I step close. “Come here.”
She hesitates for half a second, then melts into me. Her arms slide around my waist. Her cheek presses to my chest. And I feel it—how much she’s been holding up alone.
I kiss the top of her head. “You did good today.”
She exhales, shaky. “It felt… normal.”
I tighten my hold. “Yeah.”
She pulls back just enough to look up at me. “Is that dangerous? That it felt normal?”
I brush my thumb over her cheek. “No. It’s what you deserve.”
Her eyes glisten, but she nods like she’s determined not to cry.
We move to the couch, and she curls into my side as if she’s done it a thousand times. I pull a blanket over us both. Aidan’s soft breaths fill the cabin, the fire crackles, and Kayley’s hand rests on my chest like it belongs there.
She tilts her head, looking at me through her lashes. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
I could tell her the truth. I could crack the dam and let all the horror spill out.
But she’s warm right now. Safe. Soft. And I’m not going to put that fear back into her unless I have to.
So I tell her the truth Icantell.
“I’m thinking about how I want this,” I say.
Her breath catches. “This?”
“This.” I tuck her closer. “You. Him. Here.”
Her eyes search mine like she’s trying to figure out if it’s allowed to believe me. “I’ve never had a place,” she whispers. “Not really.”
I kiss her forehead. “You do now.”
She shifts, her lips brushing my jaw as she nestles closer. The contact is innocent, but it lights a slow, steady heat in my gut anyway—because everything with Kayley feels like it matters.
Even the quiet moments.
Even the way she breathes against my skin.
I hold her tighter, listening to the storm outside and the baby inside, and I make a promise in the dark that no one can hear.
Not Renshaw.
Not Ford.
Not any ring or network or monster hiding behind a badge.
No one is taking them.
Not while I’m alive.
Kayley’s eyes flutter closed. Her breathing evens out.
