Her gaze flicks to mine in the reflection.
“We’ll get through this,” I tell her, not because it’s easy, not because I’m certain of anything beyond the fact that I will tear the world apart if I have to, but because she needs something to hold onto, and I will always give her that. “Together. Always.”
Her lashes lower slightly, her breath catching, and I don’t push, don’t demand more than she can give right now.
Instead, I press a slow kiss to her shoulder and then step back, dragging a hand through my hair as I move toward the closet, because the world is waiting outside that door, and I don’t get to meet it as anything less than what they expect me to be.
What I need to be.
I strip quickly, trading my sweaters for dark jeans that sit low on my hips, worn boots that hit the floor with a solid, heavy weight, a black t-shirt that clings to my chest. The leather jacket comes last, heavy and familiar as I shrug it on.
Rings slide onto my fingers one by one, silver catching the light as I flex my hands, grounding myself in the ritual of it, in the transformation.
By the time I look up, I barely recognize the man staring back at me.
Hair still messy, like I’ve just rolled out of bed, jaw shadowed, eyes sharper than they’ve ever been.
A rockstar.
A husband. A father to be.
A man with everything to lose.
But it’s not me I’m looking at.
It’s her.
I cross the room, reaching for her hand and lifting it between us, my gaze dropping to the ring on her finger—the one I just purchased for a cool fortune. I would cover every inch of her in diamonds if it brought her happiness.
It catches the light as I tilt her hand, the stone flashing.
I bring it to my lips, pressing a slow kiss against it.
“My wife,” I murmur against her knuckles, possessive and unwavering.
Her breath stutters softly, her eyes search mine.
“I don’t deserve you.”
I step closer, my hand sliding to her jaw, my thumb brushing lightly over her cheek.
“Yeah, you got some shit luck ending up with me. You must have taken candy from babies.” She giggles, the sound chimes like the tinkling of bells.
I need to get my fucking ears tested.
“Whatever happens out there,” I tell her quietly, holding her gaze, making sure she hears every word, “they don’t get to touch you. Not really. Not where it matters.”
Are you… are you talking about her pussy? If one of them yells grab her by the pussy we got other problems, bro.
No, no, don’t touch me there…this is my no, no, square.
Fuck me, I need to drink bleach or something to cleanse these fucking thoughts.
Her lips part slightly, and I lean in just enough that my forehead brushes hers, the contact brief.
“Let them look. Let them talk. Let them fucking choke on their words. It means nothing to us.”
Outside, the noise is already building.
