Cracked. Not broken.
Manageable.
The shower runs hot.
Steam fills the room.
I step under the spray.
Heat hits like fire—then dulls.
I rest my forehead against the tile.
I can still feel my father’s collar in my grip.
Hear the impact.
Years of restraint snapping.
Necessary.
Earned.
Still cost.
Eventually, I straighten.
By the time I step out, towel low around my waist, I look composed again.
The mirror tells a different story.
She cannot see me like this.
Not tonight.
Maybe just… lay in the middle of the rain shower.
But then I’d have to get up.
Could just live there.
I take a deep breath. If it hurts, it means I’m still here. And if I’m still here, it means I’m not fucking done.
I dry off carefully, pull on my jeans and shirt, and school my expression back into something calm before opening the door. The hot water had hurt like hell, but it helped undo some knots, some tension had left me.
When I step back into the suite, Sera is still by the window, her silhouette framed by the lights of the Strip. She turns at the sound of me, and the small smile she gives me feels like absolution. I cross the room and slide my hands gently over her waist.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
She turns in my arms, searching my face as though she’s measuring the question against everything we’ve endured. “I am,” she says after a moment. “Are you?”
I don’t answer that directly. Instead, I guide her toward the sectional, my hand steady at her back. The leather is cool beneath us as I sit first and then pull her down onto my lap, settling her carefully against my right side. My left protests if I shift too quickly, so I adjust subtly, angling her weight where it won’t draw attention.
She fits there like she was made to.
My arm wraps around her waist, holding her close.
“I’m fine,” I tell her quietly, brushing my mouth against her temple. “I just needed to know you are.”
