Page 42

But then—he nods. Just barely. A slight, shaky nod.

Then he goes back to eating.

So do I.

Inside, I’m so damn relieved I could cry—but I can’t show that. Not here. Not now. I’ve learned how to wear stillness like armor.

Then I glance up—and Henry’s staring at me.

There’s a softness on his face that shouldn’t be there, not for me. It’s quiet and steady, almost reverent, and it cuts deeper than anything else could. Because that look? That look is hope.

And he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know he’s pinning it to a dying star.

One that flickers but can’t sustain. One that’ll never burn bright enough. One that was never meant to be enough—for anyone.

Least of all him.

“Did you put all the sharp objects away?” I ask over my shoulder, voice low, as Henry steps back into the kitchen after showing Dallas how to work the shower.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest—every line of muscle flexing, tattoos shifting like shadows over skin. His eyes are on me, quiet and unreadable, while I wash the dishes from earlier. I can feel him looking, like a hand pressed to the small of my back.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Then I lingered for a second. Just to make sure he was okay.” He pauses. “ He called me a pervert.”

I let out a short laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. Just a tension valve releasing the smallest bit of pressure.

When I glance over, he’s watching me. Not casual. Not distant. Like if he looks long enough, maybe he can decode what’s broken in both of us.

He pushes off the counter, steps closer. “He reminds me so damn much of you,” he murmurs softly. “All that fire. All that fury, and nowhere to put it.”

I turn, towel clenched in my hand. He’s closer than I realized. Close enough to make it hard to breathe. His hand lifts—callused fingers catching on a stray lock of my hair, twisting it slowly, like muscle memory he can’t stop himself from following.

“But like you were so eager to remind me,” I murmur, keeping my voice cool, even if my pulse isn’t, “I had someone in my corner.”

His eyes search mine—not for answers, but for something heavier. Something he’s scared to name out loud.

“I’m sorry, Louisiana.” My name sounds like it breaks something in him. “That wasn’t the point. I just—I panicked. Thought if we let him walk out, he’d end up doing something worse to escape. He’s just a kid.” His voice softens at the edges, like he’s already bracing for the backlash.

I meet his gaze and don’t flinch.

“And you thought I’d turn my back on that?” My voice is sharp, quiet. Not angry—wounded. “Thought I’d say no to a scared little boy with nowhere to go?”

Henry’s hand falls away as if I slapped it. His jaw flexes, breath catching in his chest.

“No, wildflower,” he says, and that word is thick with everything we’ve left unsaid. “I was the gamble. I knew you wouldn’t turn him away, but you’ve been saying no to me for so long…I didn’t think I could handle you turning away again. Not this time.”

Fuck, if that doesn’t knock the breath out of me.

He just doesn’t understand—. I carry too much shame to admit how small I feel, how broken. And yet, I am still too God damn chicken shit to tell him to move on. I’ve tried in every way that doesn’t involve my mouth. Because I know—I know—the second I speak it aloud, something inside me will snap, and my world isn’t ready for that kind of devastation.

Not yet.

I yank the dish towel off my shoulder, hands shaking as I dry them too fast, too hard. “You don’t fucking get it⁠—”

The words die on my tongue as Henry steps forward and wraps his arms around me.

No warning. No room to escape.