"Say it again," I whisper.
"I love you." Steadier this time. More sure. "I didn't know I could. I was designed not to. But I do. I love you."
"I love you too." The words come easy because they're true. "I know it's fucked up. I know we're fucked up. But I love you anyway."
He kisses me. Soft and sweet and tasting like whiskey and the absinthe I'm definitely going to regret tomorrow.
We fall asleep tangled together, and again, there are no nightmares.
Just warmth. Just peace. Just this fragile, impossible thing we've built in the space between destruction and hope.
Chapter Fifteen: Jagger
ThehangoverwhenIopen my eyes is spectacular.
A skull full of broken glass and a tongue that tastes like something died on it. Jonah is still asleep beside me, face mashed into the pillow, making small sounds of distress every time he shifts. The absinthe was a mistake. Everything after the absinthe was a mistake.
But I remember what I said. What he said back.
I love you.
The words echo in my head, mixing uncomfortably with the pounding. I meant them. That's the terrifying part. I meant every syllable.
I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom, where I drink directly from the faucet like an animal before risking a look in the mirror. The man staring back looks like hell. Bloodshot eyes, gray pallor, hair that's given up all pretense of cooperation.
This is what love looks like, apparently. Messy and hungover and completely undignified.
By the time I make it to the kitchen, Jinx is already there, looking offensively functional for someone who drank twice as much as everyone else. He's cooking eggs, humming somethingtuneless, moving with the ease of a man who's never experienced consequences.
"Morning, brother." He doesn't turn around. "Coffee's fresh. You look like death."
"I feel like death."
"That's the absinthe. It's traditional. God, you stink like death too."
"Your fault."
He slides a plate of eggs across the counter. I stare at them with deep suspicion.
"Eat," he says. "We have work to do."
The eggs are good. I hate that they're good. Jinx has no right to be competent at anything domestic. Especially when we drank enough to kill a horse.
Jace and Elliot emerge an hour later, both moving carefully, both avoiding sudden movements. Jonah is last, appearing in the kitchen doorway with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.
"I'm dying," he announces. "This is my death. Witness me. TO VALHALLA."
"Dramatic," Jinx rolls his eyes.
"I'm a dramatic person. We covered this last night."
"You also sang. I remember that. It was cute."
"We're never speaking of that again."
"I'm speaking of it right now."
I hand Jonah coffee. He accepts it like I'm offering salvation, which in a sense I am. We stand together at the counter, shoulderstouching, drinking in silence while the others move around us.
