"But."
I reach into my other pocket.
I pull out the single silver key on a leather fob. The spare to my cabin. Never given to anyone—not Logan, not my brothers. My sanctuary. My solitude.
I take her hand, the one clutching her house key. Pry her fingers open. Drop my key into her palm right next to hers.
Her eyes snap to mine. Shocked.
"Oliver?"
"That key opens your door," I point to the brass one. "Your safe house. Your independence. Whatever you need it to be."
I close her fingers over both keys, engulfing her fist.
"But this one. This one is your home."
Breath hitches. "You... you want me to stay?"
"I told you I was broken. Told you I was dangerous. I am. Not a soft man, Avery. Don't know how to do the gentle thing. I see threats in the shadows and sleep with a knife under the mattress."
I lean down, forehead against hers. She trembles.
"But when I was down there, fixing that porch... all I could think about was that I didn't want you behind that door. I wanted you behind mine."
"You pushed me away yesterday," she whispers. No heat, only vulnerability.
"I was scared." Words taste like ash. "Thought if you saw the war in my head, you’d run. Thought I was doing you a favor."
"You’re an idiot," she whispers, a wet laugh bubbling up.
"I know." I slide hands to her waist, pulling her flush. "But I’m a useful idiot. I can fix things."
She looks at the keys, then me. Fear gone. Replaced by something fierce. Steady.
"I don't need you to be soft, Oliver. I’ve had soft. Soft leaves when things get hard. Soft makes promises it can’t keep." She presses her hand over my heart. "I need solid. I need the man who fixes my porch in a blizzard because he wants me to be safe."
The knot in my chest loosens.
"I’m not letting you go, Avery," I growl. "Keep that key. Come and go as you please. But you sleep here. With me."
"Is that an order, Vanguard?" Her eyes dance.
"A negotiation. I protect you. You keep the ghosts away."
She rises on tiptoes. Presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. A seal. A contract signed in breath and warmth.
"Deal."
I exhale a long, shuddering breath. Pull her into a hug that lifts her off the floor. Bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. It drowns out sawdust and old fear.
Outside, wind rattles the windowpanes. Inside, the fire burns warm. Coffee smells hot. For the first time in a long time, the cabin doesn't feel like a bunker.
It feels like a home.
"You look exhausted," she murmurs against my shoulder. Fingers card through hair at my nape.
"I’m fine." A lie.
