But after days locked away, reality starts to creep back in.We’re running low on supplies, which means stepping out.
Stepping back into a world that’s been sharpening its knives while we’ve been pretending we’re untouchable.
I pull on my suit jacket, every muscle wound tight, like I’m already bracing for the war waiting on the other side of the door.
I glance over at Emery.She’s curled up on the couch, knees tucked tight to her chest, her eyes wide and too fucking quiet.
She doesn’t say anything.She doesn’t have to.I see it all written across her face… Trust.Worry.Love.All twisted into one silent plea that wraps around my ribs and squeezes.
"I won’t be long," I say, voice low, rougher than I mean it to be.
She nods, just once.But her eyes don’t leave me.
They hold me there.
I can’t just walk out like this.
I cross the room in two hard strides, grab her face in my hands, tilting her head up until she has no choice but to look at me.
My mouth finds hers, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, desperate like if this is the last time, if shit goes sideways out there, at least she’ll know exactly how much I fucking love her.
I pull back slowly, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip, memorizing the feel of her like a man about to walk into a war he might not walk back from.
"I love you," I murmur."Don’t ever fucking forget that."
She gives me a soft, sad little smile."I won’t," she says, her fingers brushing against mine."Come back to me."
"Always," I promise.
I linger for a while just standing there.Watching her.Burning the image of her into my brain until I can find the courage to walk away.
Walk away from the only good thing in my fucked-up life.
The door clicks shut behind me, and the cold hits harder than I expect.
Not the air.The absence.The absence of her warmth, her breath against my skin, the quiet weight of her trust still wrapped around my chest like a second heartbeat.
I pass the car and head towards the truck, tucked away in the garage.My hand grips the gun tucked at the small of my back, second nature now. Violence in one hand. Purpose in the other. And fuck if I’m not ready to use both.
I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather cold against my skin.The engine growls to life beneath my hands, low and rough, a sound that fits the way my blood’s pounding in my veins.
I shift the truck into gear and roll forward.Leaving the garage behind.Leaving Emery behind.
The cabin fades in the rearview with every second, swallowed by trees and silence, but I still feel her eyes on my back.Still feel the ghost of her kiss lingering on my mouth.Still hear her voice echoing in my head.
Come back to me.
I will.
I fucking have to.
For her.
For us.
The road into town feels like a countdown.Every mile dragging me closer to the edge of something I can’t undo.Time moves differently when you know the peace you had might not be waiting when you return.
Half an hour later, I park on a side street, engine idling for a second before I kill it.
