Eva shifts against me, tilting her face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I just…” The words stick in my throat. Am I supposed to just say it? Like it’s easy? Like it won’t change everything?
“Asher?” She cups my jaw, her thumb tracing along my cheekbone. “What is it?”
I look at her through the steam. Water droplets cling to her eyelashes. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her cheeks flushed from the heat, and she’s looking at me like I’m something precious, something worth waiting for.
“I want to tell you something,” I manage. “But I’m not… I don’t know how to…” I break off, frustrated. I’ve built entire software systems from scratch. I’ve debugged code that made other developers weep. But I can’t string together three simple words without my throat closing.
Eva’s expression shifts. Something knowing enters her eyes—not impatient, just… understanding. She reaches past me and turns off the water. The sudden silence is deafening.
“We don’t have to stay in here,” she says quietly. “If you want to talk.”
“No, I…” I catch her hand before she can step out. “Stay. Please.”
She nods, and the bathroom is quiet except for the shower dripping and our own breathing. Steam curls around us, slowly dissipating. Eva doesn’t push, doesn’t prompt, doesn’t try to fill the silence with chatter. She just waits, her hand warm in mine, giving me space I didn’t know how to ask for.
“I haven’t said this to anyone,” I admit. “I used to tell my parents, obviously. And my sister. But they’re stuck with me.”
Eva’s grip tightens on my hand.
“But this…” I gesture between us, inarticulate. “What I feel about you? It’s not safe. It’s terrifying. If I say it, it becomes real, and if it’s real, I can lose it, and I’ve already lost—” My voice cracks. Actually cracks, like I’m fifteen again and powerless.
“Asher.” Eva’s voice is gentle. “I’m not going?—”
“I love you.”
The words come out rough. Ragged. Nothing like the smooth declaration I imagined in my head. They scrape out of some deep place in my chest, a place I’ve kept locked for so long I forgot it existed.
“I love you,” I repeat, and it’s easier the second time but also harder, because now I can feel the weight of it, the enormity of what I’m admitting. “I love you, and it scares the hell out of me. Everyone I’ve ever loved has either left or suffered, and I couldn’t do anything about it. And you…?”
I have to stop. Breathe. My eyes are stinging, and I tell myself it’s the residual steam. “You’re so good, Eva. So bright. I keep waiting for you to realize I’m not—that I’m too broken, too closed off, too much work. That you could do better.”
Eva is crying now. Tears slide down her cheeks, mixing with the water dripping from her hair.
“And I know that’s my shit to deal with,” I continue; apparently the dam has broken and I can’t stop. “But I need you to understand when I say I love you, it’s permanent for me. There is no halfway. You have bored into my soul, and I… require you now.”
I run out of words. Stand there in the cooling bathroom, naked and exposed in more ways than one, feeling like I’ve just handed her a weapon that could destroy me.
Eva reaches up with both hands and cradles my face. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks wet, and she’s smiling even through the tears.
“Asher Thorne,” she says softly. “I love you, too.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle.
“I’ve loved you since you crawled out of those woods like a wounded bear,” she continues. “I’ve loved you through every grumpy morning and every almost-kiss and every time you pushed me away because you were scared. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to leave. And I don’t think you’re too much work.” She brushes her thumb across my cheekbone, wiping away moisture I’m sure is mostly shower water. “I think you’re exactly the right amount of work.”
I let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, and I kiss her—not hungry like before, but slow. Careful. Like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her mouth, the taste of her lips, the way she sighs against me when I pull her close.
“Say it again,” she whispers when we break apart.
“I love you.” Easier now. Still scary. But easier.
“Again.”
“I love you, Eva Storm.” I press my forehead to hers. “I love you, and I’m keeping you, and I’m going to spend an unreasonable amount of time figuring out how to be the kind of person who deserves you.”
“You already are,” she says. “You’ve been that person the whole time.”
