” he says simply.
Miles looks back at me. “I’m not leaving,” he repeats, softer now. “Say the word and I’ll stay. Here. Arkansas. Wherever.”
My voice comes out like a whisper. “Stay.”
The word tastes like hope and fear braided together. Miles exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, baby. I’m here.”
And for the first time since my car died on that dark road, my body loosens just a fraction—enough to feel the truth of it settle into my bones.
I’m home.
Grandpa is alive.
And Miles is standing in my living room, choosing me like it’s the only choice that makes sense.
Nineteen
Miles
Danae stands in the doorway to her bedroom, one hand on the frame, like she’s asking herself if she’s allowed to cross the threshold back into normal life.
I watch her breathe. Slow. Careful. She’s still here. That thought hits me again and again, each time like it’s new. “You okay?” I ask quietly.
She nods, but her eyes are too bright. “I think so. I just don’t want to be alone.”
“You won’t be,” I reiterate, and there’s no hesitation in it. “Not tonight. Not after.”
She steps back, giving me room to follow her in.
The bedroom smells like her, clean laundry, soap, something softer underneath. The bed is neatly made, like she left it expecting to come back. That thought tightens my chest until it hurts.
I close the door behind us, slow, gentle. No locks. No sudden movements. I want everything about this moment to tell her she’s safe.
She sits on the edge of the bed and rubs her hands together, staring at the floor.
I kneel in front of her without thinking, resting my forearms on my thighs so I’m level with her. I don’t touch her yet. I let her choose.
Her eyes lift to mine.
“You really came,” she states softly.
My throat tightens. “There wasn’t anywhere else I could be.”
She swallows, emotion flickering across her face. “I kept thinking if I could just make it a little longer. If I could just stay alive you would come for me.”
I reach for her hands then, slow, giving her time to pull away if she needs to. She doesn’t. Her fingers curl into mine like she’s been holding herself together by will alone and finally doesn’t have to.
