Page 140 of Trigger Happy Ending

My teeth chatter from the cold (and from the nerves). “Soren.”

He blinks rapidly a few times, before the arm holding his gun drops to his side. He remains frozen, eyes locked on mine.

Slowly, I take a step towards him. Then another. Until I’m standing right in front of his beautiful face. I reach for his cheek and trace my thumb over the upside-down cross. I had to feel him, to let him know I'm really here and not a figment of his imagination.

The gun slips from his hand, hitting the forest ground with a thunk. He reaches for my face and cups my chin in his hands. His throat bobs. “Raine …”

I nod softly.

He exhales before he crashes his mouth on mine. It’s desperate and wild, like we’re proving to each other that this reunion is really happening. His hands are in my hair, then gripping my waist, lifting me like it’s the easiest thing to do in the world. He carries me up the small set of stairs and onto the porch, kicking the door to the lakehouse open with his boot.

I think he broke the latch, but I don’t care, because he doesn’t care.

He strides into his house, lips fused to mine, and sets me down on the kitchen bench. He stands between my legs, breaks the kiss, and rests his forehead against mine. He sucks in deep breaths and braces his hands on the bench, either side of my hips.

For a long while, we stay like this. Forehead to forehead, just breathing each other in.

“I nearly fucking shot you,” he admits after a while, raising his eyes to meet mine. “Are you okay?”

“It’s okay.” I cradle his face in my hands. “I’m okay.”

He blows a relieved breath out of his parted lips. “How did you find me? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come here to kill you for trading your freedom for mine.”

He grins at me, but not in a happy way, more of a sad, tragic way. Like when someone tries to lighten the mood at a funeral. You know how there’s always someone who tries to make everyone feel better, proclaiming that the person you’re mourning lived a long, happy life. But you don’t want to hear it because it doesn’t matter, does it? Ultimately, that person is still fucking dead, and no amount of wry jokes or positive thinking will ever bring that person back to you.

“Why?” My voice cracks a little. “Why would you do that, Soren?”

His forehead creases as he stares at me, eyes wide and wrecked and so annoyingly beautiful it makes me want to kiss him and slap him simultaneously.

“You asked me once if people like us could change. I’d like to think I can.”

My chin wobbles, and a wretched tear spills over and free-falls down my face, followed by another. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

Soren wipes away my tears with the pads of his thumbs. “You deserve a life, Raine.”

I want to scream at him. What kind of life is it if the only person on this godforsaken planet I can stand leaves me? And not only leaves me, but is now chained to an organization I am about to declare war on. Which, ironically, kind of makes him my enemy now.

“You left me.”

“I had no choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

He searches my face, and god, he is handsome. Even if he is a little worn thin. There are shadows beneath his eyes, like he’s not slept properly in weeks. Maybe he hasn’t. What he’s done, what he’s seen … trauma like that follows you around, crawls inside of you like a parasite and festers. It scars us all eventually. Even tough motherfuckers like him.

“You sacrificed your freedom,” I whisper, my throat burning. “Your whole life. For mine.”

“I’d do it again.”

No. No, I obviously haven’t made myself clear. I’m not okay with his decision to trade his life for mine. And I’m definitely not okay with his stupid break-up note. In fact, I’m completely out of my head about it.

I slam both hands against his chest and shove him hard enough that he stumbles back a step.

“You left me a fucking note?”

He lets me bathe in my psychotic break for a moment, before he steps toward me again.