He catches me like he was built for it.
He was.
Like he was waiting for it.
Gods, I hope he was.
His arms lock around me, hauling me tight against him, burying his face in my hair, my cheek, my neck—breathing me in like he needs it to survive.
“Cookie—” he growls, voice breaking. “Where’d you go? Why’d you leave?”
His hands are everywhere.
Holding.
Checking.
Like he needs to make sure I’m real.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out, clinging to him just as hard. “My mom—she was texting me, saying she was coming here with my sisters and—Judd—and I had to get to the shop to call her and stop her, and it was this whole thing and I was going to come back, I swear?—”
“Your mom? W-why didn’t you wake me?” he demands, pulling back just enough to look at me, his hands still gripping my arms like he’s afraid I’ll disappear again.
“I should have,” I admit, breathless. “I should have, I know—I just—I didn’t want to bring all that baggage into this—into us. Not when we’re so new.”
His expression cracks.
Raw.
“Fuck, Hadley,” he breathes. “I thought you were walking out on me. On us. Before we even had a chance.”
My heart breaks a little at that.
Because I did that.
I made him feel that.
“Rob, I’m sorry?—”
“No. Don’t say that. Not yet. Look, I know you said you wanted to take it slow,” he continues, words tumbling over each other now, like he can’t stop them. “And I was trying, I was—I swear I was—but?—”
I can’t watch him struggle through this—so I beat him to the punch.
“You’re my fated mate.”
The words come out clear.
Steady.
Certain.
He stops.
Everything stops.
His grip on me tightens.
“What?” he asks, like he’s not sure he heard me right.
