"No promises," I breathe, and I pull her back down, drowning the pain in the only way I know how—in her mouth, her touch, her presence that makes me feel whole even when I'm broken.
She kisses me harder, deeper, like she's trying to punish me and save me at the same time. And maybe she is. Maybe we're both trying to save each other from ourselves.
Maybe that's all we've ever been doing.
"I love you," I hear myself say against her mouth, the words escaping before I can stop them. "I love you and I'm sorry and I can't lose you."
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes wide and shining with tears. "You're not going to lose me, you idiot. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise me."
"I promise," she whispers, but there's something in her eyes—guilt, fear, secrets—that makes the promise feel hollow.
But I take it anyway. Because it's all I have. Because we're both liars holding onto each other in the dark. And maybe that's the only truth that matters.
11
VALENTINA
I wake up before Xavier.
The morning light filters through the curtains in soft golden streaks, painting his face in warmth he doesn't usually allow himself in daylight. He's still asleep beside me in the bed at the safe house, his face relaxed in a way it never is when he's awake. No pain lines creasing his forehead. No tension in his jaw. Just Xavier—vulnerable and human and mine.
My chest aches looking at him.
Yesterday he nearly killed himself proving a point. Stood in front of sixty people on legs that barely work, held himself upright through sheer willpower and rage, and then collapsed the second the door closed. I held him while he shook with pain and exhaustion. Kissed him while he whispered things he'd never said before.
I love you.
The words echo in my head. He said them. Actually said them out loud instead of just showing me through actions, throughthe way he looks at me, through the way he touches me like I'm something precious.
I trace my finger along his jaw, feeling the stubble scratch my skin. He stirs slightly but doesn't wake. I should let him sleep—he needs it after yesterday—but I can't help myself. Can't stop touching him, confirming he's real and here and alive.
His eyes open slowly, focusing on me with that dark intensity that makes my stomach flip.
"Morning," he says, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I lean in and kiss him softly. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a truck." He shifts slightly and winces. "But alive. That's something."
"That's everything." I press my forehead to his. "Don't ever do that again."
"We already had this conversation," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck. "I made no promises."
"Xavier—"
"I know." He kisses me, cutting off my protest. "I know, Val. But I had to do it. Had to show them."
I want to argue but I understand. God help me, I understand the need to prove you're not broken, that you're still capable, that you still matter. "You scared the shit out of me."
"I scared the shit out of myself," he admits quietly. "Thought I was going to pass out halfway through."
"But you didn't."
"But I didn't." Something like pride flickers in his eyes. "Made it through. Bought us time."
"At what cost?" I brush my thumb across his cheekbone. "You could barely move after."
