We were two broken people clinging to the only person who really saw them.
"I've got you," I murmured into her hair. "I've got you."
She shook harder. Fingers digging into my shoulders like I was the only thing keeping her upright.
Maybe I was.
"He doesn't get to do this to you," I said. Low. Fierce. "Not anymore."
"He'll ruin you?—"
"Let him try." I pulled back just enough to tilt her face up, thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks. "You think I give a damn what Nate threatens me with? I've been ruined before. I'll survive."
"Calder—"
"But I won't let him hurt you." My voice dropped to something raw. Dangerous. "Not again. Not ever."
Her eyes searched mine. Red-rimmed. Desperate.
"What if you lose everything?" she whispered.
"Then we lose it together."
She closed her eyes. Fresh tears spilled over.
I pulled her back against me. Held her while she cried. Let her break in the only safe place she had left.
And for the first time in weeks, I stopped pretending I didn't care.
Because I did.
More than I'd ever cared about anything.
And that terrified me more than any threat Nate could throw my way.
She cried herself out somewhere around midnight.
Her breathing evened. The tremors stopped. Her grip on my jacket loosened—just slightly—but she didn't let go.
I shifted her gently. Guided her toward the worn couch shoved against the back wall of my office. She didn't wake. Just followed the motion, curling onto her side like her body knew it was safe.
Her hand stayed fisted in my sweatshirt.
I tried to ease it free. Careful. Slow.
Her fingers tightened.
"Don't," she mumbled. Eyes still closed. Voice thick with sleep.
I froze.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said quietly.
She settled. Exhaled. Her face went slack again.
I stayed crouched beside her for a long moment. Watching the rise and fall of her shoulders. The way her lashes rested against her cheeks. The faint crease between her brows that didn't smooth even in sleep.
She looked young.
