He nodded, sobbed a little, then started laughing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m more than okay.”
I held him there, hand stroking his back, listening to the rain on the window and the twin thrum of our blood cooling off.
It hit me, clear and sharp: This was my family now. Not the Steeles of Texas, not the ghosts or the old man’s legacy. Just me, and the omega in my arms, and the promise that no one would ever hurt him again.
If anyone tried, they’d answer to me.
I pulled the blankets up, cocooned us both, and kissed his temple. He looked at me, blue eyes shining, and I knew he saw it too.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I told him.
“Never,” he said, and I believed him.
We fell asleep in a knot of sweat and spit and dried tears, the storm finally breaking and leaving only silence behind. I’d claimed him. He’d claimed me back.
Tomorrow, we’d face the world together.
Chapter Ten
~ JoJo ~
I woke to the thud of my own pulse, loud in the silence, and the slow rise and fall of Rawley’s chest under my cheek. There wasn’t a clock in the room—he said the sun and his own stubbornness were all a man needed—but I could tell it was early by the blue glow squeezing around the edges of the curtains.
His arm was locked around my middle, forearm heavy as a gate bar, trapping me in place. I wasn’t going anywhere, and for the first time in years, I didn’t want to.
I let myself relax, breathing in the scent of sweat, soap, and the faint wood smoke that seemed to cling to him even after a shower.
Rawley slept like a man who had no intention of letting go. My face was mashed into the hollow of his shoulder, stubble rough against my temple. If I moved, even a little, his hand squeezed tighter. I wasn’t sure if it was habit, or a warning, or both.
I lifted my head, careful not to wake him, and let my eyes adjust. The old bed groaned under our combined weight. Sunlight knifed in through a crack in the blinds, catching on the army of scars that crossed his chest and arms.
Up close, the stories they told were clearer—one long white slash just under his ribs, a puckered bullet wound near his bicep, and a scatter of smaller nicks that looked like they’d come from broken glass, or maybe knives.
I traced one with my finger, letting myself follow the curve. I’d seen them all the night before, but daylight made them different. Less myth, more evidence. I wondered how many times he’d come close to dying before he found himself marooned here, with me clinging to his side like some barnacle.
I slid my hand up to my neck, slow, then traced the edge of the bite he’d left just above my collarbone. It was tender, the bruise still fresh, heat radiating from it like a warning beacon. The whole patch of skin tingled when I pressed it. It wasn’t just sex. It was a message, a flag planted in the soft earth of my body.
I’d never been claimed before. Not like this. Not in a way that left evidence you could see from the next county.
He stirred, a rumble deep in his chest, then rolled onto his back and brought me with him. I sprawled across his chest, my hair going every direction, but he didn’t seem to care. His hand slid up my spine, fingers splaying at the small of my back.
“Watching me sleep?” he said, voice hoarse with morning.
“You snore,” I said.
He smirked, eyes still closed. “You snore louder.”
I snorted, but he cracked an eye to catch me smiling. I let my hand rest on his chest, thumb tracing the sharp line of his clavicle.
“Your heart beats weird,” I told him.
He laughed, which made his abs jump under my palm. “That’s from the time in Afghanistan,” he said. “Shrapnel did a number, but I’m too ornery to quit.”
I wanted to ask about it, but didn’t want to ruin the morning with ghosts. Instead, I kissed the spot just above his heart, then let my cheek settle there. He smelled good—clean, but with a musk that made my own skin go tight.
He let me stay like that for a while, stroking my back, the weight of his hand making me feel safe in a way I’d never known before.
I thought of the last few months—the days I’d spent hiding in sheds and empty farmhouses, the bakery job I’d lost, the nights I’d curled in my sleeping bag on the floor of the old barn because I couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping in a real bed alone.
