Arlo’s silhouette becomes visible, his tall frame coming into view. His white shirt is covered, soaked in blood, his dark pants ripped in a few spots. But what truly grabs my attention is the blue ribbon wrapped around his wrist.
It’s the one he gifted me, except it’s dirty, torn, and ready to be tossed out. Yet, the sight of him wearing something of mine, treasuring it despite its state, makes tears swell in my eyes.
And the moment our eyes connect, I allow the tears to fall. Arlo starts running toward me, and I follow suit. My bare feet carry me across the snow, the ache in them numbing the longer I run.
He pulls out his gun, and two bullets fly right past my cheeks. Momentarily, I pause and turn back to look.
Paul Simmons is on the ground, groaning and yelling in pain. Arlo missed — on purpose — any vital spots, and the two bullets are lodged inside his thigh and his shoulder. It’s enough to immobilize him for a while.
A rain of bullets follows. Cove’s behind Arlo, as well as Raven. The two create distance, covering more ground, as more of Arlo’s men start surrounding the place. I shake my head andcontinue running toward Arlo.
The closer I get, the less real this seems.
For four months, I’ve been hallucinating him. For four months, I’ve yearned to see him, to hear his voice again, to touch his face, to smell him. Because to me, Arlo smells like safety I never had the privilege of having; he smells like home — my home.
“Blair,” Arlo breathes out, his blood-clad hands cupping my cheeks. The stark contrast between his warm hands and my cold cheeks sends a wave of shivers down my spine. His voice is soft, like he’s terrified of scaring me.
My mouth goes dry, and the tears blur my vision. My hands reach up to cover his, and I lean into his touch. My bottom lip trembles, relief washing all over me. That damned scent of his is all I can smell, and all of the memories we share flood my mind.
“Arlo.”
“Are you okay?”
No, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay, not even once in my life. The past four months have been terrible, and they will haunt me for as long as I’m alive. But I can’t bring myself to tell him that. Seeing that look of pure pain for me in his bright eyes causes my heart to flutter, and I simply nod in response.
Arlo doesn’t waste a single second. His mouth falls on mine, and my knees threaten to give out. His soft, warm lips create a trail of goosebumps all over my body, and I move my hands to wrap them around his neck, fingers threading through his hair.
He kisses me like I’m the missing piece of his sanity, like I’m the only thing that’s keeping him grounded. His lips move against mine in sync, molding into each other. I can hear the sound of our heartbeats syncing, and if I didn’t know it earlier, I know it now — this man is my entire life.
His tongue slips into my willing mouth, a small groan coming from the depth of his throat. The fire, the snowfall, the massacre behind us all fade into the background, and I can’t seemto focus on anything other than him.
He’s here.
He’s really here.
I knew he’d come for me sooner or later, but even then, there was a small glimmer of uncertainty. Something that made me wonder if I was important enough for him to save, if I was important enough to be kept alive.
Arlo proves, time and time again, that there’s no him unless there’s me. He isn’t alive unless I am, and he isn’t breathing unless I’m by his side.
Arlo pulls back, still holding my cheeks. His hands tremble, and something in me breaks when I finally get to look at his face properly. His hair’s grown a lot in the past four months — reaching the nape of his neck, slicked back. Whether it’s from a gel or the blood that decorates the white strands, I don’t know.
But he looks absolutely fucking ruined. His cheeks are hollow, and although his physical state looks better than before, with more prominent muscles and a rougher build, I can tell that was just a distraction from this mess.
My eyes flick upward, meeting his gaze, and I don’t know how to react.
Arlo’s eyes are filled with unshed tears, and when he blinks, they all start falling, rolling down his cheeks. I wipe them away with the pads of my thumbs, and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. I don’t know how long we stay like that, making sure it’s reality and not our wild dreams playing tricks on us.
“My butterfly,’’ he croaks out, then opens his eyes, and all air gets sucked out of my lungs.
The pure, raw vulnerability catches me off guard. His eyes scream with happiness, yet a speck of sorrow is within the depths of his gorgeous grey eyes. Guilt fills my chest, because I know it’s all because of me. He’s been through hell and back to bring me back into his arms, and he’s just… tired.
“Arlo,’’ I whisper, getting on my tiptoes and leaning my forehead against his. We don’t speak for the next few moments, allowing ourselves to soak in the moment. His hands move down, and he grips the back of my thighs before effortlessly lifting me off the ground.
My legs wrap around his torso, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent, letting my own tears fall. I hug him tightly, like he is my lifeline — and that’s because he is. If it’s an obsession, it’s the wildest one. If it’s love, it’s deeply rooted in mutual understanding, the need to see the other one be the best version of themselves, and the devotion that is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
In this moment, I’m certain I’d give him anything, just to see him smile. I’d give my life to keep him safe, and I’d give everything I have and don’t have to make sure he’s happy. Arlo’s wrecked me, inside out.
He taught me patience, taught me what it means to be loved unconditionally, wholeheartedly, and what it means to be someone’s entire life. He’s mine, too. I cannot imagine not having him by my side or living the rest of my life without him.
