I looked down at our hands, at the rings, at the ink on my wrist, and felt the old fear slither up my spine—What if she came back with something worse? What if I didn’t have the words next time? What if I never really belonged, not even here, and everyone was just too polite to say it?
He must’ve seen it in my face, because he squeezed my hand, hard enough to anchor me. “She’s not coming back, Levi. Not in any way that matters. You closed the door on her.”
I nodded, but the fear didn’t go. It just changed shape, turned into something smaller and meaner—a voice in the dark that whispered, You’re not done yet.
We went inside, the shopsmelling of cedar and lemon oil and a little leftover sweat from the morning. I sat on the edge of the workbench, legs dangling, and let Quiad peel off his boots. He crossed the room and crowded into my space, hands on either side of my hips, body heat drowning out the cold.
He didn’t ask if I wanted to talk. He just held me there, his presence a wall against everything outside.
I buried my face in his chest. “Sorry for making a scene.”
He grunted, not buying it. “Next time, set the whole place on fire. I’ll help.”
I snorted. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d love anything you do,” he said, the words simple and true. “You’re mine.”
I tilted my head, found his mouth, kissed him—quick and brutal, because I needed to remind myself that I could. He tasted like sweat and river water and the promise of more.
He leaned his forehead against mine. “You ready for the party tomorrow?”
I blinked. “Party?”
He smiled. “Ma’s planning a wedding cake big enough to crush a doghouse. Bodean’s got fireworks. Gramps might try to moonshine the punch again.”
I groaned. “Can we just stay here?”
He shrugged. “We could. But you gotta show off your ring. Let everyone know you survived the gauntlet.”
I laughed, the fear finally breaking loose, replaced by something brighter. “What if I just get drunk and pass out on the porch?”
He grinned, sharp and beautiful. “Then I’ll carry you inside. Like a real husband.”
The word hit me like a body blow—husband. My husband. Nobody could touch that. Not even Gloria.
I kissed him again, longer this time, until I forgot the world outside. I held on, tight as I could, and when he finally let go, I saw my whole future reflected in his eyes.
He wiped a thumb over my cheek. “You’re home, Levi. Nothing’s gonna take that away.”
I believed him. I really did. When we walked upstairs, hand in hand, I looked back once—just to make sure the door was still closed. It was. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a stray looking for scraps. I was a McKenzie. I was wanted. And I was never, ever letting go.
Chapter Fourteen
~ Quiad ~
Darkness held the house close, thick and still as poured molasses. I woke to it, half-strangled in the new sheets, the scent of clean cotton and old paint mixing with something deeper: the sour-sweet bite of sex, and the musk of Levi's skin against my chest.
It was early—the kind of black where you can’t tell if it’s midnight or five a.m.—and every joint ached the way it always did after too much work or too much wanting. This was both.
Levi slept twisted around my torso, one leg hooked across my thigh, his entire weight pinning me to the mattress. Even unconscious, he clung like he thought I’d float off if he let go. The fine bones of his wrist cut pale against my ribs, and I followed the curve of his arm with my thumb, down to the ink band he wore like a manacle. My name, etched there in black, proof that the world couldn’t undo what I’d claimed. I circled it, slow, over and over, until the motion threatened to wake him.
He didn’t stir. Just curled tighter, face pressed to the bare skin below my collarbone, breath hot and damp where it pooled in the hollow. The hair at the nape of his neck was a mess, a blond snarl I could never resist smoothing. I did so now, careful, running my fingers through it with the kind of patience I reserved for finishing work: sanding, oiling, making it better with every pass.
It was our first morning in the new house, not just as Levi and Quiad, but as something else. Something the county clerk had called “husbands,” her voice gone wobbly at the edges like she couldn’t decide whether to be scandalized or delighted.
I’d barely had time to process it between Ma’s waterworks and Gloria’s last-ditch ambush in the parking lot. But now, in thedark, with Levi sprawled across me and no one else for a quarter mile, the truth of it settled bone-deep: He was mine.
Gloria’s final performance at the diner should have ruined the day. She’d staged it well—the hair perfect, the suit-wearing lawyer, the tears that started exactly as Levi crossed the parking lot. She thought she could spook him, maybe get him to run.
