“You’re not mad at me? I mean, you said you were okay with Koen, but now, with Ace back and Nicholas holding me?—”
“Uh-uh.” I press a finger against her lips, shaking my head. “Let’s not drag that dickhead into this.”
She smirks, the tiniest glimmer of the fire I love so much peeking through. “Sylus.”
And just like that, the worry that’s been simmering inside me bubbles over. It starts as a flicker, a nagging thought I’ve been trying to shove down since Alaric walked through that door. But now it’s a wildfire, impossible to ignore.
What does this mean for us?
Her first love. Her only love. The man she mourned so fiercely, the reason she pushed me away over and over, is alive. Just a few doors down. It changes everything, doesn’t it? The thought digs deep, twisting in my chest until I can’t hold it back anymore.
“I’m not mad about Alaric.” I meet her eyes. “I… I worry you’ll pick him now that you have him back. He had you first.”
Her expression softens, and she lifts her pinky between us in invitation.
Without hesitation, I hook mine around it, the simple gesture binding us tighter than any grand promise could. Her lips brush against our joined fingers, but I capture her mouth in another kiss, one that tells her I’m here, I’mhers, and I’m not letting go.
“I love you,” I breathe out against her lips.
Her breath catches, her eyes still closed, and the silence stretches, the air thick with everything unsaid, the steady rhythm of our breathing the only sound in the room.
Finally, she nods, her free hand rising to cover mine where it rests against her cheek. Her fingers are cool, trembling, but the resolve in her voice is clear when she whispers, “Okay.”
I know what it means, what she means, and what she can’t say yet but obviously feels. So, I brush my lips against her forehead, lingering there, unwilling to break the contact. But the exhaustion etched into her features tugs at me, reminding me she needs more than whispered promises right now.
“Okay.” I shift, looping my arms around her and cradling her against me while I rise and carry her to the bed. Her body yields as if this is where she was meant to be all along.
I set her down, and the mattress sinks under her weight. Her eyes watch me as I cross to my walk-in closet and open a drawer, pulling out a pair of sweats and slipping into them before grabbing a set for her.
“Let’s get you comfortable.” I kneel in front of her, sliding the sweats up her legs. My fingertips brush her calves, her knees, lingering just long enough.
She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she relaxes further, the tension in her shoulders unwinding bit by bit. But when I turn to pull the hoodie over her head, my gaze lands on the scar on her shoulder. I trace the edge of it lightly, feeling the weight of a question pressing on my chest. And since she lets me, since it’s the first time she doesn’t push me away, I let myself ask.
“Is this from the car crash?”
“No. It’s from when I pulled my dead twin out of the car before it caught fire.”
Fuck.
“You had a twin?”
“Yes.” Her eyes drop. “She died. I killed her. Or apparently, Ace and I killed her.”
Her shoulders slump, and she looks so damn small like the weight of the world is finally crushing her. I don’t know how to fix this, how to pull her back from that abyss. My hand rises to her neck, my thumb brushing along her jaw. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could take some of that pain and carry it for you.”
“It feels like I don’t deserve to have him back somehow. She should be happy and alive. We were the ones doing the reckless shit, and now…” Her voice cracks. “Now we’re the ones still here.”
Her words hollow me out. I want to know everything, every detail, every scar, but not like this. Not when she’s so worn down that she can barely stand under the weight of it all.
Before I can overthink it, I grab the hoodie and help her pull it over her head, making her push her arms through the holes. When she’s fully clothed, I trace small circles over her thigh with my thumb. The sight of her in my clothes does something to my heart, and I use it to change the heavy subject.
“You look good in my clothes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah…” I press a kiss to her temple, “… too good. So, the love of my life is calledNovalee, huh?”
She bites her lip to keep from smiling. “She’s called Sparkle.”
