Welcome!

Hey friends, It’s finally here—Part 2 of James & Annelly’s love story! 🖤

Broken Resolve picks up right where Broken Misery left off. If you haven’t read Book 1 (Broken Misery) yet, I recommend starting there to get the full emotional punch.

Thanks for trusting me with your heart. Now let’s see how far James and Annelly will go to fight for their love.

— Ariana

P.S. Are you new to the Broken Redemption Series ? You can start with James & Annelly Book 1 ( Broken Misery ) or with Lucas & Emilia Book 1 ( Broken Vows ) —both are complete entry points into the series.

✨ New chapters in ongoing stories land every Tuesday & Thursday at 3:00 PM EST.

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Prologue

Annelly

He came out of nowhere.

One second, I was pinned beneath Victor—naked, bruised, seconds away from being violated in the worst way imaginable—and then the door exploded open like judgment itself.

And James was there.

A fury in motion, all muscle and rage, slamming into Victor with a sound that cracked through the room like thunder. In a blink, I was forgotten. Freed. Victor was ripped off me and thrown against the wall, James’s fists already flying.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t speak. Just attacked. Blow after blow, relentless and raw. I could hear the breath tearing out of Victor’s lungs. The wet crunch of bone meeting bone. The rasp of James’s fury barely held in check.

For a split second, I thought it was over.

That I was safe.

But then Victor twisted—snakelike, slippery—and his hand closed around James’s gun.

Everything stopped.

He tore it free from its holster with a savage yank, shoving James backward and raising the gun in the same breath.

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening .

I don’t think. I just move. My body jolts forward on instinct, driven by sheer panic and the bone-deep terror of losing him.

Not James. Not now. Not like this .

“Victor—please.” My voice cracks, thin and desperate, as I step between them.

My bare feet scrape against the cold tile, my body trembling, raw, and bruised. But I don’t care. Not about the pain. Not about the shame. Not even that I’m naked. I don’t feel any of it. All I care about is stopping him from pulling that trigger.

“Annelly, don’t—get behind me!” James roars, lunging toward me.

But I’m faster. I dart out of reach, placing myself between them. Stepping closer to the man who wants nothing more than to destroy us both.

“You don’t have to do this, Victor.” I plead, my breath hitching. “I’ll stay with you. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please—let him go. I swear I’ll stay. I… I’ll love you.”

The lie scrapes my throat raw, tasting like blood and betrayal. But if it buys James even one more second, I’ll say anything.

“Please, Victor.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Just give me this one chance. I can fix this. I can fix what I broke between us.”

Victor laughs—loud, sharp, and unhinged. The sound slices through my ears like broken glass. “Don’t play me for a fool, my little dove,” he purrs, wiping blood from a jagged cut on his cheek. His face is a mess—split lip, swollen eye, fresh bruises blooming across his skin—but his smile is pure malice. “If you really loved me,” he says, voice dripping with mockery, “you’d let me shoot him.”

He throws his head back and cackles, the sound sending a bolt of terror straight down my spine.

He’s going to do it.

He’s really going to pull the trigger.

“No. Please…” I sob, the agony ripping through me like a knife. I would do anything—say anything—to save the man I love. “Let him go. Then I’ll dance for you. I’ll stay. I’ll do anything—just please don’t hurt him.”

I don’t know how I’m still standing. My legs tremble violently beneath me as I stare down the barrel of the gun and into the eyes of the deranged man who still claims to love me. I feel like I’m about to collapse—from the fear, the pressure, the sickening uncertainty of how this standoff will end.

“Oh, shut up,” he snaps, voice thick with annoyance. “You expect me to believe that? After everything you’ve denied me? After all your running—making me chase you—you seriously think I’d buy that bullshit?” He scoffs, disgust curling his lip.

“Yes.” The word scrapes out, raw and trembling. I take another step closer, my eyes pleading through the tears slipping down my cheeks. “Because you can read me. You always have. And I know you see it. How sorry I am. How much I regret everything I’ve done. I’m here now. Standing in front of you, of my own free will, telling you I’ll stay. I’ll be yours.” The words feel like shards of glass as they leave my mouth, shredding my throat on the way out. I can barely swallow past the bile rising behind them.

But then his eyes flick past me.

And suddenly the gun rises higher.

He narrows his gaze, aiming straight at my head. “Take another fucking step, and she dies.”

“Victor, no… look at me.” My voice breaks as I fight to hold his focus. Anything to keep his attention off James. “This is about you and me,” I say, taking another small step forward. “I loved you once. There’s no reason I can’t love you again.”

Another lie.

The only man I’ve ever loved is standing behind me.

But I tap into her— the girl from the stage. The heroine who could fake a smile through shattered bones and dance through hell on bleeding feet. The one who played the damsel so well, she could make the monsters believe she was weak… even while she was setting them up to fall.

I let her take over now. Let her wear the mask. Perform the role. Say the words.

“Deep down,” she whispers, voice small and frayed. “I think I always knew I was meant to be yours.”

But Victor is anything but stupid.

A fact he proves when he growls, “Then prove it. Come to me, and in front of lover boy back there, kiss me. Show us both just how badly you want me.”

His demand makes my stomach lurch. Makes me want to run away and disappear. But for James… I push through the shame. Through the fear. Through the rising static clawing at the edges of my mind.

“Get a move on, Dove.” His voice sharpens. “We both know I’m not a patient man.” His gaze drags down my body—slow, deliberate, violating. A shiver of fear slithers up my spine.

I suck in a shaky breath, suddenly hyper-aware of my nudity. Of the humiliation simmering beneath every inch of my bare skin.

I take a step. Just one.

And it feels like stepping off a cliff.

“Annelly, don’t—” James’s voice booms through the room, but it’s too late.

I force my legs to move. One step. Then another. My skin burns. My nerves scream at me to cover up, to run, to escape this nightmare. But I keep going. Exposed. Stripped bare—not just of clothes, but of dignity. Of power. Of self-respect.

Still, I keep moving. Because if this is the price of saving him, I’ll pay it. Gladly. Over and over again, until I know he’s safe.

When I reach Victor, I lift my chin and look up. Eyes wide. Lips trembling. My heart pounds so loudly, it drowns out everything else.

Then, rising onto my toes, I lean in.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t meet me halfway or try to make it easier.

He just waits—like he’s testing me.

And when I press my mouth to his, it’s not a kiss. It’s a surrender.

His mouth is wet and greedy. The sharp, metallic tang of blood hits my tongue—the split in his lip smearing against mine—and bile rises in my throat. I want to gag. To scream. To run.

But I stay frozen, lips to his, while my stomach churns and my heart pounds like a warning drum in my chest.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be real.

But it is.

Desperate to escape the horror, I squeeze my eyes shut.

Just breathe. Keep him distracted. Save the man you love.

Then suddenly—so fast it rips pain through me—his arm snaps around my waist.

No!

He spins me hard, slamming my back against his chest. One arm locks across my bare torso, his hold crushing and unyielding. The other still grips the gun, now aimed squarely at James.

I gasp—a sharp, broken sound—as my arms flail uselessly. Panic crashes into me.

What have I done?

I’ve handed him control. Given up every ounce of leverage I had.

I can’t protect him.

Oh God, I can’t protect him.

The thought guts me, my knees buckling under the weight of it. Victor tightens his grip, holding me up as he grabs my breast, squeezing hard and cruel. I whimper, and James growls—a sound of pure rage and helplessness.

“See?” Victor hisses against my ear, his breath hot and rancid. “Now this , my dove… this is love.”

I freeze as terror takes over my body.

My eyes snap to James. He’s standing there, shaking, his face flushed with fury. His hands curled into fists he can’t use.

Victor raises the gun, aiming it straight at his chest.

A scream builds in my throat, but I swallow it down. I can’t break. Not yet. There’s still a chance I can talk him down.

But then I see it. His finger is moving. Slow. Intentional. Settling on the trigger, and this time I know he’s not bluffing.

“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no—” But the words barely leave my lips.

“It’s alright, snowflake,” James says, calm and steady in that voice he only ever uses with me. “Just… just close your eyes.”

But I can’t. I won’t. There’s no way I’m letting him face any part of this alone.

Before I can say as much, Victor’s voice slices through the air like a blade.

“No, Dove. You keep those beautiful eyes on lover boy over there,” he snarls, “or I swear to God—I’ll shoot him, then force you to paint these walls with his fucking blood.”

Like the thought arouses him, he grinds against my backside. Obscene. Possessive. Deliberate, like he’s taunting James.

I shudder, nausea coiling hot in my gut as a whimper slips free. My tears fall fast now, silent. Relentless. And I hate it. Most of all, I hate him.

“Now, I like a threesome as much as the next guy…” he murmurs, low and vile. “But the trouble is—you kept her from me. So, fuck you.”

The gunshot cracks through the air.

Louder than thunder.

And I scream—his name, a prayer, a sound I didn’t know I could make.

When the ringing fades, all I see is him.

James.

His eyes lock on mine. Wide. Shining. Like he’s terrified to look away. Like I’m the last thing he ever wants to see. The only thing that matters in this moment.

Then—

Blood.

It blooms across his stomach. Dark. Spreading fast.

And he falls.

A scream rips from me before I even realize I’m making a sound.

“James!”

Oh God!

All I see is blood. So much blood.

The world tilts.

I twist, frantic, trying to break free. Trying to reach him. To throw myself between him and death again. But Victor holds fast. His arm a vise across my chest as I claw at him, wild and blind.

My body’s shaking too hard. Everything is unraveling.

“No, no, no,” I sob. “Please, no—James—”

My knees give out.

More screams tear free, raw and feral, echoing off the walls like something not human.

I don’t feel naked anymore.

Don’t feel the bruises marking my skin.

Don’t feel the cold.

Only the terror.

Only the guilt.

Because I did this .

I failed him .

I failed the man I love, and now he’s on the ground bleeding.

All because of me .

❤️

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# Chapter 1

James

The second I open the door, the cold hits me like a warning. Sharp. Bitter. Merciless. But even that isn't enough to break the frozen grip wrapped around my chest.

For a second, I just stand there unable to move beyond the threshold. My heart hammers so hard it hurts. My lungs feel tight, like something heavy is pressing down on my ribs. I stare out at the trees. The mountains. The wide stretch of white-dusted land I built this house on because it was supposed to be 
safe
. Because it was 
far above
 the strife and filth of this world. Remote. Untouchable. At least that's what I believed. What I 
needed
 to believe.

But now?

Now it feels exposed.

Like everything I thought I'd fortified is suddenly made of glass.

The wind cuts across the porch, rustling the branches and scattering the snow from the treetops. Every sound feels amplified. Too sharp. Yet too quiet. The kind of blaring silence you hear just before something breaks.

I scan the woods, my gaze darting to the shadows. Searching. Taking them in. Wondering if he's out there. Watching.

My gut twists painfully at the thought. I know the sensors are working. Every camera. Every perimeter alert. But none of that matters now, because the damage isn't in the physical breach—it's in the knowing that he knows where she is. Even after all the precautions we took. Even though we haven't left this place since she moved in, except for that one afternoon, to visit Emilia and the baby. 

And God, we were careful. 

So fucking careful, but in the end, none of it mattered. Because the devastating truth is... Victor found her because of 
me
.

I'm the reason.
 

I goaded him that night, when he showed up on her doorstep, like some smug, untouchable bastard. I provoked him. Pressed all his buttons, just to prove I could. I thought I was smarter. Better than him in every way. And yeah, I enjoyed it—getting under his skin. That brief second where it felt like I had the upper hand. Like I'd beat him in his own game. 

But all that did was paint a giant target on her back. A target he followed and led him straight to my home—
our
 
safe place
—because I made it obvious she was with me. That I was the obstacle he'd have to go through to get to her. 

Fuck.

Sick with regret, I force down the bile rising in my throat and finally look. Just by the door is a box. Inside a glass vase with two dozen white roses, arranged in delicate tissue paper, tied with a satin bow. Tucked against the stems... a cream-colored envelope. 

My throat closes. My fists curl. And my heart sinks as the full weight of it settles in. 

Not only has he found her, but now, the one place I've spent my entire adult life trying to make 
safe
... 
isn't safe anymore
.

"James." Zeb's voice cuts through the noise in my head. "Go ahead and get the card. Just the envelope. Don't touch anything else."

I try to swallow, but my throat's too dry to get it down. 

The wind shifts behind me, rustling the trees. But beneath it, I swear I hear something. 

Footsteps. 

In the snow. 

My pulse spikes. I whip my head toward the tree line, scanning every shadow, every place someone could be hiding. There's nothing there. Just branches. Silence. I know it's probably all in my head, but still... I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched.

Desperate to end this and get back to her, I crouch. My fingers tremble as I reach toward the bouquet. It's an exact replica of the ones he sent to Aunt Rosie's house and the diner. Same local flower shop. Same pristine arrangement. Clean. Bright white. Like his intent is pure and not some fucking game.

I spot the envelope tucked in the center—cream-colored, thick, made of premium stock. I don't want to touch it. Don't want to know what it says. But for her—to protect her—I have to do this. So I pinch the corner and lift it free. Slow and deliberate, like one wrong move might set it off.

Then I tear the flap. The crack of the paper splitting the silence makes me flinch. Inside, there's a folded card. No logo. No design. Just a block of text printed in black ink:

"I HAD a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving. O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, with a silken thread of my own hand's weaving."

I read it again.

And again.

My heart plummets to my stomach as the lines from the John Keats poem hit harder with each pass. Until now, the quotes in the other deliveries were cryptic. Twisted, yes. But there was a romantic veneer, some sick imitation of longing.

But this? 

This is different. 

This speaks of death. Of 
captivity
. There's no ambiguity. No misreading it. 

This is a threat. 

And it turns my chest to concrete.

As I force myself to breathe, I flip the card over, dreading what I'll find but needing to see it nonetheless.

"To my Dove.
 
Until we meet again."

That's when the real fear sets in.

My hand goes numb, and the card slips from my fingers, landing face down on top of the roses. Cream on white. Colors meant to evoke peace. Serenity. Beauty and elegance. But here, in this context, they're a mockery. A contrast so stark it makes my skin crawl. 

"Talk to me, man." Zeb's voice cuts in again—sharper now. Like he can feel me unraveling and knows he needs to pull me back. "Don't go quiet on me. Tell me what it says?"

But I can't speak. My mouth won't cooperate. The words are there, clawing at the edges, but I can't force them out. All I can do is stare. My gaze drifts from the flowers, to the house, to the treeline beyond the drive.

My home.

My sanctuary.

The only place I've ever managed to make feel 
safe
.

And now all I see are angles. Vantage points. Places someone could hide. Could watch. Could aim.

My eyes snap to the floor-to-ceiling windows lining every room of this house. Every shadow feels suspicious. My own reflection in the glass entrance door startles me. The man staring back is a stranger. Too tense. Too wrecked and anxious to pass for the version of me that opened this door just minutes ago.

Because he found us.

And I'm the idiot who led him straight here. 

"I can't..." It's all I manage to choke out. All my other words are trapped behind the terror consuming me.

Thankfully, Zeb doesn't push. Instead, his voice softens, steady and calm, becoming the tether I didn't know I needed.

"Leave it there. All of it. Walk away and go back inside. I'll be there soon to take care of it."

"I—" My voice breaks. "Zeb... he knows she's here."

"I know." His tone is matter-of-fact. No judgment. No pity. No sugar coating. Just a quiet certainty I'm grateful for. "And I've got your back. We all do. Just go back inside, man. Lock the door. Sit tight. We've got this."

I squeeze my eyes shut, fist curling tight at my side as I take one last look at the outside of my home. This place—this land tucked into the mountains, away from the rest of the world. I built it brick by fucking brick to be untouchable. Unreachable. It was supposed to be our shield. A fortress designed to finally give Tyler and me the security and stability we never had.

And now?

It's compromised. Contaminated.

And I don't know how the hell to fix it. I don't even know if I 
can
. And for a guy like me—a guy with 
my
 kind of history—that feels like the end of the world. It's like I've been shoved right back into the body of that helpless 12-year-old kid, drowning in fear and uncertainty while the world ripped away everything I loved. Everything I needed, including my little brother. 

It takes everything in me to stifle the sob fighting to break free. 

I don't move.

I can't. 

The air bites at my skin, but it barely registers. My hands are clenched so tight my knuckles ache. And there's a feral roar buried deep in my chest that I 
can'
t let out, because if I do, I might tear this entire fucking house to the ground.

The phone's still pressed to my ear. Zeb's breathing is steady on the other end, giving me space. Letting me sit with this mess. Letting me come apart just enough to maybe find my footing again. But how the hell am I supposed to do that... when the ground beneath me feels like quicksand?

"Victor," I whisper. My voice sounds foreign. Frayed. "He's fucking coming for her."

"Probably," he says softly. "But we've been planning for this, remember? We always knew it might come to this. That's why we have contingencies."

I press my palm against the side of the house, grounding myself in the feel of rough wood beneath my fingers—solid, unyielding. The opposite of everything I feel right now.

"This place was supposed to be safe," I rasp. "It was the one goddamn thing I could control."

"I know. But listen to me, brother. Take a breath. Let all that shit go and leave it out there. Right now, all you need to do is go back inside, lock the door, and breathe. I'll handle the rest."

"Breathe," I echo, the word sounding foreign on my tongue.

"That's right," he says gently. "You remember how. You've done it before. You've come back from worse than this. You know you have. So start there. Breathe. Then focus on Annelly. She and Tyler are going to need you."

My eyes shut tight. The second he mentions them, something in me splits wide open. Fear rushes in like a tidal wave, crushing and suffocating.

"What if I can't fix this?" My voice is barely a whisper. "Without this... I don't know how to protect them. What if I fail her? What if I fail them both?"

"You won't."

"You don't know that." I shoot back bitterly. Because how the hell 
could
 he when I'm not so sure myself?

"I do." His voice sharpens, anchored with that unshakable conviction he always carries. "Because I know 
you
. I know the kind of man you are. You don't sit back. You don't fold. You face the threat head-on, knuckles up, and you fight like hell for the people you love. It's who you are, James. It's what you do."

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. 

"Plus, you're not alone. You've got us—OTS, Ben, your friends. You've got a goddamn army behind you, and we're not letting this bastard win. Period. Not here. Not now. Not ever. So for God's sake—please tell me you fucking hear me?"

My jaw clenches, my chest burns, and I nod, even though he can't see me. When I finally manage to speak, my voice is shaky but more sure. "Yeah. You're right. I hear you."

"Good. Then get the fuck inside. Lock the door. I'll be there shortly." 

And just like that, the line goes dead. 

❤️

 
Can't wait for more? I've got you... 
👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

And the best part? Following me there is totally 
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.

Just hit 
"Follow"
 on 
REAM
 to get early access without needing to subscribe. 
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NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!

Chapter 2

James

Alone now, I try to salvage what little remains of my sanity. Just like Zeb said, I step back inside and lock the door behind me. The card, the flowers, the threat that is Victor Bastille… I leave it all out there.

But it doesn’t matter.

The cold follows me in like a ghost, clinging to my skin, burrowing beneath the surface. The air feels wrong. Unfamiliar. Like this house, this sanctuary I built with my own two hands has turned against me. Like it no longer recognizes me. No longer wants me here.

I press my forehead against the door and shut my eyes.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It doesn’t help. The walls feel too close. The silence, too loud. The floor beneath my feet feels wrong, unstable, like the whole goddamn foundation is shifting beneath me.

I want to move. To pace. To punch something until my knuckles split open and the pain gives this chaos a name. But I can’t.

Because she’s here.

Downstairs.

Unaware.

And it would be selfish to disappear into my own mess while she’s still in the dark, still trusting me to hold the line.

So I stay.

I stay and fight to control the shaking in my hands. To contain the panic before it consumes me.

I brace my palms on my knees, breathing like I’ve just run ten miles uphill. My ribs ache. My vision blurs. The pressure in my chest builds faster than I can work to clear it.

Then Tyler’s face flashes in my mind—grinning this morning as he teased me for zoning out. Said I looked like a lovesick fool, staring off into space while smiling like an idiot, obviously thinking of her. I denied it, of course. Full scowl and all, but he was right. Because he knows me better than anyone else in the world.

And now he’s at school.

Oblivious.

Safe—for now.

But how long will that last? How long until the ripples from my mistakes reach him, too? Until I have to look him in the eye and tell him we can’t stay? That the place I built for us—the only true home we’ve ever had—isn’t secure anymore? That we have to start over somewhere else?

The burn behind my eyes is blinding. The ache in my chest, worse. But I bite it back. Swallow it down. Because if I let it out, if I fall apart now, I won’t stop. I’ll break. And I can’t afford to do that right now. Not when everything I’ve worked for, everything I care about, is slipping through my fingers.

So I lean into the anger instead. Letting it build. Letting it burn. Fanning the flames until it boils beneath my skin, scorching everything soft inside me. Everything that aches, everything that makes me feel helpless.

It’s just what I need.

Takes the edge off the fear.

Numbs the grief.

But with nowhere to put it—no outlet, no target—it turns to static. To thunder inside my skull. To screaming between my ears.

My eyes flick to the stairs.

She’s down there. In my office. So close, and yet impossibly far.

And she’s in danger.

I push off the door, muscles tight with the need to move. The need to see her. To make sure she’s okay. To anchor myself in her before I fucking shatter.

I head downstairs without a plan. Without a single clear thought beyond her . Each step feels like walking into a fire. An inferno I can’t extinguish, that I know might burn me alive. One I’m not sure I can survive.

But for her?

I’ll take the risk. I’ll face the heat. For her, I’ll walk through the flames, regardless of the cost.

That’s why I keep on going.

When I finally reach the office, I pause in the doorway. She’s still seated next to my desk, her lips curled in the softest smile as she chats with Owen on my laptop. Her laugh—quiet, real—hits me like a gut punch. It sounds like light. Like hope. Like something that shouldn’t exist in the same world as the white roses and the threatening note still sitting on my porch.

And then… like she senses me, she looks up.

Our eyes meet.

Her smile falters.

She studies me. And even though I try, even though every cell in my body screams at me to be strong, to man the hell up, to bury the storm of emotions detonating inside me… I can’t. I’m just not strong enough to hide all the cracks.

“Hey, Owen? James is back,” she says softly. “I’m gonna go.” With no hesitation. No explanation. She just clicks the button and ends the call.

Because she knows.

Because she can see right through me.

I try to stand straighter. To school my features. To pull the mask back into place.

But the second I look into her eyes—those wild green eyes that always see too much—it all unravels.

Before I can stop myself, I’m moving. Dropping to my knees in front of her, I reach for her hands… and breathe out in relief when she doesn’t pull away.

She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t push. She just watches me. Soft. Quiet. Steady. Like she knows it’s what I need.

And that’s all it takes.

A sob rips out of me—raw, ragged, uncontainable. I lower my head to her lap like a man defeated.

And this girl—

This amazing fucking girl—

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. She just holds me. One hand in my hair, the other drawing slow, soothing circles on my back.

And I let go.

Of the panic. Of the anger. Of the shame.

Of everything.

It all pours out of me—wave after wave.

Breaking me

Soothing me.

And somehow in the end… piecing me back together.

I don’t understand it. I don’t want to need it. But in this moment—this unbearable, silent collapse of everything that I am—there’s no safer place in the world than her hands.

And that’s when I know I’m fucked.

It’s over.

There’s no going back.

I’m irrevocably hers.

And no matter what happens next, there are only two ways this ends—

With me losing her because I failed her.

Or because I don’t have it in me to be the man she needs. No matter how badly I want it. No matter how hard I try.

Either way, I’m guaranteed to end up the same:

Shattered.

And more irreparably broken than I already am.

❤️

Can’t wait for more? I’ve got you… 👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

And the best part? Following me there is totally FREE .

Just hit “Follow” on REAM to get early access without needing to subscribe. You’ll find the link at the top of my Wattpad profile!

NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!

# Chapter 3

Annelly

The sound nearly shatters me. A guttural, broken sob that rips through the silence as his body collapses onto mine.

One moment, he was standing in the doorway—shoulders tense, jaw locked, eyes hard. The next, he's on his knees, head buried in my lap. His entire frame shakes so violently it rocks me with him. His hands clutch the hem of my shirt like he's holding on for dear life. Like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go.

It stuns me.

Freezes me.

Because the James I know is all edges and sure steps. Confident. Controlled. A man who walks into any room and commands it, like not even gravity can touch him. He's a protector. A shield. The kind of person who guards the people he loves behind steel walls built to keep the rest of the world out. Someone who's always three steps ahead. Always in control. Always unshakable. 

But this?

This is someone else entirely, and it rocks me. 

My heart stutters in my chest, my hands beginning to tremble. But even before I can process the shock, something else rises within me. Something stronger. Fiercer. Protective. It spreads through me like heat, like instinct. A sudden, inexplicable need to ground him. To soothe him. To shield him from whatever's breaking him apart.

I shift, adjusting so I can hold him closer. One hand slides into his hair while the other presses against his back. The emotion clogging my throat makes it impossible to speak, so I don't bother. In this state, I'm not sure words would even reach him. 

So I let my touch speak for me instead. Letting him know I'm here. That I've got him. That whatever this is, he's not facing it alone. 

Tears sting behind my eyes as I feel him shudder against me again. But I blink them back, because this isn't about me. It's about him. And for once, he's not wearing the mask of indifference. There's no armor. No performance. Just raw, unfiltered pain, spilling out like he can't hold it in anymore.

And God, it's devastating. 

But underneath it all, there's something else. A quiet kind of reverence. Because the fact that he came to me like this—on his knees, shattered and vulnerable—shows a kind of trust I didn't think he was capable of giving. Not to me. Not to anyone.

It's why I don't rush him.

Whatever wrecked him like this feels far bigger than anything I can name. So I don't ask. Don't prod. Don't fill the silence with questions he's not ready to answer or reassurances he won't believe. 

I just stay. 

Hoping my touch is enough. 

His sobs aren't quiet. They tear through him. Each one jagged and raw. And every time I think he's done, another wave hits. 

It's all too much to witness. At one point, I have to stop, just for a second, to wipe away the tears streaking down my own cheeks.  

Whatever did this to him... it must be bad. Really bad. And suddenly, I'm terrified.

To ask. 

To know. 

But then...

"Tyler? James—" My voice breaks. "Is it Tyler? Is he okay?" The words rush out sharp and frantic. When he doesn't answer, I shake him gently, my panic spiking until I'm trembling right along with him. 

When he finally responds, it's not with words. He just nods, but the way his hands tighten around me, the way his head burrows deeper into my lap, does nothing to ease the panic clawing through my chest.

"James... what do you need? Just tell me what to do." My voice cracks, ragged and pleading. "Whatever it is, I'll help you fix it." 

Because suddenly, I'm terrified we're wasting time. Maybe sitting here like this isn't the answer. Maybe we should be calling OTS. Maybe we should be packing, getting ready to run.

Did Victor find me? 

Oh god. 

Is that what this is?

That thought gets cut off when James pulls back. Like he's read my mind. Like he feels the fear unraveling inside me. 

He lifts his head. Cups my face in his hands. And his eyes—God, they're wrecked. Not just bloodshot. Not just glassy with anguish. But hollowed out and stripped bare.

That's when I feel it. The shift. 

It moves through the air like a current—subtle, electric—pulling all the air from my lungs.

I don't move. 

Don't even blink.

The world goes still, suspended in a beat that stretches impossibly long, balanced on the edge between sorrow and something deeper. Something dangerous in its tenderness.

Then he breathes—a sharp, broken sound that catches in his throat. 

And in the next heartbeat, his mouth is on mine. 

It's not gentle.

It's not rough. 

It's desperate. 

A kiss born from collapse. From the hollow ache of everything he's trying not to feel, all of it poured into this single, aching touch. It's a plea. Not for forgiveness. Not for understanding. But for comfort. For escape. For something to make it all stop, if only for a moment.

For a heartbeat, I let it happen.

Because I feel it too.

The weight of everything left unsaid. Every stolen glance. Every charged moment we tried to pretend didn't mean something. It's all here, pressed between us. Tangled in the pressure of his lips, in the unsteady grip of his hands as he gathers my face like he's afraid I'll disappear.

So I kiss him back.

Because I want him. 

Because I need him. 

Because for all the pain between us, I've never felt more seen—more wanted—than I do right now. And even though I know this is dangerous, even though I know he's not okay and I probably shouldn't be okay with
 any
 of this...

I fall.

Headfirst.

Into him.

Into the kiss.

Into everything I've never let myself want... until now.

At first, the kiss is nothing but heat and longing—his mouth pressing harder, his fingers tightening at my waist like I'm the only solid thing left in his world. 

But then... something changes. 

He
 changes.

His hands start to move—frantic. Searching for the feel of my bare skin. One hand tangles roughly into the back of my hair, the other slips beneath the hem of my shirt. Sliding. Kneading. Grasping at me not just with hunger, but with something sharper. 

Desperation. 

And I swear I can feel it. His need for it all to disappear. To bury the pain beneath sensation. To drown it in touch. In pleasure. Maybe even in physical pain.

That's when it hits me.

This isn't just a kiss anymore. For him, it's now a shield. A distraction. A way to lose himself so he doesn't have to face the emotional turmoil churning inside him. 

This isn't about him wanting me anymore.

Not really.   

The way his hands move—too careless, too desperate—it's like he's not even seeing me.

My heart twists painfully at the realization. I can't let him do this. Not to himself. Not to me. Because I know if we keep going, if I let him use me to numb away his pain, he'll never forgive himself for it. 

And worse... 

I'm not sure I'd forgive myself either.

"James..." I whisper, breathless. My fingers curl against his chest, not pushing him away, but stilling him. "Wait."

He freezes. 

One hand still fisted in the hair at the nape of my neck, the other curled around my ribs, just beneath my breast. His forehead leans into mine, his breath ragged. Shallow. His body trembles like the act of stopping is taking everything he has.

"Please." My voice softens to barely a breath. "Just... wait."

And it's like a switch flips.

He jerks back like I slapped him. His eyes snap to mine—wide, stricken, burning with a shame so raw it makes my stomach drop. His breath stutters. His gaze flickers between my lips and my eyes like he's trying to piece together what the hell just happened.

"Fuck! I—I shouldn't have—" His voice cracks, and whatever else he meant to say dies in his throat.

Then he's moving.

Too fast.

Pushing to his feet like the floor just caught fire beneath him. Like if he doesn't get out now, he might not survive.

"James—" I whisper, barely able to find my voice. 

To my surprise, he stops. Mid-step. Shoulders tense. Head bowed. For a long moment, neither of us breathes. He doesn't turn. Doesn't speak. But I see it.

The way his fists clench at his sides. 

The way his back rises and falls like he's drowning under the weight of everything he just exposed. 

And even from here, I can feel it—that spiral wrapping around him, dragging him down. Telling him to run. To evade. To bury it all down, so he can go on pretending none of this ever happened.

Watching him retreat again sparks something deep in my chest—grief wrapped in quiet betrayal. Because this is what he does. For every step forward, there's always the recoil. The backslide. The crash.  

But this time?

After everything he's said. After all his pretty words about wanting to try, if he walks away now, I don't know if I can keep holding on. It's time. Either he fights for me now... or I have to let him go. 

Swallowing the ache that thought brings, I rise slowly. The chair creaks behind me as I step forward, stopping just behind him as he stares at the door like it's the only thing that might save him.  

I don't touch him. 

I don't force it.

I just whisper, "Please don't shut me out. Don't walk away. Not this time."

His shoulders lift on a sharp inhale. 

Then fall. 

And when he finally turns to face me, our eyes lock. For a moment, the entire world stills.

His breath leaves him in a slow, uneven exhale. His gaze flickers between my eyes. Searching. Assessing. Or maybe he's just trying to convince himself that this—us—is worth the risk.

Then his hand lifts. Uncertain at first, like he's still not sure he's allowed to reach for me. But then, like an offering, he opens his palm to me in a wordless plea. 

And my body answers without hesitation. 

His hand closes around mine. Rough, warm, trembling just enough to let me know he's still struggling. 

But then he pulls me in. 

Not like before. There's no desperation in it now. Just a silent apology. The kind of embrace you give when you're grateful the person you hurt hasn't walked away.

When his forehead comes to rest against mine, I close my eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. His voice frayed at the edges, but more honest than any sound I've ever heard. "I promise I'm not running. I—" He swallows. "I'll explain everything in a bit. Zeb's on his way. After he leaves... You and I—it's time we talked. About the rest. About 
everything
."

He exhales softly this time, like something inside him has finally settled. "I don't want to hide from you anymore."

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Chapter 4

Annelly

He’s barely stopped touching me since we left the office. His hand never once let go of mine. Not when he led me upstairs. Not when he quietly guided me into his bedroom. Not even as he locked the door behind us with a deliberate click, like he no longer trusted the empty hallway on the other side.

“Stay here. Away from the windows.”

That’s all he said. His voice tight and clipped as he sat me down on the edge of the bed, then disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him.

I don’t move. I just sit there—knees pressed together, hands limp in my lap—until my fingers lift to brush my lips, still tingling from our kiss.

I can barely breathe. Not with everything inside me still spinning—my thoughts, my heart, my fear, and the hollow ache of not knowing what any of this means.

The image of him, shattered and sobbing in my arms, keeps replaying in my head. That sound. That wreckage. It’s burned into me now, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t separate it from the way he looked at me right before he kissed me. Like I was the only thing tethering him to solid ground. Like he needed me more than he wanted to need me. Like he wanted me so much it hurt.

But he still hasn’t told me what happened. What broke him. And that’s what terrifies me more than anything.

Because I felt it—in every staggered breath, every trembling touch, every brush of his fingers that lingered like he was afraid to let go. Something terrible happened. And whatever it is… I know it in my gut, things are only going to get worse.

When he returns less than a minute later, he looks slightly more put together. His face is freshly washed. His hair is damp from where he’s run water through it.

But his eyes…

His eyes are the same.

Still heavy. Still cracked at the edges like a dam straining under the weight of rising flood waters.

He doesn’t say a word. Just reaches for my hand again, and I let him. No hesitation. No questions.

As his fingers wrap around mine, I realize why. Because the warmth of his skin against mine is like a balm. A silent, unspoken promise that if we just hold on tight enough to each other… maybe everything will be okay.

He doesn’t speak again until we get to the kitchen.

“Sit,” he murmurs, gently guiding me to one of the island stools. Then he leans down, his eyes meeting mine. “Please. Just this one time, I need you to listen. To do as I ask. For the next few hours, I need you not to fight me.”

Something in his voice—the strain in that desperate, quiet plea—hits me like a blow to the chest. I breathe through the ache and give him a silent nod. Once again, I find myself doing as he asks, only this time it’s not because I’m scared, but because I can see how badly he needs this.

He’s struggling, and in true James fashion, he’s reaching for the one thing that’s always helped him keep it together—doing. Taking care of things. Providing. Creating order where there is none. Because control has always been his armor, and right now, that sandwich tray he’s about to make is the only thing standing between him and the emotions threatening to break him open.

So I stay seated, letting him have this.

I watch as he starts building the tray with more food than we could possibly eat. Sandwiches stacked with military precision, each cut on a perfect diagonal. A large salad tossed with careful, practiced hands. A bowl of chips. Sparkling waters from the fridge lined up like soldiers in a row.

It’s too much food for just the two of us, which tells me what he hasn’t said out loud. We’re not just waiting for Zeb. He’s expecting others—maybe the entire OTS team.

And that sends my heart into a frantic rhythm because it confirms my worst fear. Whatever is coming… my life is about to change. Again.

I stare down at my hands on the table, trying to still the trembling I hadn’t realized had started. It’s partially my fault he hasn’t told me what’s happening. I haven’t asked. Instead, I’ve let the silence linger between us like it could somehow protect me. Protect us. But that was foolish—naïve, even. Now it feels like there’s a fog of unspoken truth between us, tainting the air with a dread neither of us wants to name.

But for both our sakes, I know I have to ask.

“James?” My voice comes out thinner than I intended, wobbling with the fear I can’t seem to shake. “Will you just… tell me?”

He stills.

The knife in his hand hovers over the last sandwich. For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer. But then he finishes what he’s doing, sets the knife down slowly, and wipes his hands on the towel beside him.

Without a word, he walks around the island and straight towards me. Though his movements are quiet and unhurried, there’s an urgency there. When he reaches me, he doesn’t speak. He just takes my face in his hands and tilts it up until my eyes meet his.

His touch is warm, almost reverent, as he takes me in. “I don’t want to scare you,” he says gently. “But I also won’t lie to you. Something’s happened. And yes… it’s bad.”

His thumbs brush over my cheeks like he’s trying to wipe away the fear. Then, leaning in, he rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re not alone in this. I swear to you, Annelly. Whatever happens, I’ll get you through it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He kisses my forehead and pulls me into his arms. As his warmth surrounds me, I melt into his chest… and for a second, I let myself believe him.

Still, this is another one of those moments where he says so much—and yet nothing at all. I’m on the cusp of asking again, of pushing for answers, when the front door of the upper level creaks open.

Their presence shifts the air immediately.

I feel it before I hear it—the quiet hitch of someone’s breath, the slight pause in their steps as they take in the scene before them.

James tenses slightly, but his arms stay locked around me, holding me close. Even as he faces the scrutinizing stare of his guests, he doesn’t let go.

After a few breaths, he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. And like we’re suspended in that same quiet place where only he and I exist, he whispers, “It’s going to be okay.”

Then, to my complete shock, he leans down and presses the softest kiss to my lips. It’s brief and gentle. Steadying in a way that makes my heart stutter for an entirely different reason.

When he finally greets the others, he takes my hand and turns me so I’m facing the entryway. Even under the weight of Zeb’s surprised gaze and Ben’s barely restrained glare, he still doesn’t let me go.

Neither of them speaks.

One glance at their faces, and my heart sinks.

Zeb gives me a small, almost imperceptible smile—a quiet greeting laced with concern. Ben, however, doesn’t look at me at all. His pointed glare stays locked on James, his eyes tracking down to our joined hands. The muscle in his jaw ticks once. Twice. Then he drops his gaze, shoves his hands into his pockets, and walks into the kitchen.

Whatever tension had stretched tight between them softens slightly when James clears his throat and gestures toward the food he’s prepared.

“Help yourselves. There’s plenty.”

Then, grabbing two plates from the stack in the center of the island, he guides me to the end of the counter, gently settling me onto a stool before taking the seat right beside me.

The other two men move wordlessly, filling their plates and finding their seats. Zeb chooses the stool beside James, along the long side of the island. Ben takes the seat directly across from James and me. His eyes meet mine briefly, just long enough for me to catch the flicker of apology there. Then he looks away.

It sets my teeth on edge.

The silence stretches—thick and hollow—like we’re all just waiting for someone to say it. To confirm what I already know. That my worst nightmare has come true.

Then, quietly, Ben glances toward James.

“You sure about this?”

James’s hand flexes around mine beneath the table. His jaw tightens. When he speaks, his voice is low and even, but weighted with a gravity that lands in my chest like a stone.

“Yes.” He doesn’t look at me. Just holds Ben’s gaze with guarded resolve. “She deserves to know the truth. All of it.”

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# Chapter 5

Annelly

Ben nods once, studying James for a beat longer like he's not just weighing his words, but weighing James himself. Then he reaches into the inside pocket of his sports coat and pulls out a cream-colored envelope. It's thick. Elegant enough that it reminds me of a wedding invitation. When he sets it gently on the table and slides it towards me, my brows pull together in confusion.

"There was a flower delivery about an hour ago," he says. "Here. To the house."

The blood drains from my face. My breath catches in my throat, and it takes everything in me not to scream. Not to react. Not to bolt from this stool and start packing. Because this time, it's not just me. It's not just 
my
 life at risk. I've brought danger to the doorstep of the only people who've ever made me feel safe. 

My hand trembles as I reach for the envelope. There's no name. No handwriting. Just pristine ivory, heavy in my palm and slick with dread, like it already knows what it's about to do to me.

Holding my breath, I slide my fingers under the flap and draw out the card. The paper matches the envelope—weighty, luxurious. Elegant enough to belong in a ballroom, not clutched in the shaking hands of a girl whose idea of fun was swimming in Ruby Creek Lake and running barefoot through the dewy grass at dawn.

Printed in stark, black serif font are the words:

I HAD a dove and the sweet dove died;

And I have thought it died of grieving.

O, what could it grieve for?
 
Its feet were tied, 

With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving.

The quote slams into me like a fist to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs. I read it once. Twice. A third time, just to be sure it's real.

No. No. No. 

It can't be.

But the shaking in my hands, the violent twist in my stomach, the way I can't catch my breath... 

They all say the same thing.

Victor's found me.

My voice scrapes out of me in a whisper. "H-how?"

Ben exhales slowly. His elbows settle on the table as he clasps his hands together. It's like he's bracing himself. Like he's afraid the words he's about to deliver might shatter me.

"We're not exactly sure," he begins, his voice calm. "Could've been the hospital visit. It was quick, and we took precautions, but with situations like this, you never know. Or..." He glances at James, then back at me. "...he might've assumed you're staying here. With James and Tyler. He met them at Lucas and Emilia's wedding. He knows you're close. Knows what James does for a living. Wouldn't take much to track down the address and go from there."

"It's also possible he's guessing," Zeb offers gently. "Working his way down the list of people he knows you care about. Your friends. Your family." 

He's trying to soften the truth. I know that. But my heart sinks anyway, because it doesn't matter how Victor found me. Not really. What matters is that he 
knows
 who I'm with. And even if he's just guessing, it's only a matter of time. When he makes his move, the people I love will be in his crosshairs. 

Before I can spiral further, Ben speaks again. 

"That's why I'm recommending we move you. Tonight."

I blink. "Move me?"

"There's an FBI safe house," he says. "The Bureau secured the location, but it's OTS who'll be running point. Other than Agent Hunt, no one outside this team will know where you are."

James is silent beside me. Still as stone. But I feel it—the tension radiating off him like heat. His hand is still wrapped around mine. Warm, rough... and trembling. His grip isn't comforting—it's 
clinging
. A man holding on to his control by a mere thread.

Zeb steps in then, trying to ease the tension.  

"It's secure. Remote. A few of us will go with you. You'll have round-the-clock protection from people you know. Friends. We'll keep you safe while the rest of the team works to get Victor off the board."

Ben cuts in sharply, his glare flaring between Zeb and James. "Not off the board," he snaps. "Dealt with. Legally." Then he turns to me, his tone softening. "By the time we're done, you'll be safe. He won't risk coming anywhere near you again." 

My breath comes in shallow pants as the gravity of the situation sinks in. The fear settles over me like a fog—thick, blinding, inescapable.

And James?

He still hasn't said a word.

His grip tightens around mine, almost to the point of pain, and I glance over at him. He's not eating. His jaw is clenched, his eyes locked on the envelope still sitting in the center of the table like it's a ticking bomb he doesn't know how to disarm. There's something flickering in his expression—a grief so raw, it steals my breath. 

And suddenly, I understand. 

The tears earlier. The way he collapsed in my arms, stripped bare of all that ironclad control. It wasn't just his fear for me. 

It was 
loss
.

Because this house—this life he built to finally give Tyler and himself a sense of security—it's not safe anymore.

And it's all 
because of me
.

The tension in the room stretches so tight, it feels like one wrong breath might snap it in two. 

Then finally—
finally
—James speaks.

"No." His voice is low. Quiet. But sharp enough to slice through everything else.

Ben's brow lifts. His attention turns towards James, the glare returning in full force. "No?" he echoes. "What the fuck do you mean, no?"

"I mean 
no
." James's voice hardens. "I don't trust the FBI. Least of all with this." He's staring Ben down with a fury I've never seen in him. The kind that simmers just beneath the surface, contained, but lethal.

Ben straightens. "We've worked with the Bureau before. They've got the resources—"

"I don't care what they've got," James bites out. "If it comes down to keeping her safe or protecting their 
interest
s—their fucking 
investigation
—they'll choose the case." The words land hard. Like a bomb detonating in the middle of a minefield. 

As James and Ben lock eyes in a silent standoff, I glance at Zeb. He doesn't say a word. Just stares down at his untouched plate of food like he wishes he were anywhere but here. He doesn't come to the defense of either of the men, and I guess he doesn't need to. 

His silence says it all. 

He agrees with James.

"They're not the ones making the calls here, James," Ben says firmly. "The house might be one of theirs, but 
we're
 in charge of security. OTS controls the perimeter. OTS controls the rotation. No one will touch her. Not on our watch."

James still doesn't speak, but his fury vibrates off him like a live wire. His hand stays locked around mine, fingers curled tight—but then his thumb moves. A slow, deliberate brush over my knuckles. A quiet reassurance that he's got me. That he won't let anything happen to me. 

"Come on, James. You seriously think I'd sign off on this if I didn't think we could protect her?" Ben's voice is exasperated, like he's angry he even has to say it.

"I think 
you
 believe that," James finally responds, his tone steady but unflinching. "But you're putting way too much faith in an institution that's already rotting from the inside." 

He leans forward slightly, voice low. Cold. Deadly. "We've had to use back channels. They hired us to help with their own internal investigation—looking into their leadership, their agents. Then made us rely on CIA-level tactics just to communicate. Because even 
they
 know the Bureau is compromised. And yet here you are... suggesting we use one of 
their 
safe houses to protect the most important people in my life." 

His grip around my hand tightens slightly.

"Their word might be good enough for 
you, Ben
—but it sure as hell isn't good enough for 
me."

❤️

 
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Chapter 6

Annelly

“Then what? What do you propose we do here, James? She can’t stay here. You know this.” Ben’s voice is sharp, the edge of it adding to the tension already crowding in the room.

“I’ll take her somewhere—me and Tyler. We’ll go off-grid. Our place in Switzerland.”

“You’re fucking joking, right?” Ben scoffs. “That asshole found your home address. Information we locked down tighter than Fort Knox—and yet here we are. You really think he’s not motivated enough to find your other properties? There’s no way in hell you’ll be safe there. Especially without backup.”

“Then we’ll hit the road. We’ll keep moving—”

“James.” Zeb’s voice is soft but firm. He shakes his head with the kind of sorrow that only comes from personal experience. “That kind of life? Running. Constantly looking over your shoulder? You don’t want that—for her, or for Tyler. Hell, trust me. You don’t want that for yourself either.”

His tone deepens. “You know my history. What I’ve been through. Which is why I can say this with absolute certainty—that is not how a man protects his family. That’s how he guarantees he’ll lose them.”

James’s fingers flex against mine, then still. And just like that… he lets me go.

He rises from his stool and plants both palms on the counter, leaning over the island. His voice scrapes out like gravel—rough, every word laced with betrayal. “Whose side are you fucking on, Zeb? Huh?” His glare cuts across to his friend, piercing and unflinching. “Because this whole playing-both-sides bullshit? It’s not gonna cut it. Not this time.”

“I’m on your side, brother. You know that.”

James barks out a bitter laugh. “The only thing I know is that you’re full of shit. You know damn well know those FBI fuckers can’t be trusted.”

“You’re right.” Zeb stands too, mirroring James’s stance, holding his gaze without flinching. “But you know who I do trust?” He gestures around the room. “This. Me. You. Ben. The rest of our team. The Bureau isn’t in charge here. We are. And you’ve got my word—Ben’s too—” he glances over.

Ben gives a tight nod.

Then Zeb finishes with a voice like steel. “We will protect her with our lives. Tyler too. Nothing will happen to them. You can fucking trust in that.”

The two of them lock eyes, the tension thick enough to choke on. None of us breathes. We’re all just waiting to see who moves first. Who breaks.

Then finally… James nods.

Just once. Barely there.

His jaw is clenched so tight I can feel the frustration still radiating off him. He’s agreeing to this, but only because Zeb asked him to. Not because he thinks it’s the right call.

He’s not okay with this.

Not even close.

But for now… he’s done fighting it.

Like he’s had enough, James sinks back into his seat. His hand finds mine instantly, fingers wrapping tight. He’s trying to rein in the chaos, to claw back some sense of control—but it’s his eyes that undo me because that’ s where I see his truth.

They flick toward the framed photos lining the hallway, snapshots of the brothers, the life they’ve built together. Then to the stairs that lead to Tyler’s room and the rec room where they spend their free time talking, laughing, entertaining their friends. Then across the open floor plan, sweeping over the modern furniture, the clean lines, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the snow-covered mountains and endless sky.

And that’s when it hits me.

The guilt.

The regret.

Because this is his home . His sanctuary. The place he built to feel safe. To give Tyler the stability and security they never had. To finally live free of the shadows that still haunt them.

And now… because of me, it’s tainted.

The realization slams into me like a cloak of anguish. I try to swallow it down, but it rises in my throat anyway. Fighting to breathe past the sob threatening to break free, I slip my fingers from his hand.

“Maybe…” I hesitate, my voice thick, raw with the pain I can’t contain. “Maybe it’s better if I just go. Alone.”

That gets all of their attention.

But it’s James who reacts first.

His head jerks towards me, eyes narrowing in disbelief. The heat of his stare scorches across my skin as I try my damndest to avoid looking at him.

It’s why I rush on.

Even though it hurts.

Even though the thought of leaving guts me to my very soul.

“If I leave—if I go far enough away—Victor will follow me. Not you. Not Tyler. Not anyone else I love.” I swallow hard. “Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe that’s how I fix this. By getting as far away as I can from Ruby Creek—and everyone I know.”

The silence that follows feels jagged. Dangerous.

Ben sets his water down.

Zeb shifts in his seat.

But it’s James’s voice that cuts through. Hard. Unyielding. “No.”

Just one word. Firm. Loud. Absolute.

But it’s not the answer I need. So I try again. “You and Tyler—this never should have happened. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.”

His chair scrapes back.

And then he’s in front of me.

Kneeling, he takes both my hands in his, resting them gently on my lap. His eyes lock onto mine, fierce and shimmering with something more than anger.

It’s fear .

“You think I’d let you walk out that fucking door?” he asks, voice tight, cracking with disbelief. “You think after everything we’ve been through—after telling you how I feel—I’d let you face this alone?”

I start to respond, but he shakes his head.

“I already lost you once, Annelly. I’m not going through that again. So no—over my dead body. You’re not going anywhere. If we’re doing this, we do it together. All of us. Or not at all.”

Like he needs the backup, he glances at Zeb, who gives a small, solid nod.

“You’re not the problem, Annelly,” Zeb says quietly. “Victor is. And we’re going to end this. Together.”

My breath stutters as tears slip free, trailing hot and fast down my cheeks. I glance at Zeb. Then Ben…

But James’s grip tightens around my hands, pulling my attention back to him.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says, voice raw, laced with desperation. “So don’t you dare ask that of me, Annelly. I’ll give you anything else—anything you ask of me—but not that. Never that.”

I start to look away, but he leans closer. Voice fierce. Eyes burning. Locking me in place. “Look at me, snowflake. You. Are. Not. The. Villain. Here.”

My throat tightens.

“You. Are. Not. To. Blame. For. Any. Of. This,” he says, his voice cracking just slightly. “Victor is. So you and I, we’re going to hold on to each other. To Tyler. To our friends. Our family. And we’re going to ride this out, never forgetting where the blame belongs. Do you hear me? Please, for God’s sake, tell me you hear me.”

His words cut straight through me because, more than anything, I want to cling to the lifeline he’s offering and never let go. But the ache in my chest tells a different story. One I can’t ignore. It whispers that I’m to blame. That my choices—my mistakes—are what brought us here. And I’m terrified I’ll be the reason James and Tyler’s lives unravel. That nothing will ever go back to the way it was before I showed up on their doorstep, asking for protection they never should’ve had to give.

But the crack in his voice.

The desperation in his eyes.

That’s what makes me nod, swallowing hard around the lump in my throat.

Like he sees the war raging inside me, James brings his hands to my face, cupping it gently and wiping away my tears with the softest brush of his thumbs. His touch lingers for a heartbeat longer than it needs to, his eyes silently daring me to argue with him again.

I don’t.

Not because I suddenly believe I deserve the lifeline he’s offering, but because I get that he needs this.

Once he’s sure I’m not about to bolt, he reclaims his seat beside me, never letting go of my hand as the conversation shifts to logistics.

Zeb outlines the timeline, his voice calm but clipped. “We move after sunset. One vehicle. Quiet exit. No digital trail, so no phones or computers. Everything stays behind. We’ll have burners waiting and ready for you at our first stop.”

“As far as Tyler,” Ben adds. “He’ll need to coordinate with his professors to finish the semester remotely. Think that’ll be a problem? I’m assuming you’ll want him with you.”

James gives a small nod. “Yeah. Where I go, he goes. He won’t like leaving mid-semester, but I’ll handle it.”

Zeb sighs. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

They keep going after that—packing plans, exit routes, emergency contacts, security rotation. I hear every word. I track every detail. But it all starts to blur beneath the dull ache pressing tighter in my chest.

The kind of ache that burrows deep when you know your life is about to change, and you don’t get a say.

We’re leaving tonight .

Running.

Again.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop this madness.

❤️

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# Chapter 7

James

Ben's voice cuts through the static in my head, snapping me out of my thoughts. 

"Zeb, help Annelly pack." He doesn't wait for a response before turning to me. "You and I need to talk. Office. Now."

My jaw tightens. "The hell we do—"

"Now, James." His voice drops, low, clipped, and controlled in that way that makes it clear this isn't a suggestion. 

It's a command. 

One he knows damn well I'm in no mood to obey.

Beside me, Annelly tenses. Her fingers twitch against mine, a silent question in her eyes. And it's that look—the trust and fear wrapped into one—that forces me to swallow down the fury rising in my throat. 

I lean in, press a kiss to her temple, and pull her in tight. 

"It's okay, snowflake," I murmur, trying to steady her. Though if I'm being honest, I'm saying it just as much for me as I am for her.

Zeb catches my eye. "Don't worry," he says quietly, stepping in. "I've got her."

"Go on. Go with Zeb." It takes everything in me to let her go. To step back and away from her like she's not my entire goddamn world. "I'll be back as soon as I can." 

I hesitate just a second longer. But because I can't take the fear in her eyes—the way she's looking at me like I'm both her anchor and her storm—I turn and follow Ben down the stairs. 

By the time I reach the bottom, my fists are clenched and my pulse is a war drum in my ears. The office feels colder than usual. The heater clicks off with a dull thunk, leaving behind a silence so thick it presses against my chest like a weight.

Ben doesn't sit. He just stands there in the center of the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Like he's giving me the chance to get my shit together before he lights the match.

I don't take it.

Instead, I slam the door shut behind me, stalk halfway across the room, then stop. Because if I keep moving, I'll start throwing fists at my boss. My friend. And that won't fix a damn thing.

Suddenly exhausted, I brace both hands on the back of my leather desk chair and drop my head, breathing hard through my nose.

I already know what's coming. 

He's questioning my judgment. My ability to do my job. All because I challenged his asinine plan. Because I don't trust the same bastards responsible for the hell we've been living through this past year.  

Ben doesn't give me long to settle.

"You ready to act like a grown-up," he says coolly, "or should I call Zeb in here to stroke your ego some more?"

I whip around, fists tightening. "Fuck you."

His expression doesn't change, remaining calm. 

Unflinching. 

That makes it worse.

"You think this is about my ego?" I step toward him, fury building with every word. "You think I give a shit about how I 
look
 right now? I'm trying to keep her safe, Ben. I'm trying to keep that bastard from getting anywhere near her."

"Then you're failing."

The words hit like a sucker punch, but I don't flinch. Not on the outside. 
But on the inside...

"You're out of line," I growl.

"No." His voice stays maddeningly even. "I'm the only one in this goddamn house willing to say it to your face."

"You want to tell me how to do my job now?" I snap. "Go ahead. Let's hear it. Maybe you'd rather I hand her over to Dominick. Let that strait-laced fuckup keep her safe."

Ben doesn't even blink. "Maybe I should. You're a huge liability right now."

That stops me cold.

For half a beat, the air goes still. 

Silent.

Heavy. 

Dangerous.

Then I laugh—a sharp, bitter bark of disbelief. "You really believe I'd put her in danger?"

"You already are." His voice lowers, most likely so Zeb and Annelly won't hear. "Don't you see? You questioning the plan in front of her? You planting seeds of doubt in her head?" 

He steps closer, jabbing a finger into my chest. "That's you putting her in danger. Because if she doesn't trust us—if she doesn't trust 
our
 word when it matters most—she won't stick to the plan. And if she doesn't stick to the plan?" His voice sharpens. "You might as well call Victor now and tell him where to find her."

I stare at him in disbelief, his words hitting like debris from a passing tornado. Scattered. Violent. Impossible to ignore.

"Snap the fuck out of it, James. Stop acting so damn panicked and get back to doing your goddamned job."

Breathing hard, I take in his angry words. 

They land like an insult, just as I'm sure he meant them to. 

"You think this is panic, asshole?" My fists clench at my side, knuckles tingling with the urge to put him through the nearest wall. "Wrong. This is survival. Instinct. The feeling in my gut that's never failed me. That's kept me and Tyler alive and in one piece since we were kids."

"But you're not helpless children anymore." Ben's voice rises, not loud but firm. "And more than that, you're not fucking alone. You have us, James. Your friends. OTS. You have us at your back, and you damn well know it. You 
know
 it in your gut that we would never, ever put you, Tyler, or Annelly in harm's way." He steps closer, jabbing a finger toward my temple. "So use your fucking head and think." 

My chest heaves in uneven bursts. As much as I hate it, he's right... at least about this. Though I have my doubts about the plan, I do trust him. I trust in the team.

"You're right," I mutter. "I know I can trust you. I just..." The words catch in my throat. "I'm at a loss here, man. I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore."

I drag a shaky breath, like I can pull myself back together through sheer force of will. But it's useless. The pressure inside me is too much. It's pushing in from all sides, crushing me from the inside out.

"She's scared," I say, quieter now. Almost to myself. "She's fucking terrified. And every time she looks at me with that fear in her eyes, I can't—" My voice breaks. I swallow hard. "What if you're right? What if I fail her? What if I can't keep them safe?"

The words just hang there. Small. Fragile. Awful yet true.

Ben doesn't move. He just watches me, letting the silence strip me down.

I sink heavily into my desk chair and bury my face in my hands. "I just... I can't think straight, man. Not when she's scared. Not when I know he's out there—watching. Waiting for his chance. Getting closer with every second." My voice thins, almost breaking. "And I don't know what to do with that. I can't
 breathe
 with that weight pressing on my chest."

Still, Ben says nothing.

So I look up. 

Meet his eyes.

"I'm in love with her," I whisper. "And the idea of losing her—it's killing me. Almost as bad as the thought of never having her. Of her never giving me a chance. And all this... this chaos rattling around in my head—it's turning me into someone I swore I'd never be again."

The confession rips through my chest, sharp and choking.

"I've spent my whole life fighting to be strong. Controlling the variables. Locking shit down. Staying three steps ahead of every threat." I laugh, bitter and broken. "But she—she's not a threat. She's..." My voice catches. "She's a goddamn variable I didn't account for. One I didn't want or need. And now I can't even think straight long enough to do what needs to be done. To keep her safe." The shame hits low and deep. "What kind of protector does that make me?"

Ben finally moves. 

He steps closer and drops into the chair beside my desk. From the corner of my eye, I see the shift in him. Less edge. Less judgment. He's seeing me now for exactly what I am.

A man breaking apart at the seams. Too scared to know how to hold all the pieces together.

He lets out a breath, rough and quiet. And then finally he says, "You're in love with her."

It's not a question, so I don't bother to respond. But the tension in my jaw says enough.

"Then fucking act like it."

My head jerks up.

"Love isn't this—" he gestures at me. "This panic. This cycling in and out of control. You're not helping her like this."

"You think I don't know that?" I snap, but it comes out weak. Hollow. I'm a fucking mess, and we both know it.

"Then get a grip, James. Because love—it's not fear. It's focus. It's choosing trust when everything in you screams not to. It's knowing she's counting on you to keep your head when hers is barely above water."

The words hit hard and land exactly where they're meant to. Right in the center of the ache I've been carrying like a second heartbeat.

"You want to keep her safe?" he asks, leaning in, voice dropping an octave. "Then pull your head out of your ass and get back in the fight. Stand with us. With your team. And let's finish this."

I stay quiet for a long moment. Not because I've got nothing to say—God knows, my head's still a goddamn war zone—but because I need to breathe. 

Let it all sink in. 

Let the dust settle.

I inhale slowly. Then again. And for the first time since those flowers showed up on my doorstep, something inside me clicks back into place. Not everything. I'm still a wreck. But it's enough.

Enough that I can finally think straight. 

Enough to pull my focus back where it needs to be.

Enough to fill my lungs with air that doesn't feel like it's suffocating me.

I rise from my chair and meet Ben's gaze. "You're right. I'm good. I'm in."

Ben studies me for a beat longer, then gives a quick nod. "No more solo hero bullshit."

I lift a brow, doing my best to act like the adult here and not roll my eyes.

"Say it, James. No more what?" He presses with a smirk. 

Asshole knows exactly what he's doing—lightening the moment by being an annoying little shit.

And damn, it's working.

"No more solo hero bullshit. There. You happy now?"

"Yep." His lips curve into a genuine smile as he claps me on the shoulder. "We do this together. You, me, Zeb. The whole damn team. That's how we beat that bastard. That's how we keep your girl safe."

❤️

 
Can't wait for more? I've got you... 
👇🏼

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And the best part? Following me there is totally 
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.

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"Follow"
 on 
REAM
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Chapter 8

James

I take the stairs two at a time, not because I’m in a rush, but because if I stop moving, I’ll start thinking. And thinking—that’s what got me into trouble in the first place.

The hallway is quiet when I reach the top.

Zeb’s exactly where I figured he’d be, posted outside the bedroom, arms crossed, gaze alert, posture casual in that calculated way of his. But I know him too well to miss the tension humming underneath. He gives me a nod as I approach, followed by a firm clap on my shoulder as he steps aside and heads off. Probably to track Ben down, now that I’m back.

I pause outside the door, hand on the knob, breathing through the nerves clenching in my chest like a fist. I don’t know what I’m walking into. Don’t know if I’ve wrecked whatever fragile trust Annelly was starting to offer me.

But I need to see her.

Even if only for a second, just to know she’s okay.

I ease the door open. She doesn’t hear me at first. Her head is bowed, shoulders hunched like the weight of everything has finally settled there.

And maybe it has.

Probably because of me.

She’s packing in silence. Her movements slow. Deliberate. Like folding each item just right gives her some illusion of control. Something solid to hold on to in the middle of all this looming uncertainty.

There’s a duffel on the bed beside her, half-zipped. She tucks something inside with trembling hands, then pauses, knuckles going white as she grips the edge of the bag.

Her hair’s pulled into a loose braid. The same one I pushed aside when I kissed her. Now soft wisps have fallen free, framing her beautiful face in a way that makes my chest ache.

My hands did that. My mouth. That moment—reckless, messy, too much—that momentary slip of control that stole my breath…

That was me.

I should hate how much I love knowing I’m the reason her hair looks that way, but I don’t.

Not even a little.

No surprise there, I guess.

What does gut me is how red her eyes are. How glassy. Like she’s cried herself dry and has nothing left.

My throat tightens.

“Annelly,” I say softly.

She startles, straightens fast, swiping at her face to clear what’s left of the tears before she looks up at me. She forces a smile, bright and brittle. The kind meant to protect her, not to reassure me.

“Hey,” she says lightly, like nothing’s wrong.

But I know better.

Without a word, I cross the room. Her smile falters, wavers, then drops completely when I reach out and gently wrap my fingers around her arm, turning her to face me.

At first, she stiffens under the touch, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to lean on me. But I am done with that. Done with making her feel like she’s in this alone. Done pushing her away in some misguided attempt to save us from the one thing we’re helpless to fight—this pull between us that only hurts more the longer we resist it.

So I bring her in close.

Her body is small against mine. Delicate in ways I never could’ve imagined. But fuck if it doesn’t feel like she’s always belonged here. Her scent wraps around me like a balm, soft and familiar, soothing the dark restlessness still clawing at my insides.

At first, she stands rigid. Arms pinned at her sides. Back tense, like she’s trying to honor the boundaries I stupidly drew between us.

I hate it.

But I don’t let her go.

Not this time.

Instead, I pull her in tighter, press a soft kiss to the top of her head, and lower my chin gently against her hair.

That’s when it happens.

She exhales this tiny, broken sound and collapses against me. Her body sinks into mine, arms wrapping around me, as her fingers clutch the back of my shirt like she’s afraid something might happen if she lets go. Her forehead presses to my chest, and then she starts to shake.

And just like that, she breaks without sound.

I close my eyes, locking down the warmth pooling there. God, I hate seeing her like this. Trembling. Breaking. Holding it all in between shallow gasps and silent tears.

I don’t know what else to do, so I just hold her. Steadying her with my body. Anchoring her with the slow drag of my palm across her back. Offering what little comfort I can in a language I barely understand, but that with her feels like one I’ve spoken my whole damn life.

Because the truth is, I’ve never held a woman like this before. Not once. And still, somehow, this feels like the only thing I’ve ever done right. Like maybe this— her —is what I was made for. To be the calm in her storm.

Her tears soak through the fabric of my shirt, hot and quiet, and I let her take whatever strength she needs from me. Because I have it now, only because, in letting me take care of her like this, she’s giving it back to me. Without even knowing it.

And right now, the only thing that matters is making sure she knows she’s not alone. Not in this. Not ever again, if I can help it.

Because I’m here.

I rest my chin lightly on top of her head and breathe her in. Jasmine and vanilla. Soft and warm. Just like her.

My arms stay locked around her while my hand moves slowly up and down her back—steady, gentle—tracing the shape of her spine like muscle memory. The way I’ve done it a thousand times in my head, never really believing I’d get to do it in real life.

I don’t speak. Don’t move. Just hold her in place, the way she’s unknowingly been holding me since the moment we met.

Eventually, she settles. Her breath evens out, and after a long, heavy exhale, she shifts just enough to lift her head and look up at me.

Her eyes are glassy. Lashes damp. Cheeks blotchy from crying. And fuck… even like this, she’s fucking stunning.

“Sorry,” she whispers, swiping at her face with the back of her hand. “God, I didn’t mean to fall apart on you like that.”

I catch her wrist before she can turn away again, then brush my thumb gently over the tear track on her cheek with my other hand.

“Don’t,” I murmur. “Don’t ever apologize for feeling. You never have to hide from me, snowflake. Not now. Not ever.”

She gives me a long look, quiet and searching. Her hands settle on my chest, soft and hesitant, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. Because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly as it should be.

“Is everything okay with you and Ben?” she asks softly.

The question isn’t loaded, but it still hits something deep in me.

That she cares this much— about me –after everything… it doesn’t sit right. Like maybe she’s got me all wrong. Like one day soon, she’s going to look at me and realize I’m not worth it. That I never was. Never will be. And I’ll have to watch it hit her face—that flicker of disappointment—when I don’t measure up to what she expected. To what she needs.

It scares the fuck out of me.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck as I take a half step back—not to create distance, just to get my head straight. So I can find the words.

“Define okay ,” I mutter, trying for a small smile. It doesn’t quite land. I drag a hand over my hair and nod toward the bed. “Can we… sit?”

She nods, and I keep her hand in mine as we both lower ourselves to the edge of the mattress. My knee brushes hers as I shift slightly toward her, and I’m relieved when she doesn’t move away.

That alone gives me the courage to start talking.

“I admit—I lost my head.” The words come out thick and heavy, but I don’t look away. “I couldn’t breathe—thinking about everything. About taking you somewhere I didn’t choose. Somewhere I couldn’t control. And I hated it.” I glance down, jaw tight, then force myself to let the rest of it out. “Plus, I was angry. Because after promising to protect you… I let you down. I shouldn’t have lost it like that.”

I pause. Swallow hard.

“I yelled at Ben. Snapped at him like some damn rookie, but in true Ben fashion, he called me out for spiraling. Said I was planting fear in you instead of protecting you, which is my job.”

I glance up, just in time to catch a flicker of compassion in her eyes.

“And he was right. He set my ass straight before I could embarrass myself further. Which… I appreciated.”

Her lips twitch.

Almost a smile.

“God, it was humbling,” I add with a dry laugh. “The man basically turned into a therapist and drill sergeant all at once—right before my eyes. And he stayed so damn calm through all of it—it was borderline terrifying .”

That wins me a genuine smile.

Small, but definitely there.

Though it quickly fades when I go quiet again.

“I hate that you had to see me like that,” I say softly. “In the office. After the flower delivery, before they showed up. Crying. On my knees. So fucking weak when for you… I should’ve been strong.”

Her other hand moves—soft and sure—gathering mine between both of hers.

“You were never weak,” she says, voice steady, despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. She offers me a faint smile as she adds, “You were just real.”

I shake my head, jaw tight as shame creeps in again. My eyes start to burn, and when I try to look away, she doesn’t let me.

She cups the side of my face, her touch warm and grounding, as she echoes the words I said to her.

“You don’t have to hide from me, James,” she whispers. “Not now. Not ever.”

It shouldn’t undo me the way it does—to hear her say that.

But it does.

Because I’ve spent a lifetime hiding who I am from everyone. From my own brother. Even from myself.

And I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear those words… until she gave them back to me like a vow.

❤️

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# Chapter 9

James

For a long moment, we just sit there. Her hand still in mine. Her head bowed slightly, like she's suddenly embarrassed... probably because I can't tear my eyes off her. 

She squeezes my hand once, then exhales shakily. "I'm sorry again. For all of this."

I look at her sharply. "Annelly—"

"I know what you're gonna say," she cuts in quickly. "But just... let me. I need to get this out."

When she pulls her hand away and stands, turning from me, I let her go—even though I hate it. She crosses to the far side of the room, arms folded tightly across her chest, like she's trying to hold herself together long enough to find the words.

"I know I'm not personally responsible for his actions," she says quietly. "But it doesn't change the fact that you and Tyler had peace here. Safety. A home. And now all of that's gone because of me."

My heart lurches.

"My choices... I'm the one who brought this danger to your doorstep. In just two weeks of being here, I've upended your life. Everything you built. Everything you worked so hard to protect." Her voice cracks, and when she turns to face me, the pain in her eyes does me in. 

I'm on my feet before I even realize I've moved.

"Don't," I say, low and sharp.

She flinches slightly—not from fear, but like she's bracing for an argument. But this isn't an argument. For me, it's a line in the sand.

I take a step closer. 

Then another.

"Don't you 
ever
 say that again."

Her lips part like she wants to push back, but I shake my head once.

"No. You didn't ruin anything. This is not on you. It never was. You didn't bring danger into our lives, Annelly. 
He
 did. Victor."

She blinks hard, tears rising, and I close the distance between us, gently uncrossing her arms and taking both of her hands in mine.

"Having you here..." My voice catches, just for a second. "I won't lie. There's no point, since you've had a front row seat to what a mess I've been." I smile—small, self-deprecating—trying to take the edge off what I'm about to say. "It's been hard. I can admit that. But not for the reasons you think."

I stop to take a breath. Deep. Steadying.

"Your presence here, in my home... gave me a glimpse of something good. A taste of a life I never imagined was possible. Not for a guy like me."

I squeeze her hands gently. 

"You wrecked me, Annelly. Ruined me. Pushed me out of my comfort zone with the force of a nuclear blast. But even amidst the fallout, the devastation of realizing I might not be okay living the way I have... you gave me something else."

I lift one of her hands and press her palm to my chest, right over the part of me that only seems to beat steady when she's near.

"You gave me hope. You gave me something to fight for. Something more than just surviving."

Her hand is warm against me, her touch soothing and electric all at once.

"You gave me a reason to stop running. From you. From myself. From the trauma I buried so deep, I forgot how much it still hurts. All the shit I've been too afraid to face."   

I lean in, holding her gaze.

"You didn't take my peace, Annelly," I whisper. "
You 
are my peace."

Her breath catches. I feel the tremble in her fingers, but she doesn't pull away.

"That fact scares the shit out of me," I admit quietly. "But it doesn't make it any less true. You and Tyler... You're everything to me. Everything. And I'd burn the whole damn world to the ground before I let anyone hurt you or him 
ever
 again."

She doesn't speak. She just looks at me—eyes shining, lips parted like she's holding her breath. And with the way my chest's burning, I must be, too.

My fingers stay wrapped around hers, our hands caught between us like some fragile thread I'm terrified of pulling too hard on.

I swallow. 

"There's something else. About earlier."

Her brows draw together slightly, but her gaze remains locked on me.

"When I kissed you..." I pause, breath catching on the memory. "I was drowning, Annelly. And you—you were the only thing keeping me afloat."

Her lips part just slightly, but she stays still. Listening.

"I'm sorry if it was too much. If I crossed a line. I was spiraling and I—" I stop myself. Shake my head. "No. I don't regret it. I could never regret touching you like that."

A breath shudders out of me as I reach up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. My fingers tremble, like my body remembers, and is afraid I may never get to touch her again.

"But I want to do it differently this time. Not because I need saving. Not because I'm falling apart. Just... because you deserve better than that. For our first kiss. We both do. And because I want you." 

My voice drops, low and rough with everything I've been holding back. "So... will you let me? Kiss you?"

She doesn't answer right away. Just stares up at me—eyes wide, searching—like she's looking for cracks. Any signs that what I'm asking for might not be real. That I'm still on the edge, still one breath away from bolting. But then—

She nods.

Slow. Barely there. 

But definite.

Then comes the softest breath of an "Okay."

That's all the permission I need.

Desperate to taste her, I lean in, slow and reverent. One hand still holding hers, the other rising to her cheek with aching tenderness, like I'm afraid one wrong move might make her vanish.

And when I kiss her this time... 

It's not frantic. 

It's not desperate. 

It's worship. 

Her lips part beneath mine, soft and welcoming, and I sink into her like I've been waiting a lifetime for this exact moment.

Because I have.

Because I never thought I'd let myself want this, let alone 
have it.

And now that I do... I can't get close enough.

 The way she sighs when I deepen the kiss, quiet and wrecked, like she's been holding it in for too long. The way her fingers fist into my shirt, pulling me closer like she needs this as much as I do. The way she leans into me, trusting me to hold her up, to catch her if she falls.

And Christ, I will.

I'll catch her a thousand times if it means I get to keep her like this. 

My hand slips to the back of her neck, my grip tightening—not to take, but to anchor. To 
feel.
 Her mouth opens wider under mine, and I swear I nearly lose it. 

I kiss her like she's air. 

Like she's salvation. 

Like she's mine. 

Every soft gasp, every trembling breath, every breathy whimper—I take it all in like a man starved. And when I finally ease back, it's not because I want to. It's because I 
have 
to. Because I need
 
to see her. To see her eyes when she's like this—flushed, breathing hard, lips kiss-swollen and parted. Gaze wide, needy, and wrecked in the most beautiful way. 

She's so fucking stunning. 

Kissing her. Touching her. It's exactly how I imagined it would be. Only better. Because it's real. And I didn't know what it would feel like to 
have this. 
To have her. But now that I do, I know I'll never be the same. 

I rest my forehead against hers, my breath still ragged. "You okay?" 

She nods, voice barely a whisper. "Yeah."

I press a kiss to her forehead, then pull her fully into my arms, holding her like she's the only thing tethering me to the ground.

"We leave tonight," I murmur against her hair. "So we've got a few hours. I'll order a pizza to soften Tyler up a bit. Then once he's home, we'll sit down, eat... and I'll tell him the plan."

"He's going to hate this."

Unable to help it, I let out a tired sigh. She's right. He might, but maybe not for the reasons she thinks. Our home—this space I've worked my ass off to make safe and secure—it means more to 
me
 that it does to him. To Tyler, 
I'm
 all the security he's ever needed. I always have been. Something I'm only just beginning to understand.  

"He cares about you, Annelly. He'll want you to be safe."

She nods again, but this time, I feel it. The slow exhale of tension as her body softens against mine. 

I tighten my hold on her, anchoring us both.

"I've got you, snowflake," I whisper. "Everything's going to be okay."

I hold her for a beat longer. Then I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. 

"To be clear, that kiss wasn't a moment of weakness. It wasn't a mistake. It was 
real
, Annelly. 
You
 are real to me. And I want to be real to you."

Her lips part like she's about to speak, but I'm not done.

"I know I've messed up. I've hurt you. Shut you out when I should've let you in. But I'm trying. I swear to God, I'm trying."

I reach up, brushing my thumb gently along her cheek.

"For you... I'll learn. I'll fight. I'll become whoever the hell I need to be to deserve you. All I'm asking for is a chance."

Her eyes shine again, but this time, it's not pain I see. It's hope. Maybe even relief. Something warm enough to burn straight through the cold I've carried for too damn long.

She exhales. A soft breath that feels like a yes without her needing to speak. And then, before I can brace for it, she rises on her toes and kisses 
me
. 

It's not like before. It's not heat. Not desperation. 

It's soft. Sweet. Certain.

A kiss like no other I've ever had.

An 
okay
 like no other I've ever heard.

From a girl like no other I've ever met.

And just like that, I know—I was always meant to be hers.

❤️

 
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Chapter 10

James

The scent of garlic and buffalo sauce hangs heavy in the air. I can’t tell if it’s the smell that’s making me nauseous… or just the weight of the conversation I’m about to have. Either way, my stomach’s a fucking mess.

I sit at the kitchen island, staring at the spread like it might save me. Pizza. Garlic knots. Wings. A two-liter bottle of Dr. Pepper sweating beads of condensation onto the counter.

All of Tyler’s favorites.

Comfort food for the apocalypse… or at least, that’s what it feels like.

Annelly sits beside me, quiet. Her hands folded in her lap, fingers twining and untwining. Her gaze skims over the food, but she’s not really seeing it. She’s been like this since she finished packing—present, but only just. Like she’s so lost in thoughts of what’s to come, her mind can’t process what’s happening now.

I feel it when she looks at me, almost like she can tell I’m thinking about her, but I don’t meet her eyes. Not this time. My emotions are too close to the surface. Too raw. Too fucking obvious. If I look at her now, she’ll see the panic suffocating me.

My grip tightens around the neck of the water bottle in my hands.

Any minute now.

Any damn minute…

And then—like the universe is finally done torturing me—I hear the door downstairs swing open.

Footsteps pound up the stairs.

A backpack hits the floor.

Then—

“Holy shit. Pizza? Wings? Dr. Pepper? Okay, what the hell did I miss? Did we win the lottery? Or are we dying?”

Tyler rounds the corner and freezes the instant he sees our faces. His smile falters for half a second, but then—like the pro he is—he slaps it right back on like armor.

“Damn,” he mutters, dragging the word out as he drops into the seat across from us. “Dr. Pepper? You never let me have soda. Shit must’ve really hit the fan. We on DEFCON 1 ?”

He says it like a joke, but it falls flat.

Because yeah—shit has definitely hit the fan.

But I don’t say that. Instead, I reach for a plate and slide it toward him. “Eat.”

Tyler raises an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you’re fattening me up? Am I about to be sacrificed to a cult?”

“Tyler. Just hurry up and eat,” I scold, needing him to be serious for once.

He huffs a dramatic sigh and starts piling food onto his plate like a starving college kid—which, to be fair, I guess he is.

“I swear, if this is a last supper situation, at least I’m going out full and happy.” He takes a bite of pizza, groans loudly like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, then grabs a wing and rips into it like he hasn’t eaten in days.

But then… his chewing slows. He swallows. All the while, his gaze is locked in on me—assessing.

“I saw Ben and Zeb downstairs,” he says, still trying for lightness, but there’s an edge to his tone now. “Between that and this gourmet heart attack, I’m guessing you’ve got bad news. Might as well lay it on me now, before the food coma kicks in.”

I glance at Annelly. She’s watching my brother, lips pressed tight, eyes still sad. I wish I could pause long enough to wipe that look from her face, but I can’t. There’s no time. So instead, I reach under the table and rest my hand on her leg.

I clear my throat. “There was a delivery this morning.”

His brows rise. “You mean like… Amazon?”

“No.”

His posture shifts. “What kind of delivery?”

My stomach twists, and I drop my gaze to the countertop. “Flowers.”

Tyler blinks. “Flowers?”

I nod.

Everything stills.

His chair scrapes back.

“He knows she’s here?” he asks, voice sharp, rising with each word. “Then what the fuck are you doing? You should be out there, getting her somewhere safe.”

“We are,” I say, swallowing hard. “Tonight. We were waiting for you.”

Tyler stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Why the hell would you wait for me?”

I blink, thrown. The words land like a punch to my gut—hard, violent, unforgiving—and way too casual for something that cuts this deep. It’s like he doesn’t know me at all.

“What?” I utter helplessly.

“Her safety is all that matters,” he fires back. “If that asshole knows she’s here, then you should’ve gotten her the hell out the second those flowers showed up. What the fuck were you thinking?”

The words hit harder than they should. Because they’re wrong. Dead fucking wrong.

“I was thinking you’re my brother,” I say, voice tightening. “I was thinking that, like always, you and I are in this thing together.”

Tyler scoffs, shaking his head like I’ve missed the point entirely. And maybe he’s partially right. But what gets me—what twists the fucking knife even deeper—is that he really believes I should have left without him.

“Of course I waited,” I snap. “Because that’s what we do. We don’t leave each other. Not ever.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Annelly shifting slightly in her seat. Her gaze drops to the plate in front of her, and I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves. She’s uncomfortable. Probably feels like this is a conversation that shouldn’t be happening in front of her. And if it weren’t for the goddamn threat hanging over our heads, I’d take this to my office—just to spare her.

We don’t have that kind of time, so I force my shoulders to relax. Then I inhale deeply through my nose, letting it out slowly as I try to steady the frustration bleeding through my tone.

“Look, I’m not leaving you behind, Tyler,” I say, calmer now. “I never would. No matter what.”

Tyler exhales hard. “Well, then this conversation’s about to get a whole lot more awkward. Because I’m not going.”

I freeze. “What?”

“I have school. I just got my fieldwork placement. If I bail now, it could be years before they let me back into the program. I have a career I’m trying to build here, James. My own set of priorities. I can’t just abandon everything right now—and I shouldn’t have to.”

He glances at Annelly, then looks back at me. “You’re more than capable of protecting her. She’s your priority now—keeping her safe, keeping that bastard away from her. As for me? You don’t need me for that. That asshole couldn’t care less about me. And with all the security we’ve got, I should be fine staying here until you get back.”

The words hit me like a backhand. Sudden. Brutal. And I don’t even try to hide the way they knock the wind out of me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Tyler rolls his eyes like I’m being dramatic. “James—”

“No. You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to act like it’s that simple.” My voice spikes, hot and sharp, impossible to contain. “After everything we’ve been through? Everything we’ve done to stay together? You’re just gonna wave me off like none of it matters?”

“I didn’t say it doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “Don’t twist my words like that.”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to take from that, Ty? ‘I’ve got a life now, so screw it—you do you, and I’ll do me?’”

He glares at me, jaw tight. “Goddamn it, James. It’s not like that. Stop treating me like I’m still a kid.”

“I have to,” I shout back, louder than I mean to. “Because someone has to make sure you eat right. That you keep up with your schoolwork. That you take care of yourself. And I thought—we always said—we’d stick together. That’s what we do. We don’t leave each other .”

My voice breaks at the end, but I don’t care.

I need him to hear it.

To feel it.

To understand just how much what he’s proposing is tearing me apart.

❤️

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# Chapter 11

James

I feel Annelly shift beside me. A subtle movement—tense, bracing. Like she's trying not to crumple beneath the weight of my anger. And just like that, the guilt tearing through my insides continues to compound.

I suck in a breath and force calm into my voice. "I'm not trying to start a fight here. I just..." I pause, dragging a hand down my face. "After the day we've had, you need to eat, then go upstairs to pack your shit. We leave in less than two hours."

Tyler stares at me for a beat, then slowly lowers himself back into the chair. His voice is softer now, but no less cutting. 

"I said I'm not going."

What the fuck is happening?

I swear my heart stops. My blood runs cold. Twice now, he's said those words—calm, final—like they mean nothing. Like they're not splitting me open. Like they're not shattering the very foundation that makes us 
us
.

I shake my head, not in disbelief, but in defense. Like if I move fast enough to interrupt him, I can deflect the blade he just buried deep into my chest. 

"You don't mean that," I rasp. "You can't mean that."

But he says nothing. 

And that's when it really hits. 

He isn't joking. This isn't some dramatic bluff he'll walk back when he sees us pack up the car, ready to leave. 

This is real. 

He's serious. 

And it feels like betrayal.

"I made you a promise," I say, the words like gravel in my throat. "In that courtroom, the day I got you back. I told you I'd never leave you. That I'd never let anything separate us again." My voice cracks through the growl, devastation bleeding into every word.

"I'm not 14 anymore, James," Tyler says quietly. To my shock, his eyes mirror the same emotion ripping through my chest. "I needed those words back then. Desperately. And for the past nine years, you've lived up to that promise. You saved me from foster care. Gave me a home. Food. Stability. You kept me safe. You gave me everything I needed and more."

He swallows hard, eyes glassy as his voice turns thick. "You gave me my family back. You and me—brothers for life. And this separation..." he gestures between us. "You leaving to protect her," he nods toward Annelly, who's now staring at him with tears in her eyes. "It doesn't mean you're abandoning me."

He looks back at me. "You've done your job, big brother. And I'm grateful. It's why I'm okay now. Why you can leave to take care of her, confident in the knowledge that I'll still be right here when you get back. You're my brother, James. My family. My best friend. And nothing, not even distance, will ever change that."

He draws in a breath. "All I'm asking is that—for once—you let me stand on my own."

I swallow hard, my throat tight.

I don't move.

Can't.

My body's frozen in place, but my insides... I fucking collapse. Because it hits me then. All of it. Like a goddamn freight train. 

The therapists. 

The separation anxiety. 

The unhealthy codependence everyone said we shared... that they tried—and failed—to help us overcome.

All this time, it wasn't 
we
.

It was 
me
.

I was the one who couldn't breathe without him. The one who clung too tight. Who made promises he never asked me to keep. 

I thought I was protecting him. That I was keeping him safe. Making up for all those years I wasn't there. I thought 
I
 was the one holding him steady, helping to keep him afloat.

But all this time... he's been standing just fine.

And I'm the one who never let go. 

The one drowning at the thought of being without him.

My eyes burn, and I don't bother trying to stop the tears as they fall. I don't wipe them away. I don't hide.

Because the truth is too goddamn devastating. Too much for me to function, to react, to breathe like I probably should. 

All this time, I thought I was doing right by him. 

But what if... what if all I've done is hold him back?

Beside me, Annelly shifts. She doesn't say anything. Just slides her hand beneath the table, her fingers curling gently around mine in a soft gesture that says she sees my pain. That she knows what I'm thinking. That she understands.

I squeeze back once, and then I let go. Not because I want to. But because even that—
especially
 that—feels like more than I deserve.

I clear my throat, my thoughts scrambling for something—
anything
—to pull us back to solid ground.

"Victor knows she was here," I say, my voice cracking halfway through. "Staying at the house... it isn't safe."

Tyler's eyes soften, but not in the way I want. Not with fear. Not with reconsideration. Just quiet, steady acceptance.

"Then maybe I'll stay on campus for a while," he says with a shrug. "Maybe even take a trip."

I blink. "A trip?" My voice is flat. Numb.

He exhales, rakes a hand through his hair. "Marissa."

The name lands harder than I expect.

"I know it's been months since we broke up," he continues, eyes fixed on the floor, "but I..." He trails off. Shakes his head like he's not sure if he should say more. "I don't know. I just... I need to see her. To make sure she's okay. To make sure I made the right decision."

The right decision?

I should say something. I should ask what he means. Or why they broke up in the first place. Questions that, if I'm being honest with myself, I should've asked him 
months ago
.

But I didn't. 

Because I was too wrapped up in my bullshit. Too distracted. Too consumed by my own insecurities and misgivings about love and relationships to bother asking about his. And now I'm watching him slip away—
heart-first
—and I don't even know what the hell it is I missed.

"The right decision?" I echo, quietly.

He doesn't elaborate. Just looks at me for a beat... then turns to Annelly.

"I'm sorry you had to see this," he says, pulling her into a hug. "And I'm sorry you're going through all this. You deserve better."

Annelly hugs him back, her voice a whisper. "So do you. Both of you do."

Tyler pulls back, then taps her chin with a knuckle and flashes a crooked smile. "See you on the other side, kiddo."

She nods, smiling through the ache in her eyes.

Then he turns to me.

For a second, we just stare at each other. No words. No defenses. Just all the things we're not saying, sitting heavy between us.

Then he steps in and wraps his arms around me in a rough, familiar hug—one of those hits-too-hard, holds-too-tight, slap-on-the-back kind of hugs we've always shared.

"I'll be okay, big brother. I promise." His voice is low, but confident. "Might even eat a vegetable every now and then."

I huff out a breath that might be a laugh. Might be a sob. Hell if I know anymore.

He pulls back, squeezes my shoulder once. "I love you."

Then he turns—just like that—and walks away.

I don't stop him even though every instinct I have screams that I should. That I should beg. Plead. Bargain. Do something, anything, to keep him with us. 

But I don't. 

 Instead, I just stand there, frozen. Watching him move past me and up the stairs, probably headed to pack whatever he thinks he'll need for the solo adventure he's about to take on.

And still... I don't move.

I just stand there, gutted. Like some vital piece of me has been ripped out. Like I've been hollowed out from the inside and left empty.

And I'm proud of him. 

God,
 I'm so fucking proud of the man he's become.

But at the same time... I've never felt so goddamn alone.

❤️

 
Can't wait for more? I've got you... 
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REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

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.

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"Follow"
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 to get early access without needing to subscribe. 
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Chapter 12

Annelly

We’ve been driving for hours.

The kind of hours that blur together—long, dark, oppressive. The kind that no amount of music or conversation could’ve cut through, even if any of us had tried.

Zeb’s hands stay steady on the wheel. Dominick hasn’t said a word since we stopped in Roanoke. And James… James hasn’t spoken since we left Ruby Creek eight hours ago.

I glance over, watching how his body curls in on itself against the door. He’s not asleep. Hasn’t slept once. His eyes are open, unfocused, locked on the darkness outside like he’s trying to see through it. Or maybe disappear into it.

I tried reaching for him once. Back around midnight, when the silence in the car got too loud and the weight of everything caught up with me. I thought maybe if I just touched him, it would anchor us both. But the second my fingers brushed his hand, he flinched. Pulled away like I’d burned him.

That was four hours ago.

The headlights bounce over a sign I can’t read. Gravel crunches under the tires, and as the car slows, I know we’re close.

I sit up straighter as we round a bend, trees parting just enough to reveal a long, narrow drive and a dark cabin tucked deep into the woods.

It’s bigger than I expected. Still modest—more hunting cabin than luxury hideaway—but clean. Well-kept. The kind of place someone goes to unplug from the world. Not run from it.

Zeb kills the headlights but leaves the engine running. “We’re here.”

My hands drop to my lap, curling into fists I don’t realize I’ve made until my nails bite skin. I should feel safe. Relieved. But all I feel is cold.

James shifts beside me. A movement so small I might’ve missed it if I weren’t watching him so closely. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole ride.

And still… he says nothing. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t acknowledge any of us.

Out the window, I spot Owen stepping onto the porch. He moves like a shadow peeling from the wall. No wave. No smile. Just a nod before he pushes the front door open and disappears inside.

He was clearly waiting for us.

“Stay in the car,” Dominick says, already opening his door. “We’ll be right back.”

Zeb throws the car into park and looks up at the rearview mirror. Not at me. At James. “You got her, brother?”

James nods once. No words. Just a tight, robotic gesture so unlike him, it makes my chest ache.

Zeb lingers for a beat, frustration etched into the lines of his face. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he exhales hard through his nose and gets out of the car.

And just like that, for the first time in hours, we’re alone.

James fidgets beside me, his breathing unsteady. Without thinking, I reach for his hand again, half-expecting him to pull away. But this time, he doesn’t.

His fingers close around mine. Not tight. Not comforting. But it’s something.

And God, I want to cry at the contact. At the fact that this—this small, mindless gesture—is the closest I’ve felt to him since we left. But I don’t. Because if I cry, I might never stop.

So I hold his hand in the quiet, pretending it’s enough.

Pretending it means he’s still there.

Pretending I’m not sitting in the back seat of a car next to the man I love, feeling more alone than I ever have in my life.

Pretending that everything’s going to be okay.

But the comfort is short-lived, because the voice in my head won’t stop screaming: This isn’t him.

The James I know doesn’t go quiet, not when safety’s on the line. He doesn’t retreat into silence in the middle of a threat. He takes charge. He plans. He protects. He controls.

But the further we got from home—from Tyler—the more he started to disappear.

From the corner of my eye, I study his profile in the dim glow of the dash. The way his jaw clenches, like every muscle is working to hold something in. Like if he lets go, even a little, he’ll come apart completely.

I want to say something. Want to tell him it’s okay if that happens, because I’d catch him if he did. But I don’t know if I have the right. Not after everything I’ve cost him.

Because that’s what this is.

This silence.

This unraveling.

It’s all because of me.

I’m the reason we’re here. The reason he had to say goodbye to his brother. To his home. And now he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere, clenching his jaw hard enough to crack bone just to keep it together.

And the worst part… there’s this awful, selfish part of me that still aches for more. Aches for him to turn to me. To lean in. To give me something.

It’s inexcusable, considering everything I’ve already taken from him. But it’s like I can’t help myself. I need him… even more now that I can feel him slowly slipping away.

Suddenly, the cabin door opens, and Zeb steps outside. He climbs into the driver’s seat a few seconds later, his eyes catching mine in the rearview mirror for a fraction of a second, before shifting to James.

“Owen’s got the place wired to the teeth. Motion sensors, cameras—everything’s installed and operational. The property’s completely secured with our tech, including the woods. Every inch is covered. We’ll be safe here.”

He throws the car into gear without waiting for a reply. Not that James offers one.

Zeb nods toward the building he just came from. “That’s Cabin One, our control center. It’s where Dominick or I will be when not patrolling or checking sensors.”

He starts slowly up the bumpy, unpaved road.

“You two will be in the next cabin. I’ll get you settled inside and let you crash for the night. Dominick and I will run a perimeter sweep after. Should be quick since Owen’s still here and he’s got eyes everywhere.”

Another silent nod is all James gives him. Zeb notices, and the worry in his expression deepens. He watches him for another long second before muttering something under his breath and turning back to the road.

“Okay. This is it.” Zeb parks the car and kills the engine.

The second cabin is much bigger than the first. Two stories. Wide porch. Stone chimney. Dark wood siding, weathered just enough to blend seamlessly into the trees. It’s cozy. The kind of place someone might retreat to when the world gets too loud. A quiet escape. A place to breathe.

But this isn’t an escape. Not in that sense.

And no one here is breathing easy.

“You’ll be in charge of her safety and the perimeter around the house,” Zeb says, his words directed squarely at James. “Dom and I will handle the rest of the property, with Owen on overwatch like always.”

James nods again. Silent. Empty.

Zeb’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. When his eyes flick to mine in the mirror, it’s not a casual glance. It’s deliberate. Heavy. Weighted.

Like, do you see this too?

Like, what the hell is going on with him?

Like, I don’t know how to fix this.

I nod, just barely, because I do see it. And I don’t know how to fix it either.

When we finally make it inside, the warmth hits me hard. It’s such a sharp contrast to the crisp, cold night air outside; it sinks into my skin so fast it makes me shiver. The scent of wood and faint smoke settles around me, loosening some of the tension in my shoulders.

A fire—Owen must’ve lit for us—crackles at the far end of the living room, casting flickering shadows across the stone hearth and the exposed wood beams lining the walls and ceiling. Everything is soft. Earthy. Rustic in a way that speaks of comfort.

It’s… beautiful.

The kind of place people come to find themselves. To recharge. To feel human again.

But it doesn’t feel like James.

There are no sharp lines. No polished steel or pristine white walls. None of the faint citrus-and-cedar colognes the brothers wear clinging to the air. No trace of the life we just tore ourselves out of.

No Tyler.

It smells like pine and smoke and someone else’s idea of peace.

Zeb leads us through the main room and into the open kitchen, pointing things out like this is just a tour and not the aftermath of our lives imploding.

“Kitchen’s stocked. This is the living room, obviously. Dining’s over there. Half bath off the hallway. Upstairs has three bedrooms—two full baths. Owen ran checks on the plumbing, power, and heat before we got here. Everything’s solid.”

He sets the bags he’s carrying—walkies and some other tech—on the kitchen counter. Supplies, I’m guessing, meant for James.

Then he turns to me. “Annelly, we suggest you take the middle bedroom. James, the one at the back of the house, since the long drive out front gives us a clear line of sight and it’s pretty well covered by cameras and sensors.”

I nod like I’m following along, but the truth is I’m not. Because as I watch James, I realize… he isn’t listening, either.

He’s been trailing Zeb like a shadow, eyes distant and unfocused, like none of the words are registering at all. This time, there are no subtle nods. No clarifying questions like he usually asks. No assessing glances toward the windows or exits as he searches for vulnerabilities.

The only proof he’s here at all is the sound of his boots on the floor—blank, mechanical footsteps. His body might be in this room, but his mind is somewhere else entirely. Probably back in Ruby Creek, still clinging to his brother.

Zeb glances at him, then quickly looks away, like it physically pains him to see his friend like this.

I know the feeling.

Because this isn’t James in survival mode. This is James… drowned. Underwater. Lost and unreachable.

Then, out of nowhere, his eyes flick toward me, and something shifts. Awareness snaps into place, delayed but unmistakable. His gaze sharpens. His shoulders tense—stiff, rigid—like I’ve crossed some invisible line. Like I’ve seen something I wasn’t meant to. Something he’s fighting like hell to keep hidden.

His jaw locks. His eyes go cold.

And just like that, the silence between us detonates.

“What?” he snaps, voice sharper than I’ve ever heard him. “You staring at me like that for a reason? Trying to figure out how far gone I am? How broken?” His voice turns bitter. “Spare me the look, Annelly. I don’t need your pity or whatever the fuck it is you think you’re offering right now.”

I flinch. “No, I—”

“Go upstairs. Now.” The words hit hard—cold. Final. A command tossed like a grenade, the way you would at someone whose feelings don’t matter. “Go to bed so the rest of us can focus on what actually matters.”

I just stare at him, stunned. This isn’t him asking for space. This is a dismissal. Plain and brutal.

And it stings.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t soften. Doesn’t flinch or look away when he sees the tear sliding down my cheek. He just stands there, arms crossed, face carved into something hard and indifferent. Like the wall between us is now so high, I’ll never reach him again, and he wants me to know it.

My eyes burn. I swallow hard around the lump in my throat and nod. Just once. Then I turn and walk upstairs, humiliation and heartbreak churning in my belly.

I don’t breathe.

I can’t.

Because if I do, I’ll fall apart.

Something I can’t afford, especially now that I know with crushing certainty, James won’t be there to catch me.  

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# Chapter 13

James

Like an out-of-body experience, I watch her leave. Up the stairs. Down the hall. Out of reach.

And I just stand here, fists clenched, jaw locked so tight my teeth ache. My heart's hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break free, probably to chase after her. Or after him.

Tyler.
 

I can't even breathe right. Hell, I'm afraid to try, because if I do—if I exhale even once—I don't know what I'll unleash.

I had no choice. 

That's the story I keep telling myself. Over and over. Like some pathetic fucking mantra.

She saw too much. 

She pitied me. 

She was trying to fix me. 

I 
had
 to push her away. Before I lost control. Before I hurt her worse.

It was the right call. The smart move. With all this poison in my blood, she's better off. She needed space. I needed space. We both did. That look in her eyes—like I was broken, like I needed saving—I had to shut it down.

I did what was best. 

For both of 
us
.

Only now, every word I threw at her won't stop echoing in my head. A chorus of how I just destroyed the one thing that made any of this shit bearable.

The crack in her voice. 

The tear on her cheek. 

The way she didn't fight back. Didn't defend herself. Just...walked away.  

And the longer I stand here, drowning in the memory, the more that fake-ass logic starts to unravel. 

Then—
click.
 

The soft, distant sound of a door closing upstairs cuts through the silence.

It's done. She's gone. 

But instead of relief, the thought only stokes the fire already raging through me. With nowhere to put it, I turn to Zeb—half hoping for a fight, half bracing for whatever reprimand I'm sure is sitting on his tongue.

I expect a glare. A strongly worded warning. Maybe just more silence. 

What I get is neither. 

What I get... is 
impact
.

His hands slam into my chest, and I hit the wall so hard my spine cracks. The air rips from my lungs in a grunt, and suddenly I'm gasping for breath.

At only 5' 8", Zeb's the smallest of us, but what he lacks in height, he more than makes up for in raw muscle. Which explains why I'm struggling just to get my lungs to expand. 

Even as I gasp for air, I don't fight his hold. Don't raise a hand. Don't shove back. Because I earned this. Every fucking bit of it. Even the enraged monster in me knows that much.

Zeb steps in so close, his breath scorches across my face. His fists are balled in the collar of my shirt, knuckles white, and I don't miss the tremble in his grip. He's barely holding himself back.   

But I can take it. 

Whatever hell he wants to rain down on me, I won't flinch. I won't cower.

But then I meet his eyes—and Jesus. 

I expected rage. Fury. The kind of pissed off I know how to handle. 

But this? 

I don't know what the fuck to do with 
this
.

He's looking at me like he doesn't recognize me. Like he's disappointed. Betrayed. Like whatever version of me he believed in just went up in flames.

When he opens his mouth, I brace, trying to hold on to the fire still burning in my gut. Just enough not to flinch. Not to break. Not to let him see all the things I'm trying to hide. 

The guilt.

The fear.

The hurt.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
 
he growls, voice low and lethal. Like he's promising retribution if I give the wrong answer.  

But why the hell would I answer? 

Especially when I don't even know myself. 

And maybe that's why in the next breath—

Crack.

His fist slams into my jaw, and my head snaps back against the wall. Stars explode behind my eyes. My teeth rattle. Copper floods my mouth. 

But I don't stagger. 

I don't fall. 

Because I've endured worse. Been beaten worse. Survived worse. 

Years of fists from the adults who were supposed to protect me. Two years in an underground fighting ring that almost killed me. It's how I learned to take a hit and still keep standing. 

And since I deserve it anyway, I 
want
 it. 

His anger. His judgment. The pain stinging in my jaw. I take it all like the monster I am, letting it feed the self-hatred still burning in my veins. Because that pain? It's a million times easier to carry than whatever the hell I'm feeling right now. Easier to bear than the Annelly and Tyler-sized holes throbbing in my chest. 

My jaw clicks as I reset it, slow and controlled. Then I meet his stare, my teeth clenched. 

"You get one." I grind out. "Because I earned it." 

I pause. 

Take a breath. 

Then lower—darker—I warn, "But the next punch you throw might be your fucking last."

Zeb doesn't react. Doesn't blink. Doesn't look remotely affected by the threat.

Me, on the other hand? 

I 
wish
 he'd swing again. 

Because with every second that passes, the rage inside me is dying out. Smothered by my guilt. Drenched in my shame.

He still says nothing, so I clench my fists to keep from lashing out. And when I speak again, the words come out like blades. Sharp. Hard. Meant to cut deep. Meant to hurt enough that they'll start to feel like the truth. 

"You think I don't know what I just did?" I let out a bitter laugh. "She was looking at me like I was broken. Like I needed saving. So I had to show her. Had to prove she was right. That I'm too far gone. That I'm not worth a single second of her fucking time. It was only a matter of time before I hurt her. This way, it's done. She knows who the fuck I am now."

But even as the words leave my mouth, they taste like ash.

Because it's bullshit. 

All of it.

I didn't push her away to protect her. I did it because I was afraid. Afraid she'd see everything I've spent my whole life hiding. I did it to protect 
myself
.

"You expect me to believe that was you being honorable?" He steps closer, and I swear the whole room squeezes around us. "No. That wasn't honorable, James. You, talking to her like that? That was
 abuse
. That was 
bullying
. That was you making her feel 
small
 just so 
you 
could feel in control."

My spine stiffens.

But he's not done. 

Hell, it looks like he's just getting started.

"That's the same shit those bastards did to your mom. The same damn thing you 
swore
 you'd never do to a woman. And yet here you are."

The words lash across my skin like a whip, and for the first time, I flinch. Because—
fuck
. He's not wrong. But he's not exactly right, either. 

Those men—the johns, the dealers—they hurt my mom to get what they wanted. They used her. Destroyed her. Whereas me? I'm just trying to protect Annelly.

Another lie,
 my mind whispers.

But my pride... my pride won't let me back down.

I open my mouth, ready to defend myself, but Zeb cuts me off with a single word.

"Don't." His voice booms like a warning shot. "Don't you 
dare
 insult me by feeding me some noble-sounding bullshit about doing the right thing. Because we both know that's not what that was."

He takes another step.

Closer.

Angrier.

"You didn't lash out to protect her. You lashed out because she 
saw you
. Because she 
cared
. Because she was there—in your lowest, most vulnerable moment—and that scared the living hell out of you." 

His voice cracks, not from weakness, but from something deeper. Old rage. Old pain from wounds that never really healed.

"I watched my father do that shit to my mother. I watched him twist his fear into insults, his shame into fists. I saw the way he looked at her when she cried, like 
she
 was the problem. Not him. Not the pain he'd caused her because he couldn't face his own goddamn demons."

He breathes through clenched teeth, like every word is acid on his tongue.

"You know what that did to me. You know how I feel about weak men who hurt the people they're supposed to protect. So if you think I'm going to stand by and watch you treat her like that?" He shakes his head. "Not a fucking chance." 

He jerks his head toward the stairs. A silent reminder of who's up there hurting because of me.

"Keep this up and you're going to 
lose her.
 And the worst part?" His eyes narrow. "You're too busy feeding the anger inside you to even realize what you're throwing away."

His eyes are glassy now, but he doesn't blink. 

"Don't be that guy, James. You've come too fucking far, fought to goddamn hard, to go back there. To become the man you would've been if Ben hadn't stepped in to help you."

My breath hitches.

I swallow hard against the sob rising in my throat. My chest feels like it's caving in—like something inside me is clawing, twisting, trying to tear its way out.

First, Tyler. Telling me he was ready. That he 
wanted 
to stand on his own. That he didn't need me to carry him anymore.

And now this.

Her.
 Crying. Walking away. Leaving me... because I hurt her.

Zeb's still watching me. Still waiting. And it's like his words cracked something wide open inside me. Something I can't shove back down this time.

I shake my head. When I finally speak, it scrapes out low. Broken. 

"You don't know what it's like." I stare at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. "The rage. What I'm trying to hold back." 

It's not an excuse. 

It's the only truth I have left. 

"She's better off." I bite the words out like glass. Jagged. Shattered. "I'm no good for her. She's already been through enough."

There. I said it.

Except now that the words are out there, it feels like the end of the world. Because it feels like I've already lost
 everything 
that ever mattered
. 

Zeb doesn't back down. He doesn't soften or take pity on me. Instead, he steps even closer. Not to hit me this time, but to make me see. To twist the knife just a little deeper.

"You're right." He lets it hang there. Lets it land, like he wants me to feel every goddamn syllable. "She 
is
 too damn good for you. And after tonight?" He shakes his head, disgust curling at the edge of his mouth. "I'm not sure she'll ever look at you the same again."

The words slam into me like a runaway freight train because I know he's right. I 
felt
 it the second she turned to walk away.

But Zeb's not done.

Not even close.

"You made her a promise, James. You told her she was safe with you. That you'd protect her. And tonight?" He pauses—just long enough for the truth to rip clean through. "You proved your word means 
shit
. She can't trust you. She 
shouldn't
."

I stagger under the weight of it.

Every part of me wants to push back, to argue, yell, do something to fight off the blow. But I don't move. Because the fight's been drained out of me. And maybe that's what scares me the most. That without Tyler, without her... I've got nothing left to fight for.

"You're losing her," Zeb says quietly, like he can read my thoughts. "One piece of her soft heart at a time... and you don't even see it." His voice drops to a whisper. "And by the time you do, by the time you're ready to fix it... It might be too late."

And just like that, the floor gives out beneath me. Because he's right. I'm running out of chances.

Zeb exhales one sharp, final breath, then shakes his head like he's done. Like, I'm not even worth the fight anymore.

"Fix it." His tone leaves no room for argument. "Or you're off her team. You hear me? You'll stay in Cabin One—out of her sight—and Dominick and I take over her protection detail."

He steps back, jaw clenched so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding.

"She deserves better. And right now? That sure as hell isn't you."

Then he turns on his heel and storms out the front door, slamming it behind him hard enough to make the whole damn house shake.

❤️

 
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 on 
REAM
 to get early access without needing to subscribe. 
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Chapter 14

James

The echo of the door slamming doesn’t just fade. It lingers, vibrating through the walls, the floor, all the way into my chest like an aftershock I can’t escape.

Then it’s quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that soothes. The kind that presses in from every angle, suffocating. Squeezing the hope out of you until all that’s left is darkness.

I drag a hand over my face, but it doesn’t help. The air here is too thin, too stale. Every breath feels shallow, like my lungs refuse to work. Like this place is shrinking around me inch by inch, the walls creeping closer until there’s nowhere left to stand.

Right now, this place feels nothing like a safe house. More like a fucking cage. A trap I can’t fight my way out of.

Something tight coils in my gut, and suddenly it feels like if I stay still for another second, it’ll tear me apart from the inside out. So I start pacing. Back and forth, the way a caged animal does when it knows there’s no way out. The movement isn’t enough to settle me, but at least it keeps me from feeling idle. Because stillness… stillness feels too much like surrender.

Yes.

This is better.

Movement is action. Forward progress. Exactly what I need.

But then Zeb’s words come back to me, looping through my thoughts like a curse I can’t outrun.

You’re losing her.

One piece of her soft heart at a time… and you don’t even see it.

I grind the heels of my palms into my temples, like I can squeeze away his voice. Like I can scrape the memory clean. But now all I see is her face. Glassy eyes. That one silent tear. The look that confirmed I’d shattered her trust in me.

By the time you’re ready to fix it… it might be too late.

A ragged breath shudders out of me. My throat feels raw, my chest hollowed out, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s too much. All of it. The shame. The regret. The gut-deep knowing that I don’t have a plan to fix this. I don’t even know where to start.

My fists clench at my sides, itching to hit something. To split my knuckles open on the wall, anything to feel a clean kind of pain instead of this messy, gnawing ache I can’t shake off.

But I force myself to keep moving, boots scuffing across the floorboards in rough, restless laps. Because if I stop… if I stop, I’ll have to face what I’ve done.

Just wait until morning, until you’ve pulled yourself together. That’s what I tell myself, because like me, she needs time. Space. A chance to catch her breath. To process everything that’s happened without me hovering in the doorway, sucking the oxygen out of the room like I tend to do. A chance to steady herself before I go storming in and making everything worse.

And maybe—maybe if I wait, she’ll be able to see past the way I treated her. Maybe she’ll remember who I was before tonight. Before I had to leave my brother, my home, every damn piece of my life behind. Maybe she’s up there thinking of that man instead of the angry monster who erupted out of me in my weakest moment.

But the thought of her up there, all alone, hurting because of me, makes my chest ache.

What if she’s sitting in that room right now, replaying every word I spat at her and taking it to heart? What if she blames herself? And worse, what if, after thinking about it, she decides she’s done? What if she finally realizes I’m not worth the risk? The pain?

A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead, my neck, my shoulders. My heart thuds so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free.

No.

I can’t wait.

I won’t.

I’d rather go up there and have her look me in the eye and tell me it’s over than spend one more fucking minute wondering if I’ve already lost her.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m moving. My boots pounding up the stairs two at a time, chasing the desperate hope that I’m not too late.

I stop in front of her door, and suddenly I can’t make my hand move. My fist hovers in the air, a few inches from the wood. My pulse hammering so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if she can hear it from the other side.

What if she doesn’t open?

What if she’s standing there right now, holding her breath, wishing I’d just turn around and leave her alone for good?

The thought nearly buckles my knees, and for one split second, I almost do it.

But I can’t.

I can’t walk away. I can’t leave things like this.

So I force my knuckles to brush the door. A soft knock—so tentative it doesn’t even sound like me.

Silence.

No answer.

Fuck.

I swallow hard, my throat raw. My fist curls tighter, bracing like it’s ready to punch through the door if that’s what it takes. This time, when I try again, I knock harder.

“Annelly… please.” My voice scrapes out of me, ragged, ripped from that desperate, hopeless place at the bottom of my chest.

When all that greets me is more silence, something inside me breaks.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, my forehead dropping against the cold wood in a dull thud of defeat. “I’m so fucking sorry. I just—I need to see you, Annelly. I need to see that you’re okay.”

Still nothing. And every second that ticks by feels like I’m edging closer to an end I can’t crawl back from. And hell, without Tyler and now her, I’m not sure I’d even want to.

Then—so soft I almost think I imagined it—the sound of the lock shifting hits the air.

I hold my breath.

And when the door eases open, relief hits me so hard it nearly brings me to my knees.

❤️

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# Chapter 15

James

But then I see her face. Swollen eyes. Tear tracks cutting down her cheeks. Skin pale in the soft light coming from the hallway. The shame that crashes into me at the sight is worse than any punch Zeb could've landed. So fierce, my eyes burn with it.

For a long, terrible moment, we just stare at each other. Neither of us saying a word. Both of us looking wrecked, but in different ways.

I open my mouth, trying to find something—anything—to make this less unbearable, but nothing comes out. My throat closes around every word I thought I had. The fear that I'll only fuck things up more has me frozen.

I drag a hand over my face, desperate to push through.

"I—I'm sorry." My voice is hoarse, raw, laced with all the regret I can't swallow. "I shouldn't have said what I said. Any of it." 

Her eyes don't change. They stay blank. Distant. Like she's already given up. Maybe on us. Probably on me.

I can't stand it, so I rush on. The words tumbling out of me, rough and clumsy. "I didn't mean it," I rasp. "I was frustrated. Overwhelmed. And I took it out on you."

The confession feels small. Pathetic. Nowhere near enough to cover the damage I've done.

"I don't expect you to understand. Or forgive me," I say quietly, forcing out the most honest words I think I've ever spoken. "At least not yet. I just—I couldn't stand the thought of it sitting here between us like this. I couldn't stand...knowing you were up here thinking that's who I am."

I drag in a breath, but it doesn't help. My chest still feels like it's caving in. "I mean... it is who I am," I admit, voice cracking. "But it's not who I want to be. "

Another ragged inhale, and still nothing eases.

"I don't know how to fix it," I whisper, hating how unsteady I sound. "But I have to try. I have to find some way to make things right. Because I need you, Annelly. Just like Tyler... you—" My throat closes around the words, and I have to swallow before I can force them out. "It's like you've become a part of me. A part I can't be without." 

I drag a trembling hand over my face, catching the tears trying to escape my eyes before they can fall. God, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore. Why I'm saying any of this. Maybe it's just the fear of losing her that has me spewing shit I never thought I'd say out loud—things I can barely admit to myself.

"None of that is on you. My unhealthy attachment issues aren't your problem. That's not why I'm telling you any of this. I just... I guess I needed you to know that I know I was wrong. That I know how unforgivable it was to speak to you like that. That I'll try my damndest never to do it again."

I know I shouldn't reach for her. Every part of me is screaming to back off, to give her the space she deserves. But my hand lifts anyway. I can't help it.

To my relief, she doesn't flinch or move away. She just watches me—quiet, unreadable—as my fingers hover near her cheek. And when I finally let them touch her, when I brush away the tear sliding down her skin, her lashes flutter shut. Another tear spills free. But she still doesn't stop me.

That tiny mercy... God, it nearly finishes me.

I swallow hard and let my hand cup her jaw, my thumb grazing the delicate curve of her cheekbone. When she still doesn't pull away, I step closer. Closer until there's no space left between us, and I can feel the warmth of her body pressed to mine. 

I wrap my arms around her. Careful. Painfully slow, like I'm afraid if I move too fast, she'll snap out of whatever fragile truce this is and shove me back where I belong. 

For a heartbeat, she stays stiff. Her palms flat against my chest, like she can't decide whether to push me away or pull me closer. Then, all at once, she sags against me like she's been holding herself up for so long, she doesn't have any fight left. 

A ragged breath tears out of me as I bury my face in her hair. She smells like peace. Like serenity. Like jasmine, vanilla, and that soft sweetness that's only ever been hers. It's astounding to me how familiar it is. How much it feels like home. Like the only real peace I've ever found. 

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice splintering around the words. Silent tears spill over, but with her in my arms, I don't even try to stop them. "I'm so fucking sorry." 

I don't know if it's the way her body leans heavier into mine or the way her breath shudders against my collarbone, but something inside me snaps. Without thinking, I slip an arm under her knees, the other bracing her back. Lifting her like she weighs nothing, though my arms are trembling with everything I'm trying to hold in.

She doesn't resist. Just curls closer to my chest as I carry her across the room. The trust in that simple surrender nearly undoes me.

At the edge of the bed, I hesitate. For one stupid second, I wonder if I should put her down and leave. If maybe that's the decent thing to do, to let her have the night to decide if she ever wants me near her again. 

But then her eyes flutter open. Wet. Shining. And she looks at me like she knows exactly what I'm thinking, like she's making the choice for both of us. 

When her hand lifts to cup the side of my face, I feel it clear to my bones. 

It's a silent permission.

So I lay her down with more care than I've ever shown another human being. Then I ease in beside her, my heart hammering as I pull the blanket over us. Like maybe if I keep her close enough and hide her away with me, everything will eventually be okay. 

When her fingers brush mine, I don't hold back. One arm finds her waist, the other slips beneath her neck and around her shoulder, pulling her in against my chest. I hold her like she's the only thing tethering me to the earth.

The breath I've been holding shudders out of me, and for the first time since that day when I was twelve, when I sat by my mother's corpse desperately praying she'd wake up, I send a silent prayer to the heavens. To God. The universe. Whatever deity out there might be listening.

Please. Don't let this be the last time.

Because I see this for what it is. This isn't forgiveness. But it's more than I ever imagined I'd get. Certainly more than I deserve.

I brush the hair from her face with a hand that feels too big, too rough, too tainted for something this beautiful, this fragile.

As I look down at her face, her lashes flicker but don't open. She's exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Probably every way that counts, and who could blame her? Between the flowers, going on the run again, and the shit I threw at her... 

Christ.

I have a lot to make up for. 

"Rest," I whisper, my voice low and raw as I press a kiss to her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."

She doesn't answer—not even a nod—but the way her body eases against mine, like she's trusting me to watch over her, even after everything, tells me enough. 

And for the first time, I let myself believe maybe it's not too late.

That maybe—somehow—there's still a chance she'll see there's something in me worth staying for. Worth wanting. Worth getting to know.

I don't fall asleep right away, even though every part of me is wrung out. 

Instead, I lie there, staring up into the dark, listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing. Replaying every terrible thing I said. All the terrible things I've done to her. Every look on her face each time I've hurt her. Wondering if there's any version of me that could ever be enough—hell, worthy—of this woman. 

Wondering if I'll ever get the chance to prove it.

That's the thought still in my head when sleep finally drags me under.

❤️

 
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Chapter 16

James

I jerk awake, my heart hammering like it’s about to split my chest wide open. For a second, I don’t know where I am. The nightmare still clings to me like sludge that’ll never wash clean.

Victor’s hand wrapped around Annelly’s throat.

Tyler crumpled on the floor, blood soaking his hairline.

Both of them terrified, screaming for me to help them while I stood there frozen. Useless. While everything I love—everyone I can’t live without—was ripped away.

My breath comes in shallow, frantic gasps. The unfamiliar room feels too small. Too constricting. Like the walls are inching closer, determined to crush me.

Driven by instinct, I force myself to look down, desperate to find something real. Something to anchor me back into the present.

And there she is.

Annelly.

She’s still here, curled against my chest, her face soft and peaceful in sleep, like she has no idea she’s lying next to a man who doesn’t deserve her. A man who never should have promised he could keep her safe.

That she’s here, sleeping so soundly, trusting that I’ve got her… the guilt hits so hard I almost gag.

I need to get out.

I need to leave this bed so I can catch my breath.

Careful not to jostle her, I ease my arm out from under her. Thankfully, she doesn’t stir. Doesn’t even sigh.

God, she looks…fragile. Breakable in a way that makes something deep in my chest twist up so tight it feels like it might snap.

I can’t do this. I can’t stay here in this bed, watching her breathe, pretending for a single fucking second that any of this is okay.

I slip out from under the blanket and plant my feet on the cold floor. For a moment, I just sit there, elbows braced on my knees, trying to steady the shaking in my hands.

When I finally stand, my hand goes straight to my pocket. A habit at this point. Nine years of always checking, always making sure I could reach Tyler in a heartbeat. But my fingers close around nothing.

Right.

No phone. No contact. No way to hear his voice and know he’s alive. Safe. Not lying on some floor with blood pooling under his skull.

I stare down at the place where my phone should be and swear under my breath.

Ben took our electronics before we left, as is protocol. It’s for our safety. But there’s no way in hell I can do this much longer. Sitting here, miles away and cut off from the only person I’ve managed to keep alive this long…

I’m about to lose my goddamn mind.

The hollowness in my chest widens, raw and scraping. Like, without Tyler, a part of me is just…gone. The part that makes it so I can fucking breathe. Think. Act.

Zeb said they’d get us burners. That needs to happen right fucking now.

But first, a shower.

That should hopefully help. Maybe standing under scalding water will wash away the last remnants of the nightmare I can’t seem to shake.

After sparing one last glance at the beautiful girl who now consumes so much of me, I waste little time shutting myself in the hall bathroom. I turn the water on as hot as it will go, and steam fills the space almost immediately, dampening my skin before I’m even under the spray.

Once undressed, I step inside, bracing my hands against the tile. I bow my head, letting the water beat down over my stiff shoulders. It burns. The pain helps to numb some of the terror clinging to me like a second skin. Unfortunately, it’s nowhere near enough to wash it all away, but for now, it’ll have to do.

When I finally shut the water off, the panic is still there, pressing against my ribs, coiled tight like it’s about to snap.

With a frustrated sigh, I drag a towel over my face, drying off quickly before knotting the towel around my hips. The pack with my clothes is still downstairs, and the thought of putting yesterday’s clothes back on makes my skin crawl.

I leave the bathroom and pad down the stairs, ignoring how my pulse spikes at the echoing silence. It’s almost shocking… like the emptiness of the safe house is a vacuum swallowing up every sound. It’s overwhelming and leaves me feeling vulnerable. Exposed. Alone.

I rush to find my bag and dress right there in the living room, not caring who might see. My hands are shaking too badly to bother with modesty. I need to reach out to the guys. I need movement. Work. Purpose. Anything to distract me from this push and pull, tearing me apart from the inside out.

To my relief, there on the kitchen counter, I find a set of handheld radios.

Thank fucking Christ.

A lifeline.

Wasting no time, I grab one, flipping it on with a flick of my thumb, and set the channel to the one we always use.

“Command, this is Serrano,” I say, voice low and gruff. “Sit-rep.”

A pause crackles over the line, then Zeb’s voice filters back, short and all business.

“Perimeter’s clear. No movement or traffic on the south ridge since we came in last night. Cameras picked up nothing, other than wildlife overnight.”

I close my eyes, dragging in a shaky breath. For half a second, the words settle something in my chest. But it doesn’t last.

“Any sign he knows she’s been moved?” I force out. “Any digital communications? Flower deliveries? Anything different in his routine?”

“Nope.” Zeb’s answer is clipped. “Nothing. Though it’s honestly too early to tell. For now, we’re secure here.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than it should. That there’s no indication he knows where we are, or that we’ve moved, should come as a relief. But it doesn’t.

My hand tightens around the radio. “I need to get in touch with my brother,” I say carefully, my voice as even as I can get it under the circumstances. Anything to hide how badly I’m struggling without him. “Where are we with the burners?”

Another pause, but this one feels different. Like Zeb’s deciding how much softness he’s willing to show me after our argument last night.

“Got one here for you and Annelly,” he says finally. “Owen left early this morning. Headed back to Ruby Creek, which means I’m on overwatch for the next several hours until he arrives and can take over. Dominick’s out scouting the perimeter now, running checks. I’ll have him bring it over when he swings back in about an hour or two. As far as Tyler, I’ll text Ben to make sure we get a burner in his hand before dinner.”

The knot in my throat eases, but only just slightly. That’s still several hours away—too many hours.

My pulse spikes hard, panic scratching up the back of my throat.

By dinner… it means I might not be able to reach him until close to nightfall. That’s hours of not knowing if he’s okay. Hours where anything could happen, and I wouldn’t know. Where I’d be powerless to do a damn thing if it did.

I drag a hand over my face, willing my voice not to crack.

“Thanks.”

“Yep,” Zeb grunts. He doesn’t say you’re welcome. He never does when he’s mad. And judging by his clipped, all-business tone, he’s pissed.

I swallow, turning my attention back to what matters. Finding something I can control.

“So…where do you need me?” I ask, desperate for something— anything —to keep me busy.

Another long pause, and I can almost hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Nowhere,” he says at last. “Everything’s covered. Maybe take this time to fix the mess you made. You know. Do a little groveling. Maybe beg for her forgiveness. I’d recommend you tap into your muse… be anyone other than yourself, so she forgives you for being the bastard you are.”

I grit my teeth. “Real helpful.” Asshole.

His tone shifts, sliding the knife in just a little deeper with that dry, black humor of his. “You’re fucking welcome. I’ll repeat it for good measure, to make sure it sinks in… Try not to be yourself. Trust me, it’ll help. The real you is a dick.”

A humorless huff scrapes my throat. I deserve that. I know I do.

For a second—just a second—I almost say it. Almost tell him he was right to call me out. Almost say I’m sorry for how I acted.

But the words won’t come. My ego’s still too bruised.

Instead, I mutter a half-hearted, “Copy that,” then release the button and set the radio back on the counter.

The silence that follows is worse than the one before. It presses in around me, cold and too close.

This is the first morning in nine years that Tyler doesn’t wake up under my roof—or at least just a short drive away. Now he’s several states over, God knows where, and I’m here. Too far away to help if something happens. Too far away to make sure he makes it home okay at the end of the day. To make sure he eats. That he wakes up in time to get to class.

And the worst part? Now that our home is off limits, thanks to Bastille, I don’t even know where he’s staying.

Is it clean?

Safe?

What if the place isn’t secure?

What if Victor goes after him?

What if I fail him again?

The questions keep coming. Crawling deep into my psyche, clinging to me like hooks that won’t let go.

And then what? What do you do when Annelly realizes she deserves a hell of a lot better than a man who can’t keep the people he loves safe?

The walls of the house constrict around me again, like they’re trying to crush me. To bury me alive.

Fuck. I can’t stay here.

I need some goddamn air before I lose what’s left of my mind.

With the radio in hand, I cross to the front door and shove it open, stepping out into the chilly morning. The air hits me like a welcomed reprieve—sharp enough to chisel through at least some of the static in my head.

For a single moment, I breathe in deeply. Let myself take it all in, my lungs filling all the way for the first time since I woke up from that damn nightmare.

It helps. Being out here in the fresh air. My heart is finally beating steady again, my mind almost clear—except for the thoughts that hover there, relentlessly beating back the peace I’m desperate to hold on to.

Where the fuck is Tyler?

Is he alright?

What if something happened and I never see him again?

I drag a hand over my face, shoving the questions down before they can take root and smother me all over again.

Movement.

That’s what I need.

So I step off the porch, determined to explore the perimeter of the house. The sound of my boots crunching over the graveled path soothes some of the restlessness vibrating through me. The trees that surround the property seem to go on for miles, and only from experience can I pick out the security cameras mounted all around me.

I lift a hand in a small salute toward the nearest one, knowing Zeb and the guys are probably watching. The thought doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t feel intrusive like it probably should. If anything, it helps to know they’re there—sets my mind at ease. My backup in case I fail, which, given my track record, is a very real possibility.

When I round the back corner of the property, a shimmer of blue between the trees catches my eye. I lean forward, squinting, and quickly recognize what it is.

Water.

The lake Zeb mentioned last night, which thankfully falls within the perimeter of our cameras.

Now that I’ve seen where it is, there’s this invisible force drawing me toward it. A need I can’t explain. A strange sense that if I just take a minute to get close—to feel it, see it, experience its stillness for myself—maybe then I’ll be able to breathe right again.

Before I get the chance to move toward it, something else snags my attention. A small structure tucked under a set of pines.

A shed.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring at it, before curiosity tugs me forward. My hand finds the latch, and when I test it, to my surprise, it gives way without a fight.

It’s unlocked.

Inside, it’s dark and still. Dust motes drift through the beams of sunlight slanting in from the two small windows along the back wall. It smells musty—like damp wood and the clean rot of old leaves—but it’s tidy, clearly well maintained.

Fishing poles hang neatly along one wall, a couple of tackle boxes stacked nearby. Plastic tubs of lures. Several coils of rope. Fishing nets of various sizes. Faded camp chairs folded in the corner. Gas lamps and an old-fashioned camping stove sit on a narrow workbench.

I stand there, taking it all in. And for the first time since I woke up, a flicker of something good cuts through the haze in my head. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe just purpose.

I picture Annelly sitting next to me by the water. The afternoon sun shining on her face, turning her dark hair to threads of gold. She’s quiet in that peaceful way she deserves. Because she’s safe. Taken care of. Then she turns to me and smiles. Just for a second, but fuck, it’s more than enough. It’s everything I want. Everything I need to make the nightmare we’re facing disappear. Even if it’s only temporary.

Maybe this is it. What we both need.

With the idea taking hold, I step back outside, letting the door ease shut behind me.

The sun has climbed higher since I left the house, warming the cool air just enough that this might work.

I know exactly what I need to do.

Get us both out of this house.

Out of our heads.

Away from the ghosts of last night—hell, the last twenty-four hours.

We’ll go to the lake. Sit in the quiet. Try to remember there’s still a world of wonder, of peace, and possibilities beyond the fear and the regret.

I want that. The hope. A glimpse of the world waiting for us beyond these seemingly impossible odds we’re facing.

Because I’m in love with this girl.

And as terrifying as that is… the thought of losing her—of never getting our chance—is worse.

❤️

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# Chapter 17

Annelly

I wake up alone, and for a moment, I almost let myself believe the silence in the room means everything's okay. That there was no flower delivery. No rush to go on the run in the middle of the night again. No argument that cracked something between James and me I'm not sure can ever be fixed.

But it only takes a few seconds for the memories to come rushing back, each one landing heavy against my chest until the last traces of sleep are gone, leaving nothing behind but a dull ache and the thick, empty quiet.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to remember the last time I felt like myself. Before the mess in New York. Before him. Life was so much simpler back then—school, my friends, my cousin, my mom. That was it. All I had to worry about.

But then I met him. James. That summer was supposed to be about helping my cousin and her girls find normalcy amid the chaos of being stashed away, hiding from her ex-husband's enemies. And there he was. Confident. Cocky. All alpha male, bossy, and vigilant. He missed nothing. Not the way I blushed every time he entered the room. Not the way my eyes lingered on him when I thought he wasn't looking. 

At first, he took it all in stride, almost reveling in the way I couldn't control my body, my mouth, my thoughts when I was around him. But then it slowly evolved into something like friendship. He made me believe I could trust him. That he would always take care of things. Take care of me. 

Until one day, he didn't. 

I had crossed some unspoken line that triggered something in him I never expected. Instead of talking to me, of letting me down gently, reinforcing the boundaries of whatever we were, he tore my heart out. He pushed me away. Told me to leave. Go back to school. Because whatever we had was over.

That was the first time. And since then, it's like any time he feels too vulnerable, or senses I'm getting too close to seeing the real him, something in him snaps. Some defense mechanism. He shoves me aside with absolute force, breaking my heart all over again.

It's almost funny how quickly I've learned to brace for that whiplash. How I've gotten used to feeling safe and wanted one minute... and discarded the next. 

I should be angry. Or something close to it. 

But all I feel is tired. So tired I could lie here for hours, maybe days, and still not feel rested.

But that's not an option. I can't stay hidden under these blankets forever. I have to get up. I have to be an adult about this, whatever 
this
 is. Because no matter how much I wish it wasn't true, reality is waiting for me downstairs. And so is he.

It takes more effort than it should to swing my legs over the side of the bed. My body feels heavy, like I'm carrying every sleepless night and every unanswered question inside my bones. 

I sit there for a moment, letting my feet rest on the cool floor, my hands curled in the blanket like I might change my mind and climb right back under it. 

But hiding won't make this any easier. If anything, it'll just drag out the part I'm dreading most—having to look him in the eye as we both pretend everything is okay. 

It's what we do.

So I stand.

I pull on the most comfortable clothes I can find: soft leggings, a long-sleeved sweatshirt, a pair of thick socks. Nothing special. Nothing that makes me feel beautiful or fragile or anything at all. Just something to keep me warm in this cold hell we're living in.

By the time I smooth my hair back and press a hand to my chest, I'm no closer to feeling ready. But I have no choice. I have to face him.

The stairs creak under my feet, announcing me before I even reach the bottom.

The house isn't exactly bright—more like the gentle hush of the midday sun drifting in through the canopy of trees. Sun rays slant across the warm wood floors and soft earth-toned walls. 

It should feel cozy. Homey. But instead, it feels... off. Like all the air has been sucked out of the room and replaced with something brittle.

When I turn the corner, he's standing in the kitchen, a loaf of bread open on the counter in front of him. There's a small stack of sandwiches already wrapped, and he's halfway through slicing another when he hears me.

His shoulders tense just enough to show he knows I'm here. Then he glances over, his eyes shining like he's been listening for my footsteps all morning.

For a tense heartbeat, neither of us says anything. The only sound is the soft scrape of the knife as he sets it down.

I can see it now—how hard he's trying to look composed. The careful way he schools his expression. The little tremor in his hand when he wipes a crumb off the counter, like the strain of hiding what he's feeling is costing him.

But then he gives me a tentative smile. Small. Hopeful.

And something terrible shifts around in my chest. Suddenly, I want to go to him. God, I want nothing more than to be wrapped up in the warm safety of his arms. 

But I can't.

I won't.

After everything, it would be foolish of me to give in to those instincts again.

He doesn't speak right away. Just watches me with that careful, measuring look, as if he's trying to figure out what to do next. 

Then, like he's come to some decision, he rounds the counter. He moves slowly, as if he's approaching a scared animal. Like he's afraid any sudden movement might send me bolting back up the stairs.

He stops just in front of me, his hand hovering at his side, waiting for some sign. Some small permission I'm too stunned to give. But when I don't step away, it's like that small mercy is enough. 

In the next beat, he exhales—long, shaky—and steps in close, wrapping his arms around me. He's tentative at first, then tighter. Tight enough that I feel every inch of him pressed against me. The warmth. The tension. The desperate way he breathes me in, like he's trying to reassure himself I'm still here.

For one dangerous moment, I almost give in. Almost let myself melt into him, let myself believe it could be that simple. That we could just be two people clinging to each other because nothing else makes sense anymore. 

But then what happens the next time he gets scared? The next time he feels too vulnerable around me? The next time he decides my closeness is a threat?

Though I don't pull away the way my mind is screaming for me to do, I don't fully lean in, either.

For several breaths, we stay there, stuck in the space between. The hug is warm in a way that's comforting, yet unfinished. His breath shudders when he exhales. Then he shifts just enough to press his lips to the top of my head.

The tenderness of it nearly undoes me. 

I bite down on the inside of my cheek and swallow hard, trying to force back the ache rising in my throat. I can't cry. I won't. Things are already hard enough without throwing my tears into the mix.

When he finally eases back, his hands stay on my arms, like he can't quite bring himself to let go. Then he looks at me—really looks—his eyes searching every inch of my face.

For what, I'm not sure. Forgiveness, maybe. Or permission to move on, to go about our day like everything is fine. Whatever he's searching for, I just hold his gaze, hoping he can't see the thin ledge I'm balanced on. Hoping he doesn't realize how much he's already hurt me.

Finally, he lets his hands fall away, but he doesn't step back. Instead, he tries for a smile—one of those crooked, confident ones that used to make my heart skip a beat. Except this one doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"You hungry?" he asks, his voice scratchy, like he hasn't spoken to anyone in days.

I almost tell him no. Almost lie, just so I don't have to accept something from him. But my stomach betrays me, hollow and aching from hours without food.

So I nod. "Yeah. A little."

A flicker of relief crosses his face as he gestures toward the counter.

"I'm packing a lunch," he says, and for a moment, something hopeful edges into his tone. "Thought...maybe we could spend some time together. Eat outside. Talk. By the lake."

The way he says it—soft, almost careful—makes it sound too much like an invitation to something else. Like a date.

My stomach knots up, and he must see it on my face because he clears his throat and looks away. His fingers twitch against the counter, suddenly restless.

"I just thought..." He drags a hand over his jaw, his ears going pink with embarrassment as he searches for the right words. "A bit of fresh air might do us some good. Clear our heads. We can do a little fishing. Maybe catch tonight's dinner. Just...do something normal for once. Like we used to. No pressure. No expectations."

Of course. Makes perfect sense now. Non-committal, and so on brand with James. Knowing this, I shouldn't be disappointed, yet here I am.

Like he's reading my thoughts, his face falls. In the next breath, he tries to shrug it off like it's no big deal, except it's impossible to miss the way his jaw flexes. The way he keeps fidgeting. Clearly, my saying yes means more to him than he wants to let on.

So I nod, looking away to spare us both the moment when I see the relief I'm sure he's unsuccessfully trying to mask.

"Um... would you like some help?" I ask, my eyes downcast as I take in the old scuff marks lining the rustic wooden floors with feigned interest.

"Nope." He pops the p as he takes my hand and leads me to the small kitchen table, his palm warm and steady against mine. "Have a seat. I'll take care of everything."

I do as he says, purposely ignoring the tingles his touch leaves behind on my skin, and lower myself into one of the chairs. 

He wastes no time after that. He busies himself, adding things to the small cooler—bottled water, a couple of sodas, packets of trail mix, grapes, then the wrapped sandwiches. His every movement is precise, lining everything up just right in that classic James Serrano way.

Then he grabs a folded blanket he must have brought down earlier. He smooths it with the palm of his hand before setting it beside the cooler like it's the final piece of some fragile offering.

When he glances at me again, I see it.

That fragile hope in his expression.

Like he's hoping this small outing is enough to mend everything that's splintered between us.

 "Why don't you go grab your jacket," he says softly. "It's warmed up quite a bit. The weather here is nicer than home, so you won't need to bundle up."

As he shuts the cooler and latches it shut, I move to do as he asks, pausing by the front door to pull on my boots.

When he joins me there, he hesitates, then glances down at my leg. 

"Your knee feels okay to do a little walking?" His voice is gentler now, almost hesitant. Then, almost shy, he adds, "If not...I could carry you."

The way he says it—like he'd actually do it without a second thought—almost makes me laugh. The absurdity of it breaks through the heaviness pressing on my chest. 

Him carrying me across the stretch of forest to the lake. 

I shake my head, and to my surprise, I'm smiling. Just a little. But it's enough to ease some of the tension between us.

"You do not need to carry me, James." I roll my eyes in feigned annoyance. "I'm fine. I hardly feel it anymore."

He watches me for a beat, like he's memorizing the shape of my lips and the smile I can't seem to erase, and for the first time since I walked into the kitchen, something shifts between us. Just a fraction softer. A fraction less afraid. Less uncertain.

He clears his throat, like he doesn't trust himself to say anything else, and moves to open the front door. Outside on the porch, he grabs two fishing poles and a tackle box he must have set out earlier while I was still sleeping.

I pull my jacket a little tighter around myself and follow him into the cool, fresh afternoon air. It smells clean out here, like pine and damp earth. The stillness of the woods is comforting. It feels like the kind of place where nothing bad is supposed to happen, which I guess is what makes it the perfect place for a safe house.

We walk side by side down the narrow path that leads toward the lake, our steps falling into a rhythm that feels almost normal. Like we're in sync. 

And for a moment—just a single, suspended moment—I'm struck by how surreal it all feels.

Like we're playing house in a life that isn't really ours. A life, I think we both want, but may never get to keep.

And maybe that's okay.

Maybe he's right—that this is what we need.

A moment to breathe. To think. To just be.

Even if only for a little while. 

Even if neither of us is ready for whatever comes next.

❤️

 
Can't wait for more? I've got you... 
👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

And the best part? Following me there is totally 
FREE
.

Just hit 
"Follow"
 on 
REAM
 to get early access without needing to subscribe. 
You'll find the link at the top of my Wattpad profile!

NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!

Chapter 18

Annelly

I watch from the edge of the trees as James lays out the blanket with military precision, straightening each corner like it might ruin everything if it’s not perfect. He’s already unpacked lunch—two sandwiches, bottled water, a bag of chips folded shut with a chip clip, like even his snacks need structure.

It should annoy me how controlled he is. How everything he does feels calculated and measured. But it doesn’t. It never really has, because beneath all that precision is care. Every detail he obsesses over has been pre-planned in his mind to make sure everyone around him is safe. Comfortable.

When I’m with James, I never have to worry about my physical safety.

I sigh.

Just my emotional one.

And as I watch him now, I know exactly what this picnic is. It’s him trying to fix things. Not with more apologies, he struggles to articulate, but with action. With peace. He’s giving us something sacred. A quiet space to ease the hurt that was inflicted last night.

I walk to the water’s edge, gaze drifting across the shimmering lake where a pair of Canadian geese glide lazily through the glassy surface. The wind rustles the pine needles overhead, and the ensuing sound is like an exhale.

Like letting go.

As the breeze lifts the loose wisps of hair from my braid, I close my eyes and sigh along with the forest.

Somewhere nearby, something splashes into the shallows. Probably a frog, startled by James’s movements as he finishes setting up.

The whole lake feels untouched. Still. Like time has paused just for us.

And before I even realize it, my body begins to relax. Not because I’m trying. Just… because it can.

Out here, no one is making demands of me. There’s no danger breathing down our necks. No anxious thoughts chasing themselves into exhaustion. And because of it, for the first time in days—maybe even months—I don’t feel like I’m holding myself together by sheer will and grit alone.

Behind me, James clears his throat.

“You wanna come over and I’ll show you what to do?”

I turn to find him holding out a fishing pole, one of the two he carried down from the porch. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is gentle. Like he’s offering more than just a rod. Like he’s offering me a place beside him.

“Sure,” I say, brushing my hands on my leggings as I step forward and sink onto the blanket.

He sits down beside me and unlatches the tackle box, pulling out several plastic organizers. I grab the one closest to me, pop open the lid, and scan the contents.

Lures.

Makes sense. We didn’t bring worms or live bait. We had no reason to stop at a bait shop on the way to the safe house.

Looking out across the lake, I assess the water’s conditions and settle on a bright copper spinner I think will do the trick. Without hesitation, I begin threading the line through the eye.

It’s all muscle memory.

Thumb and index finger. Steady tension. Five wraps around the line. And voilà… a clinch knot.

I can still hear my dad’s voice in my head: Strong knots catch strong fish, kiddo.

I smile faintly, tugging the end tight with a slow, practiced pull.

When I glance up, James is staring at me like I’ve just grown wings.

“What?” I ask.

He blinks, startled, like I caught him off guard. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

I arch a brow. “You thought I couldn’t fish?”

“I—I didn’t know.” His mouth curves slightly, but it’s not teasing. It’s something softer. “I certainly didn’t expect you to know how to do that.” He gestures to the lure now secured to my line. “That’s not beginner stuff. You’re obviously a pro.”

I laugh at that. “A pro? I don’t know about that. But this? Yeah. This I can do.” I glance down at the knot again. “Thanks to my dad. He taught me.”

To my surprise, those words come easier than I expect. In the four years since he died, I’ve done everything I can to avoid talking about him.

“Fishing was one of our things. Every spring, he’d drag me out of bed at three in the morning for trout opening day. We’d drive out to this one spot near Shadow Falls, hike in with donuts, breakfast sandwiches, and a thermos of coffee—he let me have some even when I was little, as long as I promised not to tell Mom. It was our secret.”

I smile, even as my eyes well up at the memory. “And we’d get set up before the sun even peeked over the ridge. He used to say the best fish only bite before the world wakes up.” I pause, the memory catching me off guard. Warmth and ache tangle in my chest like the knot on the end of my line.

I breathe in and swallow hard, forcing down the lump of grief that still rises when I think about him.

I’m sure he notices. I’m just grateful he doesn’t make it a big deal.

Instead, he turns his attention to securing a lure to his pole as he asks. “You were close?”

“Yeah.” I nod, eyes back on the water. “He was everything to me. My mom and I… I swear we butted heads from the minute I was born. But Dad and I—we just got each other, you know? We had our shows—TV, movies, the theatre, concerts, anything involving acting or putting on a performance, we were there. Then there were our jokes—ones that were funny only to us. Our early morning drives before the sun came up. He taught me to fish, to camp, to read Shakespeare, and yell at the TV during game night—football, baseball, hockey, basketball, even the Olympics, and bowling. As long as there was competition involved, it didn’t matter. We cheered and we booed like we had something personal riding on every score.”

I sigh, part sadness, part longing.

I miss him so badly, it feels like my chest is caving in.

“He made space for me to be whoever I was. Whoever I wanted to be. He gave me the courage to be who I am.”

I swallow again, that old grief flaring sharp behind my ribs.

“Mom… I think she resented it sometimes. I didn’t see it back then. I didn’t get it. But now… yeah. I think I understand. It must’ve been hard, always being on the outside. Always the one enforcing the rules, paying the bills, running the diner, taking on all the grown-up responsibilities. She had to be the parent. While he and I… we got to be friends. Best friends.”

James doesn’t say anything, but I feel him listening. The kind of listening I need. The kind that doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just holds space.

The same kind of silence my father used to give me.

I let it settle between us for a beat, the sound of water lapping gently at the lake’s edge filling the space where my dad’s memory used to live. Then I glance at James, sitting with his elbows on his knees, watching the water like he’s picturing my father and me. Picturing the life I lost that dreaded day four years ago.

He looks sad. Lost.

Just like me.

And I hate it.

So I clear my throat and try to change the subject.

“What about you?” I ask softly. “What were you and Tyler like growing up?”

He doesn’t look at me. Just exhales through his nose and gives a small shrug. “Not much to tell. Mom was strung out most of the time. My dad… never met him. I don’t think my mom even knew who he was. Tyler’s dad… he tried to make a go of things with her. Tried to take care of us. But the drugs always meant more. Eventually, he left too. Probably to save himself. Not that I blame him.”

He exhales again, louder this time, like he’s trying to shake it off. Like he just realized everything he said out loud, and wishes he hadn’t.

“Anyway. Not a big deal. None of that matters. Life’s good now.”

His tone is casual. Too casual. Far more upbeat than it should be. Like he’s performing, not just for me, but for himself.

But no amount of pretending can hide the tension in his voice. The way his shoulders pull tight under his shirt. Or the way he keeps his eyes locked on the water, like he’s afraid of what I’ll see if he turns and looks at me.

He picks up a rock and flings it across the lake. It skips several times, then sinks. Fast. Final.

“Tyler and I figured out early on we were better off fending for ourselves. Taking care of one another. Keeping each other safe.”

Though my heart aches for the two little boys behind those words, I’m careful not to react. Like he did for me, I give him space.

Space to process.

To elaborate.

But he doesn’t.

And I realize he’s not avoiding talking about the past because it doesn’t matter. He’s avoiding it because it does.

He talks like it’s over. Like he’s moved past it.

But I see it.

The weight he still carries.

The years of being let down, overlooked, and discarded.

They’re all there, woven into the fabric of his being. Into the tension in his jaw. The guarded edge of his voice. In the way he won’t meet my eyes now that I’ve seen even a sliver of where he came from.

His trauma.

The way he reacts when he feels trapped and vulnerable.

It all makes so much sense.

So I don’t push.

Because some truths—especially the important ones, the life-changing ones—can’t be pulled or forced out.

They have to be given.

Freely.

And right now, I can tell… this is as far as he’s willing to go.

❤️

Can’t wait for more? I’ve got you… 👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

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# Chapter 19

Annelly

The silence stretches so long I start to think that's it—that we're done talking. But then James shifts beside me, his hand tightening around his fishing rod. A rod that, like mine, we still haven't cast into the water. 

"About last night," he starts, voice low. Rough around the edges, like bringing it back up is costing him something. 

When he pauses, leaving the words hanging in the air, my chest tightens. 

I'm almost afraid. It feels too soon. I'm not ready to talk about it yet, but just like last night, I don't have the energy to stop him, let alone walk away.

"What I said. What I did..." He doesn't look at me. Just stares out over the water, eyes distant, jaw tight like the words are hard for him to say.

"I didn't handle things well," he says finally. "Leaving Tyler behind like that—after everything he and I have been through—it... it gutted me. Brought a lot of things back. Scary things. Painful memories. I knew him choosing to stay was his decision, but that didn't stop it from breaking something inside me."

Another pause. A beat of silence. 

Somewhere nearby, a fish breaks the surface of the water with a soft splash. The sound small, but in stark contrast to the tension pulsing between us.

Still, I say nothing. Letting him have this, because it feels like he
 needs
 to get it out more than I need to hear it.

"I panicked," he says eventually. "I felt helpless, and I... I don't do well with helplessness. I don't do well with most emotions, as I'm sure you've noticed." He still doesn't look at me, but his lips twitch into a self-deprecating smile that's so soft, so broken, it makes my heart ache. 

"I... I needed something to blame. Someone to fight. And you—" He finally turns. His eyes shimmering, wounded and honest. "I didn't mean to take it out on you. I shouldn't have done it. I knew it was wrong, even in the moment, but I couldn't stop myself. And that's on me."

The weight in his confession lands like a boulder to the chest. He's owning what he did. Taking responsibility. But the slump of his shoulders, the crack in his voice—he's not okay. Not even close.

"I lost control," he adds, voice rough with emotion. "And I hate that you saw me like that. But even more than that, I hate that I hurt you. That I broke your trust and what little faith you had in me."

He falls quiet after that. A loud, shuddering sigh escapes his lips as he looks down at the ground, shaking his head like he still can't believe what he did.  

I should say something. 

Everything inside me screams at me to ease his pain, especially now, when he's showing me what's behind the storms that so often consume him. 

And it's not rage. 

Not cruelty.

Not some twisted need to make others suffer the way he has.

What's behind James's actions... is pain.

Raw. Unfiltered. Unrelenting pain.

And the fact that he's trying—really trying—to own the damage he's caused says something. About his character. About the man he is... and the man he's still fighting to become. 

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe that's what should matter. That he's trying. That deep at his core, he wants to do better. 

But here's the thing—

Each time the trauma wins, each time he lets it take control, he chips away at the woman I'm still learning how to be. The one who's just now figuring out how to breathe. How to feel safe. How to believe she deserves more than just survival... that she deserves peace and everything she's ever wanted. 

And that's the conundrum, isn't it?

Wanting to stand by him. Wanting to support him. But also needing to protect myself from him—because sometimes... he just doesn't.

That's why I stay silent. 

Why I can't just fold into the comfort of his words, no matter how much my heart wants to. Because I won't be someone's punching bag. Not ever again. That went for Victor, who hurt me with his fists and cruel words. And it goes for James, or any other man, who doesn't protect my heart. 

His eyes flick down to his hands, fingers tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. Like he's fixing his armor. Bracing for the hit he knows he deserves, and maybe even believes he needs. 

Then he looks up—slowly, deliberately—and meets my gaze in a way that knocks the breath from my lungs.

"I don't know how to say this without screwing it all up," he says, voice unsteady. "But I have to try. I can feel it in my gut—I need to say it anyway."

My pulse stutters. 

The way he's looking at me—open, terrified, determined—tells me whatever comes next could change everything.

"I'm falling in love with you, Annelly."

The world goes still.

Everything stops.

His declaration isn't dramatic. It's not whispered like some grand gesture in a movie. 

They're just words. 

Honest. Bare. Raw, like they might be the truest ones he's ever spoken.

And somehow, they're 
everything
.

He swallows hard, eyes never leaving mine.

"I want a future with you. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life, I want to be with you."

I don't move. I can't. 

My whole body is frozen, heart wide open and aching as the words settle inside me. As I try to figure out if I can believe them. Believe 
him. 

"I don't know what that'll look like in the end," he continues. "Or what it'll mean for us in the long term, since—as I'm sure you've noticed by how terrible I am at this—I've never done it before. But I'm hoping you'll give me a chance."

He shifts slightly, voice softening. Almost pleading. "Because I know what I want, Annelly. I want to be the man who can give you the life—the future, the family—you deserve. And if you'll let me... if you feel even a flicker of what I feel for you... if there's even the smallest part of you that wants to give me the chance to prove myself—"

He draws in a breath.

"Then I ask that you tell me. So I can finally kiss you breathless. The way I've wanted to since that first day last summer, when you walked into my life and turned everything I thought I knew about my world—about myself—completely upside down."

My heart pounds. 

My breath stutters as I fight to breathe around the lump in my throat. I can't speak. 
Hell
, I don't even know what to say. Or what I'm supposed to do.

And when my silence lingers too long, I see it in his face. That flicker of pain. The quiet fall of hope. 

But he doesn't retreat. Doesn't shut down. Doesn't slip behind the mask he's worn so many times before—the one he uses like armor. 

Instead, he stays open. 

And that shift—the choice to sit there, exposed, not hiding from me regardless of the outcome—brings tears to my eyes. 

"In the event you don't want that... if you don't want 
me
—" His voice catches, but he pushes through. "—that's okay too. It changes nothing. Not how I feel about you. Not the fact that I will always value our friendship. Especially if that's all you want to give me."

He leans in slightly, his eyes shimmering with emotion, but his gaze is steady. Determined. "I'll still protect you, Annelly. With my life. With everything I've got. From whatever dangers lurk out there... and especially from myself. That's my vow to you."

He doesn't flinch when he says it. Doesn't look away. He just holds my gaze, steady and sure, like he 
needs
 me to see that he means it.

"Just say the word. Whatever happens next, Annelly... it's your choice. I'll accept it. No matter what. But I promise you—either way, I'll be the man you need me to be."

And God help me—I believe him.

Every broken, beautiful word.

Because this isn't some line he's feeding me. It's not a promise made to get something in return.

This is James unmasked. Undone. Laying his heart at my feet with no guarantee I won't crush it. And it's so unlike him—his actions a direct contradiction to every trauma response I've come to expect from him. Which tells me one thing. The only thing that matters...

He's trying.

Really 
trying. 

And this... this is the moment the last of my walls crumble down to dust.

Suddenly, my heart is pounding for a different reason. I don't know what this is—this ache, this heat, this wild, terrified wanting—but I know what it isn't.

It isn't fear.

It isn't dread.

Which is probably why—before I can stop myself, before I can second-guess or overthink what I'm about to do—I move.  

I crawl across the blanket and onto his lap, straddling him, knees tucked tight at his sides as I gently set his fishing rod aside. 

His breath catches. 

His hands hover for a second like he doesn't trust himself to touch me. 

But I take them. 

Guide them to my waist and look him right in the eyes.

"James Serrano," I whisper. "You may kiss me breathless now."

It's not a question. 

It's not a demand. 

But it 
is
 everything I've wanted—for weeks... 
heck, months.

His hands tighten slightly, like he's anchoring himself. Then he pauses, eyes searching mine, asking for my consent one last time without words. 

And I answer without speaking. 

Just a nod, my breath catching as my lips part. 

That's when he leans in, slow and sure, and presses his mouth to mine.

The kiss is deep, but unhurried. A little shaky at first, like we're both afraid to take it too far. But then something shifts. Some locked door inside us both clicks wide open, and it turns into something else entirely.

Something reverent.

It's not desperate. Not rushed. 

It's the kind of kiss that feels like a beginning.

Like a promise whispered between broken hearts.

His fingers slide up my back, burying in my hair as he holds me like I'm the only steady thing in his world. And I kiss him like I'm trying to memorize the shape of the emotions he tries to hide. Of his pain. Of the brave man he's still learning to become.

We hold each other like people who've been wandering in the dark their whole lives, and just finally found the path home. 

And for the first time since I met this man, since I realized I was in love with him... I have hope.

Real hope.

When we finally break apart, our foreheads stay pressed together, breaths still tangled in the space between us. We're both quiet. Stunned, almost. Like the gravity of what just passed between us is still catching up.

He exhales a slow, shaky breath I feel against my skin, and his thumb gently grazes the curve of my cheek. 

My fingers curl against his shirt, like I'm afraid letting go might break the spell. 

And that's how we stay, holding on, saying nothing.

And maybe that's okay. 

Maybe words would only ruin it.

There are no promises here. No guarantees. Just this one, beautiful, perfect moment. This fragile, aching yearning stretched between us like a live wire—delicate, unexpected, and terrifyingly real.

Maybe love doesn't always need certainty.

Maybe, right now, 
this
 is more than enough.

And for people like James and me, two souls who've spent so much of their lives feeling lost and alone... 

Maybe this is all we need.

❤️

 
Can't wait for more? I've got you... 
👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

And the best part? Following me there is totally 
FREE
.

Just hit 
"Follow"
 on 
REAM
 to get early access without needing to subscribe. 
You'll find the link at the top of my Wattpad profile!

NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!

Chapter 20

James

It’s been four days.

Four nights of her sleeping beside me, curled so close I can feel her breath on my chest.

Four mornings of waking up to the soft tangle of her hair against my skin, her hand fisted in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

A fear I understand, because even now, I can’t believe this is real. That she chose me. That after everything I’ve done—every time I failed her, hurt her—she’s still here.

And God, the way she fits against me? It wrecks me. Every sigh into my neck. Every soft shift beneath the covers. Every sleepy hum when I pull her closer. It’s the kind of closeness I used to imagine just to torture myself.

And now that I have it, I can’t stop.

Touching her. Holding her. Breathing her in. Memorizing every second like it might be my last.

She’s my new favorite obsession.

At night, I wait for her to fall asleep first, just so I can watch her breathe. So I can feel her heartbeat steady mine. Pretend I’m the one saving her, when deep down, I know the truth. She’s the one saving me.

And my nightmares—the filthy residue of a childhood spent bracing for pain—barely touch me now. The few times they’ve tried, she calms the chaos with nothing more than a hand on my chest and a sleepy, “I’m here. You’re okay.”

And I’d give anything— anything —to do for her what she does for me.

To scare away her demons.

To make her feel safe.

It’s why I can’t relax.

There’s this knot in my chest that won’t let up. A voice in the back of my mind whispering that none of this is guaranteed. That Victor’s still out there. Watching. Waiting. That every second of peace is just one second closer to whatever storm he’s planning to rain down on us.

It’s yet another reason I can’t stop touching her. Why I keep pulling her close like proximity is the key to her protection. Like if I just love her hard enough, hold her tight enough, maybe I can outrun the part of me that already knows I’m going to lose her.

Because I’ve lived in the dark long enough to understand how the world works—

The more you love something…

The harder it tries to take it from you.

That fear’s been clanging in my head since this morning, when I sat in the kitchenette with Zeb—the rest of the team on video conference—for our daily check-in. My hand was clenched so tight around my coffee mug, I had to set it down before I shattered it.

It was the same update they’ve been giving me for days. Victor’s trail has grown cold. No chatter from his associates. No signs he’s making any moves.

Just… silence.

According to the intel we’ve got, he’s back to playing the respectable businessman—running his empire like nothing ever happened.

Which is exactly why I can’t relax.

Because a man like Victor? He doesn’t chase. He doesn’t thrash. He doesn’t callously overturn stones in his desperate search for the object of his obsession.

No.

A man like Victor waits. Plans. Strikes with precision—only when you least expect it. Like the fucking snake he is.

When men like him go quiet, it’s not surrender.

It’s strategy.

Owen thinks someone’s helping him. Some ghost network covering his tracks so well, even our mighty hacker can’t crack the trail.

Zeb didn’t say much, but I saw the look in his eyes. He agrees. He just didn’t want to say it out loud and send me into a spiral.

Too fucking late.

Because without intel—without even a hint of what Victor’s planning—we’re flying blind. And I hate that it feels like I’m the only one who hears the damn countdown clock ticking.

For all we know, he’s already found us.

Already watching.

Already biding his time.

The others say that’s ridiculous. That we’re safe here. That we should take advantage and enjoy the calm. Take in the fresh air. Rest. Recharge. So when the danger finally comes knocking, we’ll be ready.

But I’ve seen too much—been through too much—to believe that kind of bullshit.

When men like Victor Bastille go quiet, it means they’re close. It means the trap’s already being set. To interpret that silence as anything but a precursor to war would be a fatal mistake.

And I’ll be damned if I’m not ready for it. I refuse to be caught off guard. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

But let’s be honest—

How the fuck do you even prepare to fight for the one thing you know you won’t survive losing?

My hand trembles as I scrub it down my face.

She’s right there. Standing at the counter. Humming softly as she sifts flour into a mixing bowl. Her hair’s piled up in a messy bun, loose strands framing her face.

She’s so goddamn beautiful it hurts. The soft curve of her neck. The way the sunlight glints off her hair.

And she’s mine.

That thought hits me like a punch to the gut.

She’s mine. And she’s standing there, acting like it’s just another normal day. Like the monsters aren’t out there. Like the silence isn’t a warning.

But I know better.

I feel it—deep in my bones. The quiet that surrounds us isn’t peace. It’s the calm before the ambush.

My chest tightens.

Heart racing.

Breath stuttering.

A cold sweat breaks out across my brow, and I know exactly what’s happening.

But knowing doesn’t stop it.

The spiraling. The loop of worst-case scenarios screaming through my skull—

Fuck…

Tyler.

The thought slams into me like a runaway truck.

He’s alone.

Unprotected.

I grab my phone without thinking. Pull up his name. Tap the screen before I can talk myself out of it.

One ring.

Two—

I turn my back on the woman I’m trying so hard to make feel safe, and pray she doesn’t notice I’m in the middle of a full-blown panic attack.

Fuck.

At every goddamn turn, I’m failing her.

But before I can spiral deeper into that pit of self-destruction—

“About time,” Tyler says when he finally picks up. Smug. Sharp. Happy . It’s exactly how I needed him to sound. “I was starting to think that in all your domestic bliss, you’d forgotten about your baby brother.”

The sound of his voice hits like a goddamn balm. Suddenly, my chest can expand again.

I swallow hard, forcing down the emotion clawing at my throat, and somehow manage a quiet huff of a laugh.

“Please. Not happening,” I mutter. It’s just the response he would expect from me.

“Sure. Of course not. Ladies and gentlemen, the mighty James Serrano, untamable alpha in his natural habitat.” He pauses just long enough to let the obnoxious comment land. “By the way, I hear de-Nile is a mighty river. Bit treacherous, though. Especially for someone as bone-headed and stubborn as you. How’s the wading going?”

Movement catches my eye, so I turn.

Across the kitchen, Annelly lifts a single brow.

“Is that Tyler?”

I set the phone on the counter between us, trying to tamp down the surge of relief now that I’m no longer losing my goddamn mind.

“Yeah,” I say. Then louder, “You’re on speaker now, fuckface.”

“Hey!” Tyler gasps, overly offended. “That’s not fucking nice, fuckwad.”

Annelly laughs, and just like that, he’s emboldened

“Wait. Is that my favorite almost-sister-in-law I hear?”

Annelly grins. “Maybe.” She tosses me a look. “But don’t let your brother hear that. You know how even the idea of commitment gives him hives. “

She’s not wrong.

But somehow with her, it’s the opposite. The idea of committing to her doesn’t make me itch. It settles me.

Which is why I smile. And when she walks toward me, I slide an arm around her waist and pull her close.

We haven’t made anything official—not outside the two of us. Zeb and Dominick haven’t said a word, but I’m not stupid. With all the damn surveillance around here, there’s no way they don’t know. Even so, if they’d ask, I’d probably still deny it.

Not because we’re hiding it or anything.

It’s just… we’re still finding our footing. Figuring out what this is. What being together actually looks like. And honestly, there’s something kind of sacred about keeping it to ourselves for now.

When she’s ready, I’ll follow her lead. I’ll agree to tell the world.

As for Tyler—with his relentless teasing and shameless innuendos—being the last to know is exactly what he deserves. Especially since the last thing I need right now is one of his smug-ass, annoying I-told-you-so’s .

It’s why I change the subject, hoping she understands why I want to keep this just between us a little while longer.

“You’ll never guess what we’re doing,” I say, knowing the best way to distract him is with talk of food.

“Planning the wedding?” he shoots back without hesitation.

I choke on my own spit.

Not that he notices.

“No—wait,” he barrels on. “You’re about to propose, aren’t you? Had to call for my blessing first?”

Annelly laughs.

I don’t.

“We’re baking cookies, dumbass.” My voice is dry. Flat. “Well— she is. For me . Because I’m here. And you’re not.”

It’s a low blow.

I know that.

Dragging up his decision not to come with us… how that choice still feels like abandonment. Like betrayal.

But Tyler doesn’t catch it—or he pretends not to. There’s a beat of silence, like maybe he did hear it. But then he barrels forward, loud and reckless, like always.

“Cookies? What? Annelly, how could you?”

She laughs again, but her smile falters as her gaze locks on mine.

And just like that, the humor fades.

Tyler might’ve missed the dig—and the small cracks of my hurt that slipped through with it—but she didn’t. And now she’s watching me again. Worried.

Fuck. I hate that.

“It’s cause you’re poisoning him, right?” Tyler deadpans. “Not because you like him better than me—or because you’re trying to hurt me, right?”

“I have no plans to poison anyone. Yet .” Annelly beams. “And for the record, if I wanted to poison someone, I wouldn’t ruin a perfectly good batch of cookies to do it.”

God, she’s so damn beautiful when she smiles like that.

“ Yet , she says.“ Tyler gasps. “You heard that, right, big brother? That’s premeditated intent. You better hope the FBI isn’t listening, since it

is their safe house.“

Then, raising his voice a few octaves:

“If anyone is documenting this call, and my brother turns up poisoned—please note, I won’t be pressing charges. The fuckwad probably deserved it. I repeat: the fuckwad probably deserved it.”

I shake my head, feigning annoyance. But even as I fight the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, I can feel it.

The tension easing.

The pressure lifting.

Just hearing his voice. Joking with him. Being connected again, even just over the phone…

It always does this.

Every damn time.

“So,” Tyler drawls. “How’s the practice honeymoon going? You two living in sin yet, or just aggressively flirting over cookie batter?”

Annelly snorts. “Depends. What counts as aggressive? Because I did threaten to lick his face earlier… when he refused to give me the remote.”

She sure as hell did.

I grin at the memory—wide, unfiltered.

And just like it did then, every drop of blood in my body reroutes south.

I shift, adjusting myself discreetly with a quiet groan. Looks like I’ll be taking yet another cold shower before bed tonight.

“Oh. My . God,” Tyler screeches. “You know what? Forget I asked. I take it back. I don’t need to know.”

I lean back against the counter, smiling despite myself, as Annelly twirls away from me with that lithe, sexy body of hers, and returns to finish baking.

“Serves you right. Ask uncomfortable questions, you get deeply uncomfortable answers.”

“Hey, y ou’re the one who called me just to sit there in awkward silence. Meanwhile, I’m over here putting in the work, trying to make conversation.”

“You’re also the one who sounded relieved I finally called.”

“Nope. That’s a lie. You called me, remember ? Which officially makes you the clingy one.”

“Damn right he is,” Annelly snickers from across the kitchen as she slides the first batch of cookies into the oven.

The way she smiles at me while teasing me…

It knocks the breath right out of my chest.

How the hell is her making fun of me such a damn turn on?

“Glad someone else finally sees it,” Tyler crows.

From there, the three of us fall into a rhythm, talking like we’re all in the same room instead of several states apart.

It’s easy. Natural. Like no time has passed. Like the chaos of the past several days never happened.

We talk about the cookies. About the first time Annelly tried to teach us to bake them, how Tyler bailed halfway through and left us with the mess.

He brings up the smoke alarm incident next, reminding her how I nearly burned down the kitchen that morning. I was so caught up in the will-she-or-won’t-she-forgive-me spiral, I didn’t even notice the damn bacon had caught fire.

Then, like the fair and just brother I am, I remind him why he’s not allowed near any kitchen appliance more complex than a butter knife. Not since the microwave fork incident. Or that time he set a dishtowel on fire.

By the time the cookies are cooling on the counter, we’ve laughed so hard, I swear we all have a stomachache.

When the call finally ends, I breathe out a contented sigh of relief. It happens every time—like talking to him is both an unburdening and a reset.

I don’t move right away. I just sit there, staring at the screen, waiting for it to fade to black.

When it finally does, I glance up to find she’s watching me. The look on her face says she feels it too.

And that right there?

That she loves my brother. That she understands our fucked-up dynamic and still wants to be a part of it—

If I didn’t already know I loved her, that would’ve sealed it. 

❤️

Can’t wait for more? I’ve got you… 👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

And the best part? Following me there is totally FREE .

Just hit “Follow” on REAM to get early access without needing to subscribe. You’ll find the link at the top of my Wattpad profile!

NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!

# Chapter 21

James

She crosses the room, her eyes never leaving mine, and brushes her fingers over my arm—a quiet show of understanding that makes my eyes burn. 

Then she turns back to the cooling trays, still humming, wiping her hands absently on the hem of my sweatshirt. 

Hers now, really.
 

That oversized gray thing she stole from my bag the first night we fixed things between us. It's so big on her that it slips off one shoulder, exposing a smooth curve of skin I haven't touched yet. 

Not really.

Not the way I want to.

She's barefoot. Comfortable. More relaxed than I've seen her in weeks. 

And there's a streak of flour on her cheek, just beneath her eye.

Something about it slams into me.

God.

It was that first time she baked for us
.

My kitchen. Her laughter mixed with Tyler's. The smell of sugar and cookies. The way she tilted her head—all confidence and softness—daring me to join them. Teasing me like it was nothing. 

But it wasn't nothing. 

Not to me. 

That moment—her standing there, cheeks flushed, my apron knotted around her waist, her fingers stained with cookie dough—
that
 was the moment I knew. 

Knew I was in deep. 

Knew I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life.

I wanted to kiss her then. So bad it fucking hurt.

But I didn't. I couldn't. 

Not with the chaos still clinging to me. Not when I was convinced I'd poison anything good I touched. Not when I was so terrified of not only ruining her, but that in the end, she would also ruin me.

And now... 

Now she's standing in front of me again. In a different kitchen. A different storm. Wearing my shirt and looking like salvation.

Flour on her cheek like fate pressing rewind.

Like the universe handing me a second chance and daring me to take it.

I cross the kitchen slowly.

She doesn't notice at first. Not until I'm right in front of her, close enough to breathe her in. Then, I reach out and brush my thumb across her cheek. The flour smudges, then fades. But I don't pull away. 

My hand stays there, cradling her face. Mapping the edges of something so sacred.

She blinks up at me. Breathless. Still.

And I say it before I lose the nerve.

"I should've kissed you that night," I murmur. "That first time. In my kitchen. You baking cookies. Flour on your face. I wanted to kiss you so badly it made my chest ache."

Her breath catches, a soft hitch I feel against my jaw as I lean in.

This time, I don't stop myself.

This time... I kiss her like I wanted to that day.

Soft at first—just a brush of our lips. Just the ghost of a promise I've been holding on to for far too long. 

But the second she exhales, the second her hands slide up my chest and fist the fabric of my shirt like she can't stand even an inch of space between us—

I lose whatever fragile grip I had left.

I deepen the kiss.

She opens for me—hungry, aching—and everything inside me shatters. 

I wrap my arms around her waist, press her back against the counter, and lift her like she weighs nothing. Like this—
us—
was always meant to be
.

Our mouths don't part.

My hands slide beneath the hem of her sweatshirt. Up the curve of her thighs to her hips... her spine. Her skin is warm. Bare. 

She lets me touch her—
wants
 me to—and the way her fingers tangle in my hair. The way her legs wrap tight around my waist, pulling me closer to where she wants me—to where I want to be—damn near undoes me. 

We're both breathing hard now. Both trembling.

This isn't just want. 

It's something deeper. Wilder.

Something sacred.

And when my hands skim higher and she still doesn't stop me—when she kisses me like she 
needs
 this too, like she 
needs me 
as much as I 
need her
—I realize something terrifying.

This is the most intimate moment I've ever had with anyone. 

Not just physically. Emotionally. Soul-deep.

And I don't want it to end.

She clutches the back of my neck, her mouth still moving with mine like she's afraid to let go. 

And suddenly, I am too. 

Afraid that if I stop—if I pull away even a little—the spell will break. And I'll wake up to find this was all a dream... a dream that was never meant for someone like me. 

But she's trembling.

Not with fear—with 
need
. 

And fuck, it's a heady thing—how every inch of her responds to me like I'm the secret. Like I'm the key to unlocking everything she has to offer. 

And God, I 
want
 it. 

Every. Single. Part. Of. Her.

But I won't rush this. Not when she matters this damn much. Not when 
this
 matters more than anything else ever has.

I slow my pace. Ease back just enough to look down into those beautiful green eyes. Her lips are red and kiss-swollen. Her chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged breaths that mirror mine. 

And Jesus—she's never looked more beautiful.

I keep my hand pressed to her cheek as I search her eyes.

"Tell me if I need to stop," I murmur. "If you want to slow things down. I'll follow your lead here, Annelly. Your wants. Your needs. You're all that matters to me."

Her breath catches. 

And then—

Her eyes well with tears I don't quite understand. 

She hesitates. Just for a beat. Then her gaze drops, like she can't bear to look at me as she whispers:

"I've... I've never..." A soft exhale. "I've never done this before."

Everything inside me stills.

My breath. 

My heart.

My fucking soul.

She still won't look at me. 

And it hits me then. 

It's not shame I'm seeing in her posture... in her silence. It's vulnerability. 

She's scared. Not of me—
of this.
 Of what I'll do with her truth. Or maybe... maybe she thinks it'll disappoint me. 

God, she couldn't be more fucking wrong.

"You're a..." The word sticks in my throat.

She nods. Slow. Certain.

And something cracks wide open in my chest.

She's twenty-two. Brilliant. Brave. A stunning girl, seemingly sculpted by the gods themselves. 

And she's 
never
—

Christ.
 

How the hell is that even possible?

I should say something. 
Anything
. But I'm frozen.

 All I can do is stare at her like she's just handed me the world. The keys to the motherfucking kingdom.

And for a man like me? 

A man who's had to fight for every scrap of good in his life. A man who's lost more than anyone ever should. What she just told me, what she might be offering... it's 
everything
.

She could've given this to anyone. Trusted anyone. But she didn't. She hasn't.

Is this her asking? 

Is this her trusting me? 

With her body. Her first time. This moment.

I don't know.

I can't know. 

And I swear to God, I've never been more terrified... 

Or more fucking honored just to be the one standing here. 

Even if this isn't about me. Even if she's not offering herself to me. Just the fact that she let me in, that she trusted
 
me with her truth... means more than she'll ever know.

"Jesus, Annelly..." I whisper it like a prayer. Like a plea. Like I don't know what the hell to do with the fire she's just lit inside me.

I cradle her face in my hands. Press my forehead to hers, trying to steady myself. Trying to memorize
 
every part of this— 

Her breath on my lips.

The heat of her skin.

The way her fingers tighten around my wrists like she's afraid I'll pull away
.

I kiss her lips, soft and reverent. My thumb traces along her jaw, lingering at the soft curve of the mouth that's branded itself into my soul.

And God, I want her. 

More than my next heartbeat. 

More than my next breath. 

But even more than that... I want her to feel 
safe. Cherished. Loved 
in all the ways she deserves.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" I murmur. "I need you to say it. I need to know what 
you
 want. What you need from me. Just tell me, and I swear to God—I'll give it to you."

My voice breaks. 

"Because there is 
nothing
 I wouldn't do for you, Annelly. Nothing I wouldn't give—or give up—
for you
."

I swallow hard, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You just have to tell me. Tell me, and I'm yours."

The words fall from my lips before I can stop them.

And I mean 
every goddamn one
.

Because she deserves everything. 

Every. Fucking. Thing. 

Even if that isn't me.

Even if handing her the lead like this is the most vulnerable thing I've ever done. 

But the chance that she'll choose me—

That she'll choose us? 

God, I've never wanted anything more. 

❤️

 
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Chapter 22

James

“I want you, James.”

The words don’t just land—they detonate. Her voice is firm. Certain in a way that strips me bare.

She’s still perched on the counter, legs wrapped around me, fingers fisted in my shirt like she’s afraid those four words might be too much—might make me run.

I should move. Should kiss her. Touch her. Something.

But I don’t.

Because something in me breaks open—wide and aching—and for a few suspended seconds, I forget how to breathe.

She’s choosing me.

Not just with her words, but with her eyes. That gaze, full of quiet certainty and wide-open trust, hits me like a promise I never dared to hope for. A kind of mercy I stopped believing I’d ever deserve, let alone find.

Fuck .

She wants me.

Not the polished version I use to keep people at a distance. Not the put-together lie I built to convince myself I’m in control of anything—my life, my future.

No.

She wants me . The man who’s still rough around the edges. Who hides behind control because he’s barely holding it together. The man who’s been broken down, brutalized, who is haunted and hollowed out by everything he’s seen. Everything he’s done.

And the fucked up part is… she’s looking at that man like he’s enough. Like, no matter who he is—or isn’t—she still wants him .

And God… I want her too.

So much that it physically hurts.

But just as my heart starts to lift, it crashes back down—hard. Because the sad reality is, I don’t know how to do this. Not the right way. Not the way she deserves. Not when I’m still stained with blood on my hands and shadows so dark, they lay waste to everything I touch. Not when my hands remember how to destroy more easily than they know how to hold. How to love.

What she’s giving me… it’s something I don’t know how to receive. A trust so fragile and pure, I’m afraid I’ll crush it just by breathing wrong.

That’s what stops me.

That’s what stills my hands, locks my knees, and leaves me staring at her like she has no idea what she’s asking for, or who she’s asking it from.

All this time, I’ve wanted this moment so badly it’s kept me awake at night. I’ve dreamed of it. Ached for it. Fought myself over it more times than I can count.

But now that it’s here, now that it’s real…

All I can think is:

Don’t.

You’ll only ruin it.

You’ll only ruin her.

She watches me, eyes wide and searching, like she can feel the storm brewing inside me.

Then, she moves.

Not all at once. Just a slow, deliberate shift. Her fingers trace along the edge of my jaw, then slide to the back of my neck, her touch featherlight. Calming and reassuring in a way I don’t expect. Like she’s tethering me to this moment, reminding me that she’s here. That we’re together. That everything’s going to be okay.

“I know you’re scared,” she whispers, her breath brushing my lips as she peers into my soul. “I am too.”

Her thumb strokes behind my ear, a gesture so gentle it makes my throat burn. “But I know what I want. And I’m sure about this. About you.”

I swallow hard.

She does too, and I catch the flicker of nerves dancing behind her eyes. But she doesn’t look away.

“I’ve thought about this,” she continues, voice trembling slightly. “About us. About what it might mean. And yeah, I’m nervous. Maybe even a little afraid.”

Her hands stay where they are, warm and perfect, like they’ve always belonged there.

“I’m not doing this because of what we’re facing. Or because I need to prove something. I’m doing this because I trust you. Because I want this. I want you. “

Christ.

The words hit like a sucker punch, nearly buckling my knees, because they’re real. Spoken out loud. Simple and honest. No games. No pretense. Just her, standing on the edge of this abyss alongside me, asking me not to run. But to jump—with her.

And f uck , I’m right there with her. Wanting to stay. Wanting to leap. To choose her , just like she seems to have chosen

me.

She wants me.

God, I still can’t believe she wants me.

It blows my damn mind.

The way she’s offering herself like this. Heart. Body. Soul. With nothing but trust in her eyes, and a quiet kind of bravery I know I haven’t earned.

It steals the breath from my lungs.

Because unlike every other encounter I’ve had with a woman, this isn’t just sex. Not just two bodies chasing pleasure for pleasure’s sake.

And that’s the thought that undoes me.

Not how much I want her—though God knows I do—but how much I want to deserve this. Deserve her. This gift she’s offering so freely, so fearlessly. And I don’t just mean tonight. I mean tomorrow. And the day after that. And every fucking day that follows.

I want to give her everything.

Not just pleasure. Not just closeness. I want her to feel safe. To feel seen. Worshipped. Loved.

Because she deserves that.

Hell, she deserves so much more than I even know how to give.

And that’s when it clicks.

Deep. Undeniable. Unshakable.

I won’t be taking her virginity tonight.

Not like this.

Not while we’re still looking over our shoulders. Not while we’re still hiding from the monsters of the world. And definitely not while we’re both still learning to trust—in this. In us. In this pull, I’ve stopped trying to fight.

This moment? It’s ours. Our beginning. Our chance to start things right.

I reach for her face, cradling it in both hands. Her skin is warm, soft, still flushed from everything we just shared. And her eyes—that quiet, green fire I could drown in—damn near strip me bare.

“Annelly,” I mutter, my thumbs brushing across her cheeks. “I need you to hear me, okay?”

She nods, small and unsure, but I feel her lean into my hands like she’s anchoring herself to me.

“I want you. God, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. But tonight…” I pause, then shake my head, slow and certain. “I can’t. I won’t be able to give you that.”

Her eyes flicker, and I see the shadow of hurt pooling behind her lashes, but I don’t let it take root. Instead, I lean in and kiss her gently. Then press my forehead to hers, praying it’s enough to steady us both.

“It’s not because I don’t want you,” I murmur. “It’s because I do. Too damn much.”

She shakes her head, confused. “I don’t… That doesn’t make any sense, James.”

I pause, breathing through the fire burning in my chest. Then gently tilt her face, guiding her eyes back to mine.

I need her to see it.

To feel it.

To believe what I’m about to say.

“It does, snowflake. Because you deserve more than this. More than a moment stolen while we’re in hiding.” I brush my thumbs along her jaw, watching her closely. “You deserve to feel safe. Cherished. You deserve for your first time to be special. Something that belongs only to us , and us alone .”

I pause, letting the silence carry the weight of everything I can’t yet say.

“This isn’t a no. It’s a not yet. We’re in no rush, Annelly. Far as I’m concerned, I’m in this for the long game. Which, to be clear, means I’m not going anywhere.”

She trembles under the weight of my stare, lips parted, breath hitching like she’s caught between uncertainty and awe.

I kiss her forehead. Then her cheek. Then her lips—slow, reverent, aching with everything I don’t have words for.

“I’m yours,” I breathe. “And when the time is right, when we’re home, when you’re finally safe—I’ll give you everything. Every part of me. For as long as you’ll have me.”

For a moment, it’s like she’s stopped breathing. But behind her eyes, something shifts. Understanding. Trust.

She nods.

And God… that’s all I need.

I kiss her again. Pouring every bit of what I feel for her into this kiss. Letting her know that I’m here. That I’m not pulling away. Not ever again.

When I finally speak, it’s more than reassurance. It’s a vow stitched into a plea.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” I whisper, lips brushing hers. “Just you. That’s all I want.”

Her eyes shine, not with tears, but with something deeper. Something unspoken. Something that splits me open and stitches me back together in the same breath.

She nods. Breathless.

And carefully—so carefully—I shift my grip beneath her thighs and lift her from the counter. Her legs stay wrapped around me, her body warm and pliant against mine.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t question. She just lets herself be held.

Her forehead rests against my temple, and I tighten my hold, carrying her upstairs—bare feet, creaking floorboards, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the world. Everything else fades. Until there’s nothing left but her.

In the bedroom, I lower her to the mattress like she’s made of starlight and porcelain. My hands linger at her waist, unwilling to let go. Not yet. Not when the feel of her is still etching into my palms like a memory I can’t afford to lose.

I don’t rush.

Don’t speak.

I just look at her.

Bathed in the soft moonlight spilling through the windows, all soft curves and steady breath. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

And tonight, for the first time—with no fear, no hesitation—she’s mine.

❤️

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# Chapter 23

James

I lay her down slowly. Carefully. Like she's the most fragile thing in my world, because right now, that's exactly what she is. 

She doesn't look away. If anything, her eyes hold me tighter. Wide and unblinking, green and glassy, she watches my every movement like it means something. Like 
I
 mean something. 

Her chest rises and falls in shallow, trembling breaths, and every single one stokes the need to be inside her to a fever pitch.

God, she's so beautiful like this. 

Lying here. 

Choosing this. 

Trusting me. 

Completely at my mercy.

I close my eyes, needing a second to breathe. To pull back the ache burning through my body, the one pounding in time with my heartbeat, demanding I give in. That I take what she's offering. That I finally make her mine. 

But I won't. 

Not like this. 

Not tonight. 

I promised I'd take care of her. And that's exactly what I intend to do, even if holding back feels like it might kill me. 

I stay close, hovering above her, one hand braced beside her head. The other finds the hem of her sweatshirt—
my
 sweatshirt—which has never looked as sexy as it does right now, clinging to the curves that have haunted my every dream.

Slowly, almost reverently, I tug it up, inch by inch, revealing soft, creamy skin that calls to me like a siren's song. Hypnotizing me. Luring me closer until I'm leaning in, pressing a kiss to the curve of her belly in a move so tender, it surprises even me.

Fuck. 

I don't think I've ever done anything like this before. 

It's like I'm worshipping her. Savoring her. Relishing the feel of her warm skin against my lips, the sweet scent of vanilla and jasmine, and that soft, addictive undertone that's uniquely hers. 

Following the path I'm clearing, I keep going. Kissing my way up her body. Higher. Slower. More deliberate. Up her ribs. The center of her chest.  

Each kiss is a vow. A promise. A quiet reminder that I'm hers—fully, completely—and that my only purpose in this moment is to please her. Protect her. Be whatever the hell she needs me to be. 

But when the fabric bunches just beneath her breasts, I stop. 

I want to see her. Desperately. Hell, I've imagined this moment more times than I should probably admit. 

But something stops me cold. 

Her words earlier. 

The softness of her voice when she told me she'd never done this before.

And suddenly I can't move forward. Not without asking. Not without making sure. 

I look up at her, heart pounding, chest tight.

"Is this okay?" I ask, voice low and frayed at the edges. Even trying to hide it, there's no disguising the need behind it—how much I want her to say yes.

She nods. Just once. But her eyes say so much more. They say 
yes,
 and 
please,
 and 
I trust you
. 

And God, it wrecks me. 

A sharp sting hits behind my eyes before I can stop it. A lump rises in my throat. 

I swallow hard, desperate to steady the unexpected rush of emotion squeezing my chest.

Still watching me, she reaches for the hem and helps me ease the sweatshirt over her head. Over her arms. Off her body. 

And when I toss it aside, she doesn't shy away. She doesn't hide. She stays bare beneath my gaze, unflinching. Open. Her skin flushed with want, her desire burning behind wide, fearless eyes that steal the air from my lungs.  

She's wearing a simple white bra. Full coverage. A touch of lace. It's nothing like the lingerie I'm used to—flashy, calculated, meant to seduce.

No.

This?

This is soft. Innocent. Pure.

And on Annelly?

It's by far the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen.

"Fuck," I hiss between my teeth. "You're stunning." 

At the sound of my praise, her breath catches. But then she exhales, her chest rising and falling in raw, unguarded anticipation. And those soft swells—perfect handfuls I'm aching to touch, taste—beckon me like they were made for me and me alone.  

I watch her closely, tracking every breath, every flutter of her lashes as I lift my hand and trace the curve of one breast with two fingers. 

Starting from the underside....

Moving up...

Then across...

My fingers glide over the lace, right across a hardened nipple. 

Her breath hitches.

And when her spine curves off the mattress, her body arching beautifully toward me, it's like she's begging for more without saying a word. 

"Would you like to take this off?" I murmur, fingers lightly brushing over the strap at her shoulder, trailing down her arm in the softest touch I've ever managed. 

Goosebumps rise across her skin, and I groan.

Fuck... this is going to kill me.

But I don't get long to dwell on my self-imposed torment. Because then, without hesitation, she lifts her upper body just enough to reach behind her. 

Her fingers find the clasp.

She unhooks it.

Then lets it fall away. Slowly. Beautifully. Like baring herself to me is the most natural thing in the world.

And 
God.

Now it's my turn to forget how to breathe. 

My chest locks up the second I take her in. 

It's not just her body that undoes me—though Christ, that alone would be enough. It's the way she looks at me. Bare. Vulnerable. But also strong. Steady. Sure of herself. Confident in a way I've never seen her. 

And nothing... nothing has ever looked more beautiful.

It damn near unmans me.

Desperate to ground myself, I lean in. My mouth brushes the curve of her collarbone. I kiss across, slow and soft, then lower, down the swell of one perfect breast.

Jesus, she's stunning.

Without thinking, my tongue sweeps over her nipple. I draw it into my mouth, sucking gently, and the soft, breathy moan that escapes her lips tears through me like a fucking lightning strike. 

My chest rumbles in response, a deep, involuntary growl of approval. 

And just like that, I feel it. 

A sudden pulse of heat. 

Beads of pre-cum pushing free, tightening the ache in my groin to near agony.

"Christ, Annelly," I whisper between kisses, my voice an absolute wreck. "You're so fucking perfect. So goddamn sexy. I can't get enough. I'll never get enough." 

I shift to her other breast, giving it the same slow, aching attention. My mouth tasting, sucking, worshipping every inch of her that makes her writhe so beautifully beneath me.

And fuck, she's trembling. 

Hell, with the intensity of what's building between us, so am I.

I can't help myself. 

I return to her mouth, kissing her hard—deep, hungry, desperate—taking full advantage when she opens for me.

Our lips.

Our tongues.

Our 
souls...

They meld together, tangled in something too big, too raw to name. A sensual, all-consuming rhythm that threatens to pull us under. 

And for a second, I almost let it. 

Almost lose myself in her completely.

But I can't. 

Not yet. 

On the edge of losing control, I tear my mouth from hers, gasping softly as I trail kisses down her neck... 

Across her chest... 

Lower, over her stomach...

Along the crease of her hips... 

Then I shift down, kneeling at the edge of the bed.

And this... this is the moment I feel it.

Not just lust. 

Not just want.

But reverence.

A deep, indescribable awe that roots itself in my bones. Like I've been waiting my whole damn life for this moment.

I press my lips to the inside of her knee, soft and slow. Then I look at her—waiting. Asking for her permission without words.

She nods once.

But her breath is shaky. Her lips parted. Her eyes shining with trust.

That's all I need. 

I hook my fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings and begin to draw them down—inch by inch—pausing to kiss every stretch of newly bare skin I reveal. 

Her thighs.

The backs of her knees.

The soft curves of her calves.

And when I reach the final barrier—simple white cotton panties clinging to her hips, impossibly sexy in a way I didn't know was possible—I groan. 

Fuck. Shit. 

I can't...

My eyes squeeze shut as I fight for control, breath coming fast and uneven through parted lips. The sharp, desperate need inside me threatens to boil over.  

Don't come in your pants. Jesus Christ, Serrano. Get it together.

And then she moves. Lifts her hips for me in silent invitation—no hesitation, no fear. Just trust. Pure and steady. And just like that, I'm gone all over again. 

God, she's perfect. 

Too goddamn perfect for someone like me.

But that voice—the one that used to scream 
you'll ruin her—
is gone. That version of me? The one who tried to play the martyr, who thought walking away would protect us both from the wreckage he was sure was coming?

He's gone too.

Because the second she told me she trusted me with this... everything changed.

I'm done running. 

I'm here. Fully committed. More certain than I've ever been. 

Because I finally see it. 

Finally believe it.

Finally accept the truth I've been fighting for too damn long.

This woman... 

She's my beginning.

My middle.

And my end. 

Annelly Connors is it for me. 

❤️

 
Can't wait for more? I've got you... 
👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

And the best part? Following me there is totally 
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.

Just hit 
"Follow"
 on 
REAM
 to get early access without needing to subscribe. 
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NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!

Chapter 24

James

Careful. Like I’m peeling back something angelic, something divine, I lower her panties with both hands.

And holy shit .

There she is. Laid bare. Utterly exposed. Utterly trusting.

I press one last kiss to the inside of her thigh and whisper against her skin, “You’re everything, Annelly. Every goddamn thing I’ve ever wanted.”

And God help me, I want her.

I want her in ways I’ve never wanted anyone. Anything. She’s got me hungry, aching—ruined—in the way she unravels me without even trying.

But this… this isn’t about want.

And it sure as hell isn’t about need.

Not tonight.

Tonight is about her.

So I climb over her slowly, bracing my weight on my elbows so I don’t crush her, don’t overwhelm her. Her skin is warm beneath me, soft and flushed, her chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

I start at her throat, pressing my lips to the delicate skin just beneath her jaw.

She gasps.

Then she does it again, when I kiss the spot beneath her ear, my hands tracing the slope of her waist, the flare of her hips, the gentle curve of her thighs. I don’t rush. Don’t take.

I savor.

Letting myself explore. Memorizing the feel of her beneath my touch.

“You’re perfect,” I whisper against her neck. “You know that, right?”

She nods. But with the way she’s looking at me—eyes wide—breath shaky, I’m not sure she believes it.

So I show her.

With every kiss. Every brush of my fingertips. Every second I hold back. Giving sensation. Stimulation. Learning what lights her up. What makes her body sing. What tells her—without a single word—that she’s safe with me.

Her body moves with mine, arching into me, seeking more. Like it’s drawn to me. Like it knows exactly who I belong to. Who it belongs to .

Her breath catches again when my mouth savors her nipples, one after the other. Then, I cradle one breast in my palm, my thumb brushing over the hardened bud as I lower my mouth to the other—tasting her slowly, languidly. Letting her feel just how much this moment means to me.

She whimpers. Then moans. Needy. Wanting. Fisting the sheets like she’s trying to hold on to something solid.

And when she lets out a shuddering breath, something inside me cracks wide open. A desperate kind of longing I don’t have words for. One that scares the hell out of me… and steadies me just the same.

Jesus.

She’s so responsive.

So fucking mine .

Like her body was made for this. For me.

I want to keep going. Want to memorize the way her breath stutters every time I draw her nipple into my mouth. But the way her hips shift beneath me—restless, pleading—I know she’s ready for more. The kind of more I ache to give her.

“Can I touch you?” I ask, my mouth still pressed to her skin. “There?” I graze a finger, ever so gently, over her pubic bone.

She nods—eager, breathless. Her eyes wide and unwavering, lit with trust.

I trail my hand down the inside of her thigh—slow, deliberate. Like I’m asking again.

She parts her legs in answer.

And when I finally touch her— really touch her—her whole body jolts like I’ve flipped a switch.

God, she’s wet.

So damn wet.

And so fucking soft .

Like warm silk, wrapped around my finger so tightly it sends a shiver down my spine.

Easing through her folds, I learn the rhythm of her. The way her breath hitches and her lashes flutter when I circle just right.

She gasps my name—barely a whisper, but it wrecks me. Then she does it again, louder this time.

“James—”

I don’t stop.

Can’t stop.

Not until her thighs are trembling. Not until her hands reach for me, nails digging into my skin. Not until she’s arching into my touch like she’s been waiting her whole life for this—for me .

And I’ve never felt anything like it. Never touched someone like this. So careful. So focused. So goddamn reverent.

This isn’t about getting her off.

Not even about getting her off for my own pleasure.

No.

This is strictly about her .

Every breath.

Every stutter.

Every tremble and moan and whispered plea.

It’s about learning her.

Honoring her.

Taking care of her.

Worshipping every inch of her body until she believes what I already know:

That she’s sacred.

That she’s the very essence of salvation.

That she’s mine.

She comes with a soft cry, her whole body trembling beneath my hands. Her fingers tighten around my wrist like she needs something to hold on to as she shatters.

And I watch her—spellbound.

Completely wrecked.

I’ve never seen anything more breathtaking.

I don’t stop touching her. Don’t rush a damn thing. I stay with her through the fall. Whispering her name. Telling her how good she did. How proud I am to be the one who got to give her this.

Because this— her —she’s not a prize. She’s a gift. One I still don’t feel worthy of, but which I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to deserve.

As her body softens, muscles relaxing in the aftermath, I ease up. I kiss her lips reverently as she slowly comes back to me.

Her eyes flutter open—glazed, dazed—while she’s still trembling in my arms.

And it hits me again.

This is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t about pleasure or control or chasing the high.

This was…

God, I don’t even know what it was.

Transcendent.

That’s the only word that fits.

I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in. Letting the moment settle. Letting her softness wrap around the sharpest parts of me.

“I meant what I said,” I whisper.

She brushes her fingers through my hair—slow, tender—and I lift my head to meet her eyes.

“This is just the beginning,” I murmur. “You said you were sure about me. About this. So let me show you what that means.”

I kiss her again. Soft. Intentional. Letting her feel it in every slow, reverent stroke of my mouth.

“I’m going to court you, Annelly.” My voice is quiet. A little rough around the edges, but honest in every way that matters. “I know that’s old-fashioned as hell. But I don’t care. Because you’re not some girl I want to sleep with and walk away from. You’re the one I want to wake up next to. Build a life with. Protect. Prove myself to.”

I press another kiss to her temple, then whisper against her skin, “And I will. Every day. Every hour. I’ll earn this. I’ll earn you .”

She blinks up at me like she’s forgotten how to breathe. Her hand finds mine, grounding us both.

And that’s when I feel it.

This night. This moment.

I didn’t know it was possible to feel this undone. This addicted. This overwhelmed by giving —by loving —without needing anything in return.

And yeah, it terrifies me. Not the way it used to. Not because I’m afraid I’ll ruin it. But because I’ve never needed someone like this. Not just for sex. Not just for comfort or survival. But for everything .

And yet, somehow… it doesn’t scare me enough to let her go. If anything, it makes me want to hold on tighter.

Because for the first time in my life, I’m not lost in the dark. I’m not drowning in the damage or the pain.

Instead, I’m right here.

With her.

In the light.

And there’s no way in hell I’m ever giving that up.

❤️

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# Chapter 25

Annelly

James is at the stove again, moving with that quiet, deliberate focus he brings to everything. Like making breakfast for us is just as important as keeping the world outside from getting in. Bacon sizzles in the pan. Coffee steams in the pot. Every so often, he glances over his shoulder, catches me watching, and offers that faint, private smile that makes my heart stumble.

"You're staring again," he says without looking away from the skillet, a smile threading through his voice.

"Was not." It's a total lie, and we both know it. 

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he slides the last strips of bacon onto a plate. 

Zeb smirks over his coffee from the seat next to mine, boots kicked out under the table. "Do better. His head's already big enough."  

I snicker, unable to help it, and before I can defend myself, a dishtowel sails across the kitchen and hits him square in the chest. 

"Leave her alone. It's not her fault I'm irresistible," James says, deadpan, flipping a pancake with one hand and winking at me like it's a universal truth. 

Heat floods my face so fast I'm certain it's visible. Not helped in the least by the flashbacks from last night—his mouth, his hands, that same damn wink, complete with a prideful smile, right after he left me boneless from yet another earth-shattering orgasm.

Oh my God...

I need to stop.

Zeb takes a sip of his coffee, face twisted in exaggerated disgust. "You lovebirds need to rein it in. I'm a guest. You're making me uncomfortable." 

"Given I don't recall inviting you, feel free to leave at any time. Door's that way." James tips his head toward the exit, calm as ever. 

"And miss this delicious spread?" Zeb gestures toward the table, where James has pulled together another restaurant-worthy breakfast. "Pickins around here are scarce, Serrano. If it's a choice between Pop-Tarts, instant oatmeal, or this..." He leans back, smug. "Damn right I'm showing up. Hell, even if you stopped cooking—which would be a damn waste of your God-given talent—I'd still be here. Her company's worth it. Beats the grumpy asshole I'm rooming with."

"Noted," James says, dropping a plate of golden pancakes onto the table. His mouth curves into one of those rare smiles he saves only for me. "And I agree." 

That's pretty much how it always goes between these two. The warmth is easy, unforced—years of friendship, history, and love tucked behind every teasing barb and playful shove. 

Being with them is easy in a way I didn't expect. Even Dominick, who's been keeping his distance like always. Aside from dinner, he's rarely here—deliberately, I think. The tension between him and James is sharp enough to taste when they're together in the same room. 

"Stop feeling sorry for him," James murmurs as he passes me the syrup, like he's been tracking my thoughts.

"I don't feel sorry for him." I meet his eyes for a beat. "I just wish he'd join us for breakfast too. Can't be easy, always being alone like that."

"Don't worry your pretty little head. Dom's fine." Zeb speaks around a mouthful of pancake. "If he's dead set on perfecting the lone-wolf act, who are we to judge? Some men don't want to be saved."

I offer a weak smile, but something inside me tugs. Because for all their sarcasm and mockery, these men... they've started to feel like mine. And if there's one thing they all seem to share, it's the weight of something they're still trying to outrun. Guilt. Regret. Self-loathing. Fear. It lingers around them in steady, quiet waves that are undeniable, even as they pretend otherwise.

Take Zeb, for example. All dry humor and fake indifference, even though he's constantly taking care of us when he thinks no one's watching. Like now—he's topping off my orange juice without spilling a drop, gaze fixed on his laptop like the gesture doesn't count if he doesn't acknowledge it.  

"Caught you," I murmur, smiling as I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip. 

"Don't know what you're talking about," he mumbles, still not looking up—but the tips of his ears turn pink. 

James sets a heavy hand on Zeb's shoulder—forceful enough to make him flinch—before sliding into the chair on my other side. 

"Yeah, 
Zeb." 
He over-annunciates his name. "You've been doing that a lot. Maybe it's time you get your own girl."

Zeb grunts, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he's fighting a smile. 

If Dominick were here, he'd probably roll his eyes, mutter something about me being "too good for these assholes" before stomping out of here like we're the bane of his existence.

The thought makes me smile in a way I haven't in a long time.

It's not the family I pictured for myself. God knows the road here wasn't ideal. But sitting in this sunlit kitchen, the smell of coffee and bacon curling in the air, James's knee brushing mine under the table, Zeb pretending he only cares about himself... I feel it anyway.

A sense of belonging.

And that feeling is terrifying in its own way, because I could get used to this. To waking up with James beside me. To Zeb's voice over breakfast. To Dominick's reluctant smirks and gruff eye rolls. To the rhythm we've found here, like the mountains wrapped their arms around a bunch of misfits and decided to keep us.

It's almost enough to make me forget why we're here at all. 

The danger. 

That we're hiding. 

Instead, the days just fold into each other, each one a little softer than the last— 

Breakfast James insists on making. 

Morning hikes that sometimes turn into lazy afternoons by the lake, fishing poles forgotten while we talk, or kiss, or just lie together in the hush of fading sunlight.

James still guards the deeper parts of himself, but every day he offers me something new. A memory. A truth he's never said aloud. I don't push. I don't need to. Every piece of himself he offers feels like a gift, and I cherish them all.

Evenings—and James's cooking—bring us all to the same table. Zeb, James, me, even Dominick. Laptops open, gear spread out between plates of food as they monitor whatever it is they're monitoring. Clipped voices. The scent of something warm from the stove. The soft hum of electronics. It's an oddly comforting mix that somehow feels like safety.

And then, there are the nights.

James's hands. His mouth. His unshakable restraint. The way he gives until I'm trembling and undone, but never takes. Always holding himself that one deliberate step back. 

He reminds me often that he's courting me—slowly, stubbornly—and it should frustrate me. But instead, I'm gone for him. Completely. Twisted up like some love-struck schoolgirl in ways I never thought I could be.

Still, the reminders are always there. 

Subtle, but constant. The way he always takes point on the trail, eyes sweeping the trees like he's cataloging every shadow. The way he positions himself with his back to a wall, whether we're in the cabin, on the porch, or alone by the lake. 

I notice it all. 

But I don't dwell on it like I know I should. I can't bring myself to. Not when life finally feels like something I want to hold on to.

The clock on the wall ticks past nine, and the quiet hum of the cabin shifts. Zeb already has his laptop open, the little green light blinking as the secure connection pings OTS headquarters.

Without looking away from the screen, he slides his empty mug toward me.

"Top off?" I ask, reaching for it.

"Please," he says, fingers flying over the keyboard, entering the secure login.

Before I can get up, James takes the mug from me and tops it off himself. Then he leans against the counter in his usual stance for these calls—arms folded across his chest, shoulders squared, scowl carved deep. Gone is the relaxed James from earlier. In his place stands the fighter. The protector. A man ready to go to war.

Most mornings, the call is half business, half smack talk—Ben and Owen trading jabs with Zeb and James, Dominick tossing an occasional grumble from the sidelines. I've started to enjoy it, in a strange way. The banter fills the kitchen like it's just another part of our routine, which is oddly comforting.

But for James, these meetings are a slow bleed of tension. 

It's painful to watch. 

And today is no different. 

He's not even looking at the screen. His gaze is fixed somewhere over Zeb's shoulder, like he's trying to stay tuned out for as long as he can. But the muscles in his jaw give him away. Ticking once, then again, like he's chewing on something he can't quite swallow down.

"You okay?" I murmur, quiet enough to keep it just between us.

His eyes flick to mine for half a second. "Yep," he says—flat, clipped, and not even close to convincing.

The connection clicks over. The screen flickers, then sharpens into Ben's face. No grin today. No jab at Zeb's obnoxiously loud Hawaiian shirt. No easy quip about Dominick's long hair. Just a curt nod.

"Morning," he says, voice stripped of anything resembling warmth.

It's only one word, but it punches the air right out of my lungs.

James must feel it too, because in the next breath, he's sliding into the chair beside me. Posture rigid. Completely still. Not the kind of stillness that means focus. No, this is coiled. Dangerous. The stillness of a predator waiting to pounce. His mug lowers an inch, gaze locked on Ben like he's reading every micro-expression. Every unspoken warning.

"There's been a development," Ben says, no lead-in, no wasted words.

The air in the room shifts. Zeb sits up straighter, coffee forgotten. James leans in, forearms braced on the table, his whole body angled toward the screen like he's ready to physically drag the answers out of it.

"Yesterday at 1700 hours, while leaving work, Aunt Rosie's car was tailed by a suspicious vehicle."

My stomach drops so fast it's dizzying.

"After identifying the situation, she pulled into a well-lit parking lot, as instructed by Owen—who was closely monitoring the threat. I was right behind her." Ben's jaw tightens. "I attempted to box them in as best I could."

James's fists hit the table with a muted thunk. The need to act—to fix—pours off him in waves.

"As soon as they caught sight of me in their rearview mirror, they gunned it. Clipped Aunt Rosie's bumper and took off before I could get to them." Ben leans closer to the camera, eyes like steel. "I think they were going to take her. Use her to draw Annelly out." 

The words hit hard, like someone's yanked the ground out from under me. My pulse spikes. Breath locks in my chest.

This isn't some random woman.

This is my mother. 

And they were after her because of me.

The truth slams into me with the kind of clarity that makes you wish you could unhear it. Icy dread claws through me, and suddenly I'm back there. Victor's voice sharp with rage. His fists slamming into me. The sting of humiliation as those other men watched. The way he stripped me of my dignity, made me feel like I was nothing but property. 

His to hurt. 

To own. 

To break. 

Only now, it's not me I see in that moment.

It's her. 

My mom.

Her fear. Her pain. No one to pull her out.

The thought slices so deep, I can't breathe.

If they'd gotten to her... 

Oh God, what have I done?

❤️

 
Can't wait for more? I've got you... 
👇🏼

REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

And the best part? Following me there is totally 
FREE
.

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"Follow"
 on 
REAM
 to get early access without needing to subscribe. 
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Chapter 26

Annelly

My stomach knots so tight it hurts. I can’t stop seeing my mom in that moment—Owen’s voice in her ear, telling her to pull over. The thought of Victor’s rage in someone else’s hands, his cruelty finding a new target in her, because I was foolish enough to think I could run and hide. Foolish enough to believe there’d be no consequences. That even if he came for me, the people I loved would be safe.

I was so damn wrong.

Beside me, every muscle in James’s body winds tighter. His jaw flexes on repeat, his breathing sharp and deliberate, like he’s fighting to keep it together.

Owen’s voice cuts in. “We ran the tags on the car, but got nothing. It was a rental, booked with a stolen ID and credit card. Found it minutes later, abandoned on the side of Flint Road. Wiped clean. These guys were good. But not good enough to dodge the hidden cameras we’ve set up around town. We got clear footage.”

Zeb clicks something, and the split screen changes—OTS Headquarters and Dominick on one side, a grainy freeze-frame on the other. Two men, mid-step, climbing into a dark SUV.

“Take a look,” Zeb says, tapping a key. The image sharpens, closing in on the face of the first man.

My breath stops cold. I’d know that face anywhere.

“Felix Bertrand,” I hear myself say, the words scraping out. “Victor’s driver. His bodyguard.” My gaze catches on the faint scar along his brow. “His brother’s my agent. He’s the one who introduced me to Victor.”

And suddenly, I’m not in the cabin anymore.

I’m back in the passenger seat of Felix’s black sedan the night Victor snapped. The stink of leather and stale smoke turns my stomach. My split lip throbs with every bump in the road. Felix’s hands stay steady on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead like I’m not even there. Like I’m cargo, not a person.

He parked outside my apartment that night like a guard dog on a chain—watching, waiting. To keep me trapped inside as much as to keep others away. In the greatest performance of my life, I played the terrified little doll he expected, all the while calculating my escape.

I knew I needed to run.

With no one to turn to, I had to save myself.

But at what cost?

“Annelly.” Zeb’s voice cuts in, pulling me back. He shifts, pointing at the screen. “What about him? Do you recognize him?”

I blink through the blur of tears pooling in my eyes, forcing the second man’s image into focus.

“Manny Salvador,” I whisper, the name tasting sour on my tongue. “Security for the production company. He…” My throat tightens, but the memory pushes through—Manny on set, always hovering at the edges of my vision. Standing too close when he didn’t need to. Never smiling. Never blinking. His presence wasn’t protection—it was possession. Like he was guarding me for Victor.

The kitchen closes in, the walls pressing tighter with every breath. My stomach twists, and suddenly I can’t drag in air. The faces on the screen might as well be here, crowding out the oxygen.

Voices blur—Ben, Owen, Zeb—snapping through logistics, routes, surveillance, next steps. But I can’t hold on to the words. They slip past me like water through my fingers.

What I do hear is Felix’s voice that night when he walked me to my door: Be a good girl. Wait like you were told.

What I do see is Manny’s hulking shadow looming over me on set, always too close, making it clear there was no escape.

That it’s those same two men who came for my mother, to use her as bait to get to me… the realization drives in like a knife into my heart.

The air turns heavy and sharp all at once.

My vision swims.

I’m on my feet before I know I’ve moved. The chair screeches across the floor, harsh and ugly in the quiet. My hands shake so violently I can’t still them. My chest locks up tight, breath catching and shallow, like a vice is squeezing my ribs. Blood roars in my ears, drowning out every voice but one—my own pulse, pounding out the same frantic order it gave me that night:

Run, Annelly. Run!

But before I can take a step, James is there. His arms lock around me, chest solid and unyielding, his body a wall between me and the panic clawing up my throat. One hand cups the back of my head, tucking me against him; the other presses low at my spine. His breath is slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to coax mine into rhythm with his.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, a quiet rasp meant only for me. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting them near you.”

I close my eyes, letting his words wrap around me like a blanket. But with the threat hanging over us, that comfort feels fragile. Paper-thin.

Zeb leans toward the laptop, picking up the thread of conversation, like he’s buying us a minute.

But James’s calm lasts all of three seconds.

“Why the fuck are we all still sitting here?” His voice cracks across the room like a whip. “They’re out there—right fucking now—still hunting her. Hunting the people she loves. And you want to sit here talking logistics?”

“We’re assessing—” Ben’s tone is firm.

“Screw assessing.” James’s voice spikes, ragged at the edges. “You find them, you put them down. That’s how this ends.”

“Not how this works, and you know it,” Dominick cuts in, clipped and cold. “We do this by the book, or we’re no better than the scum we help put away.”

James barks a laugh—sharp and humorless. “By the book? While they circle her family— our family—like vultures? You think Victor gives a damn about your rule book?”

“That’s enough.” Ben’s voice hardens, command edging into warning. “We handle this the way we handle any other threat—together, with a plan. Right now, you need to get control, James. Stand down before you make things worse.”

“Worse?” His grip tightens around me, a full-body shield like he’s bracing us for impact. “You want worse? Worse is when they get to her because we sat on our hands. Worse is her shoved in a trunk—bleeding, broken, or dead—because we played by Dom’s fucking rules. You want to live with that? You want her blood on your conscience?”

His voice shreds on the last words, brittle with anguish as they rip through the room. The sound is so raw it steals the breath from my lungs, and it takes everything in me to choke back the sob clawing up my throat.

On the screen, Dominick leans forward, his calm like oil to James’s fire. “And this is exactly why you don’t call the shots. You still think like a criminal. You still can’t separate your emotions from the job.”

“My emotions?” James’s voice is raw, all steel and fury. “This isn’t emotion, Dom—it’s life experience. While you were growing up in a cushy home with two stable parents, a white picket fence, and a goddamn dog, I was out there. On the streets. Bleeding. Fighting. Staying alive through sheer force of will and the kind of choices you’ve never had to make. Men like Bastille owned me. Crushed me. And I learned the only way to stay breathing was defiance. Survival at any cost.”

His chest heaves against me, his arms iron-tight. “You’ve never faced someone like Victor Bastille without a badge to hide behind. I have. Which is how I know you don’t arrest a rabid dog—you put the fucker down. Especially a well-connected bastard like Bastille, because men like that… they never stop coming. It’s them or you. And I’ll be damned if the casualty here is the woman I love.”

His declaration of love should floor me. Should tear the ground out from under my feet. But there’s no room to feel any of that right now. Not when his grip around me is a shield instead of a caress. Not with the storm of his rage and my fear swallowing everything else.

Ben exhales sharply, rising from the conference table at OTS headquarters. “You’re out of line.”

“Maybe,” James snaps back, his hold cinching tighter around me. “But I’m also right.”

“James.” Zeb’s voice slices through the tension, calm but weighted in that way only he can manage. From the corner of my eye, I catch him holding James’s stare before flicking a subtle glance at me.

My fingers tremble where they clutch his shirt, my lungs burning for air. And in that split second, I recognize it—the truth beneath his fury. Fear. The same fear drowning me. But where mine roots me in panic, his becomes a weapon. A need to fight. To strike first. Brutally. Decisively. Unflinching until the threat is gone.

Something in his face shifts, his chest rising too fast, like he’s choking on the need to keep going. But he doesn’t. Nor does he let me go. If anything, his arms pull me closer—protective, almost to the point of pain. If I weren’t so numb, I’d feel it.

He’s not calm. Not even close. But for me, he’s trying.

Even as he murmurs quiet reassurances against my hair, I can feel it—that restless, coiled heat simmering beneath his skin. His breathing is steady enough to keep me anchored, but everything else about him hums with the need to move.

His stance shifts almost imperceptibly, like he’s bracing to spring. The muscles beneath my palms are drawn taut, strung too tight with tension.

And his eyes… every time a certain word comes through the speaker— Victor , surveillance , l ocation, threat —his gaze snaps to the laptop like he’s mapping coordinates in his head. Calculating angles. Considering the risk.

I know what that means.

If it were up to him, we wouldn’t still be standing in this kitchen. We wouldn’t be talking about plans or waiting for orders. We’d be halfway to Victor, and James would be making sure he never draws another breath.

And maybe it’s selfish, but a part of me is glad it’s not up to him. Because if it was, he’d already be gone.

The voices on the call bleed back into focus.

Dominick’s tone is cool, controlled—like this is just another problem to solve. Ben’s voice follows, steady and unyielding, backing him up.

James’s responses are clipped, every word honed to a hard edge. Every answer a disagreement. A refusal to stand down. The air between them crackles with unspoken friction, and I can feel the collision building.

None of it matters, though.

Because the truth is simple, and it hits like a fist to the gut. It doesn’t matter how far we run. Victor will always find me—through the people I love.

My fingers curl tighter into James’s shirt. I don’t know if I’m holding on to stop him from doing something reckless… or because I’m afraid of what I might do if I let go.

The thought is small right now. Barely formed. But it sinks its claws in, impossible to shake.

If going back meant sparing my family—keeping everyone I love out of Victor’s reach…

Then God help me.

Because I may not have any other choice.

❤️

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REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

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# Chapter 27

James

Their voices drone on. Ben's steady, Zeb and Owen's trying to be reassuring, while Dom's cuts sharp—smug in that clipped tone he likes to use when I'm around, like he's the smartest guy in the room. 

The resounding themes: 
Calm. Plan. Wait.

Fuck that.

Calm doesn't stop them from coming. Plans don't guarantee her safety. Waiting sure as hell won't put Victor Bastille in the ground where he belongs. 

Every second we waste talking in circles is another second that bastard's out there conspiring, calculating, daring me to stand here and do nothing while he terrorizes 
my
 girl.

My jaw locks until it aches, teeth grinding loud enough they can probably hear it. My shoulders twitch with restless energy, every muscle begging for movement, for violence, for an outlet. My fists clench against her spine like I could choke the rage itself if only it would hold still.

And I hate it. 

I hate this fucking cabin.

I hate the faces on that computer screen.

I hate being caged like some trained dog while Victor Bastille breathes easy.

The roar in my ears drowns out Ben's steady cadence and Dom's sanctimonious bullshit. I don't hear words anymore—just static. White noise.

And that's when I feel her.

Annelly's trembling in my arms, breaths sharp and uneven, her body going slack. She's fading fast, the adrenaline burning out of her system, and I've been too wrapped up in my own fury to notice she's slipping.

Then it hits me. The words I spat earlier—her shoved in a trunk, broken, bleeding—Christ. I shouldn't have said that. Shouldn't have shoved that image into her head, like she needed yet another nightmare to keep her awake at night. Like she didn't already have enough scars carved under her skin thanks to that prick. 

The guilt scorches hotter than the rage. My first instinct is to snarl, to put my fist through the wall just to bleed it off, but that won't fix her. Won't keep her safe.

She sways in my arms, knees buckling like her body's had enough, and that's it. The decision snaps through me like a trigger pull. No questions. No permission. I hook an arm under her knees and lift, her weight nothing against me.

"Fuck this," I mutter, sharp and deliberate, loud enough for every voice still buzzing on the line to hear. "Keep wasting time talking. I've got more important shit to worry about."

Her head tips against my shoulder, face buried in the crook of my neck. No protest. No fight. And that silence guts me worse than anything else.

She's too light in my arms, fragile where she should be fire, and it makes me want to put Victor in the ground with my bare hands. My jaw locks against the urge because none of that helps her. Violence won't fix this. And right now, she's all that matters. 

I shoulder past the table, boots heavy on the floorboards as I take the stairs. Her body folds closer, limp against me, and it's all wrong. The girl I know doesn't go quiet like this. She doesn't vanish into herself like she's trying to disappear.

The door to our room gives way under my shoulder, creaking wide as I carry her inside. The air is cooler than downstairs, thanks to the drafty windows I can't do a damn thing about. Dust motes drift in the sunlight cutting through the thin curtains, and for a second, I resent it—the brightness of the day mocking the darkness clinging to this moment. 

I lower her onto the mattress, careful like she might shatter if I let go too fast. She doesn't resist. Doesn't even acknowledge me as her hands slide off my chest, falling limp on her lap.

I drop to a crouch in front of her, bracing my elbows on my knees as I grab her hands. 

"Annelly."

Nothing. Her gaze skates past me, glassy and far away. Her lips part like she might speak, but no sound comes out.

And fuck me if I don't recognize that look instantly. Pale. Checked out. Gone somewhere deep inside her head, to that place where the darkest thoughts sink their claws in and never let go. 

Guilt is stamped across her, pressing her down like a lead weight. She thinks this is her fault. That she's poison to the people she loves. 

It's a road I know all too well. I've been walking it damn near my whole life, and I know where it ends. 

Self-blame. 

Self-hate. 

Self-destruction. 

The spiral that doesn't stop until you've burned your whole goddamn life to the ground.

But I'll be damned if I let her torch herself the way I have.

"Annelly." My voice drops, low and edged, every word pulled tight with restraint. It's taking everything in me not to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she snaps out of this. "Look at me."

Her eyes brim with unshed tears. She shakes her head, the smallest refusal I've ever seen. 

Christ. 

The irony isn't lost on me. Me, the man who can't get control of his own demons, crouched here trying to wrangle hers back before they devour her. But I'll do it. I'll do it a thousand times if I have to, because I refuse to sit here, watching her drown in darkness when I'm right here... waiting for her in the light. 

Her light. 

Because that's what she is to me—my fucking light.

And that thought terrifies me more than Victor Bastille ever could. More than every street fight and bloody night I've survived. Because I can fight men like him. I can bleed, kill, even die with a smile on my face if it comes to it. 

But this? 

This panic at the idea of losing her in a way I can't fight or bleed for—it leaves me powerless in a way a man like me can't even comprehend. 

Somehow she's become my center. My tether in the chaos. And if she slips through my fingers, if I lose her, I don't think there's enough fight left in me to crawl my way back.

So no. 

I'm not letting her go quiet on me. 

I'm not letting her quit like this.

I shift forward, bracing my hands on her knees—firm, grounding, steel laced with a reverence I can't shake. "No, Annelly. Don't you dare go dark on me. Don't you dare let him in your head. Not now. Not when I'm sitting right here, telling you that against me, that bastard doesn't stand a chance."

Her lashes flutter shut. Her lips tremble, but still she says nothing.

That silence carves me open. Hollows me out with every second she won't look at me. My patience frays, thread by brutal thread, until there's nothing left. 

"Damn it, Annelly—fight! If not for you, then for me. Tell me you're here. Tell me you hear me."

A lone tear slides down her cheek, silent, merciless. It guts me. 

I can't take it. 

I'm fucking done.

I surge up, palms framing her face, forcing her eyes to mine. Her skin is cold, too pale, too delicate beneath my rough touch—and it should make me hesitate. But fear tears through me, raw and savage, and I can't stop.  

"No. You don't get to do this. You don't get to sit there and break the way he wants you to. You're stronger than that, baby. Don't you see?" My grip tightens, firm and desperate. "This is exactly what he wants. You got away. You outsmarted him. You already won. Now this is him messing with your mind, trying to take back what he lost. But you—" I shake my head, rough, pleading. "You already beat him, Annelly. You survived. And now you're here. With me. Safe."

For one fragile heartbeat, her eyes meet mine. A spark. A flicker. But then it slips again, pulling her under, and me with her.

It nearly breaks me. 

My thumbs press harder against her jaw, anchoring her, refusing to let her drift. "Eyes on me, snowflake. Right here. Right now."

Her lips part, trembling. Her gaze finally locks with mine, swimming with a raw ache that nearly drops me to my knees.

"There you are," I breathe, pressing my forehead to hers, trying to pour my strength into her. Her hands move at last—weak, shaking—but clutching at my wrists. Not to push me away, but to hold on. Relief slams into me so hard my vision blurs. My grip softens, but I don't let go. I can't. Not until she's out of this. Not until she finally feels safe again.

Her voice cracks, barely a whisper. "It's all my fault."

The words slice clean, sharp enough to make me flinch. "Bullshit."

Tears spill harder down her cheeks. "It is. I'm who he wants. My family, my friends. You—" her voice breaks, shredded and raw—"you're all in danger because of me."

My grip tightens on her face, steel wrapped in tenderness. "Listen to me. This is 
not
 on you. Do you hear me? 
None
 of this is your fault."

She shakes her head, desperate, voice choking on denial. "Yes, it is—"

"No." The word snaps out, harsh and absolute, echoing off the quiet walls. "The only one responsible is Victor. You didn't choose this. You didn't make him assault you, stalk you, terrorize you, or the people you love. He did that. He's the monster. Not you."

"But if I hadn't—"

"Stop." The growl rips free before I can stop it, loud enough to make her flinch. My hands tremble against her skin—whether from fury or fear, I can't tell. "Stop taking the blame that isn't yours."

Her lip quivers. Her gaze drops, sliding away like she can't bear to look at me.

I'm losing her. 

My own monster's pushing too hard, drowning her in my rage instead of pulling her out of her guilt. If I don't find another way to get her to listen right now, I'll lose her. 

So I throw it down between us. 

The one truth I've refused to let myself believe and swore I'd never say. The lie I've spent a lifetime clinging to, but which for her—I'll gladly let it go. 

"This is no more your fault," I rasp, voice shaking, "than Tyler ending up in foster care was mine."

Silence.

Dead silence.

Her head jerks up, eyes wide. Shock ripples across her face as she sees me trembling, sees me cracking open right in front of her. 

She's never heard me talk about it. No one has. Not the way it really festers in me—the guilt, the rot I've carried every damn day since I was fourteen. 

If I hadn't fought back... if I hadn't defended myself against my aunt's boyfriend—the man who was going to rape me—we never would've been taken away. 

In saving myself, I doomed my brother. 

Four years in foster care. 

Four years of scars he never should've suffered. 

Christ, it feels like my chest is caving in. Because the truth? I've never forgiven myself for choosing me over him that night. 

But for the first time, looking at her, I realize that to save her from making the same mistake, I have to. I have to let it go. 

And the second I crack that door open, I feel it. What every therapist tried to hammer into my skull. That I wasn't the adult. That it was never my job to keep us safe. That the circumstances that forced me to make that choice weren't mine to control. That choosing to save myself—and everything that came after—wasn't my fault.

The blame has always belonged to him. That vile, repulsive man who would've violated a child. Because that's what I was—just a fucking child.

And fuck... what am I supposed to do with that now?

How do I reconcile years of carving scars into myself for a sin that was never mine?

For a beat, we just stare at each other. 

Her tears keep falling, like she can see straight into everything I can't say. My own vision blurs, and still I force myself to hold it—to hold her—while every wall inside me collapses, laying the anguish bare for her to see. 

My hands cradle her face as we sit in the wreckage of our truths. Gutted. Raw. Barely able to accept them... but needing to all the same.

"We're not to blame for the monsters, Annelly." I rasp. "All we can do is fight. For ourselves. For those we love. For what's right. People like us—you, me, Tyler—we survive. We endure long enough to balance the scales. And then... we thrive." 

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to steady. "We 
will
 beat Victor. We 
will
 get your mom justice. But I need you to believe. In yourself. And when that's too hard... then believe in me."

My forehead falls to hers, my plea spilling out like a prayer I don't know how to stop. "Let me see you through to the other side, snowflake. Let me be the one to save you this time."

Her breath shudders against my lips. For a moment, I think she'll stay lost in the dark. But then her fingers curl tighter around my wrists, and she leans in, brushing the faintest kiss to my mouth. Fragile. Fleeting. But everything we both need.

"Then save me, James. But promise me—someday—you'll let me save you too."

A broken chuckle breaks loose, wet with my tears, my lips curving into the first real smile in what feels like forever.

"Deal, snowflake. You've got yourself a deal." 

Because little does she know... she's been saving me, piece by broken piece, since the moment I let her in.

❤️

 
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Chapter 28

James

The ax splits through wood with a crack that echoes through the trees.

Then I do it again.

And again.

Each swing sends a jolt up my arms that rattles my bones, drives sweat down my spine, and still it’s nowhere near enough.

Not twenty minutes ago, she was in my arms. Her breath soft against my chest. Fingers curled in my shirt like she trusted me to keep the monsters away. Like I was the answer to everything wrong in her world.

And it fucking broke me.

Because I’m not the answer. Not even close.

Not when Bastille circles closer every day. Not when my so-called team shrugs off the threat like it’s nothing. Not when all I can do is kiss her temple and pretend I’m not unraveling in my own helplessness.

If anything, I’m a goddamn fraud.

It’s why I left. Snuck out of that bed while she slept and came out here hacking wood like it’s his skull. Trying to bleed off the pressure before it detonates inside me and hurts someone I can’t afford to hurt. But no matter how many times I bring the ax down, it’s still there, simmering under my skin. The gnawing truth I can’t outrun.

I’m failing her.

Just like I failed Tyler.

Just like I’ve always failed myself.

Another swing. The log shatters, shards flying, and for a split second I see her face in the splinters—those red-rimmed eyes, her body soft with trust as she finally gave in to exhaustion and drifted off in my arms.

Fuck, I should’ve stayed.

Should’ve been content with that fragile moment of peace.

But peace isn’t in me. It never has been. Not when there’s always something out there threatening to take away the things I love. Until she’s free of Bastille, peace is the last thing in this world I should be thinking about.

The ax slips from my hands, thudding into the dirt. My chest heaves, breath ragged, fury choking out reason. A roar tears from my throat as I turn on the stack of pallets leaning against the shed. My fists slam into the wood, again and again, until the boards crack and splinter, until blood streaks my knuckles and pain lights like fire up my arms.

Still, it’s nowhere near enough.

So, I hit harder. Because until I bleed this poison out of me, I can’t trust myself with her.

My fist punches through another board, splinters tearing skin, blood slicking my grip. The pain burns hot, but it’s the good kind—the kind that drowns out the helplessness. The kind that tricks me into believing I can still do something. Even if it’s not hunting that bastard down.

Wood crashes to the dirt in a heap, useless, destroyed. My chest heaves, vision tunneling, rage still clawing for an outlet. I don’t know how long I’ve been at it—minutes, hours—but the world’s narrowed to fists, to fury, to destruction.

“You really think smashing someone else’s shit is gonna fix whatever the fuck’s wrong with you?”

The voice cuts through the haze, sharp and grating, irritation flaring hotter in my chest.

I spin, sweat dripping into my eyes, knuckles raw and bleeding. Dominick stands a few yards off, arms crossed, jaw tight, planted in that stiff cop stance that screams judgment.

“The fuck do you care?” I snarl, breath tearing out of me. “Don’t remember this being your property.”

Dom’s gaze flicks from the wreckage to my fists, then back to my face, his expression blank. Just shakes his head like I’m a kid throwing a temper tantrum.

“Christ, Serrano. Typical. She’s up in that house trusting you to have her back, and instead you’re out here breaking shit like that’s gonna solve anything.”

“Fuck off.” My chest heaves, every breath fire. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about her or me, so go preach to someone who gives a damn.”

His brow arches, arms still crossed, like he’s carved out of stone. “Don’t I? At the very least, I know what it looks like when a man’s in over his head. And newsflash—this?” He jerks his chin toward the mess. “This isn’t saving her.”

I step in, closing the distance until I can feel the heat radiating off him. “Better than sitting on my ass pretending everything’s fine, like you fuckers want to do. You think Bastille’s gonna wait politely while you line up your precious protocols? No. He’s out there right now, making moves, and every second we waste is a second closer to this blowing up in all our faces.”

Dom’s jaw ticks, but his voice stays maddeningly steady. “And every second you spend out here giving in to the rage, throwing punches instead of standing by the woman you claim to love, you prove you’re no better than him. You want to protect her? Then try acting like a man instead of a goddamn time bomb.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just teeth and fury. “You think I want this? To sit here like some scared loser, twiddling my thumbs while you assholes waste time with legalities? While you wait for the perfect time to do what we all know needs to be done? Fuck that. Regardless of my role on this team, I’m not sitting back while a man like Victor guns for her. No way in motherfucking hell.”

Dom finally uncrosses his arms, stepping in until we’re nose to nose. His voice drops, low and dangerous. “Then maybe the problem isn’t Bastille, Serrano. Maybe the problem is you . You’re so wrapped up in your rage you can’t even tell the difference between the danger and what’s best for her.”

“You don’t know shit.” My chest slams into his, every cell in my body begging him to swing.

Dom tilts his head, eyes narrowing like he’s sizing up a wild animal. “You think you’re tough, huh? Hiding behind that Reaper mask. Throwing your street trash past around like it’s some badge of honor. Truth is, you’re still just a scared little boy, looking for someone to hit back at.”

My blood spikes hot. “Fuck you.”

I shove into his space, daring him, begging for it, but he doesn’t budge. He just stares, steady and unshaken, dissecting me like he’s already won.

“You want me to throw a punch, don’t you?” His voice is deliberately calm. “You need the excuse. Any reason to be a savage instead of a man.”

“Fuck this.” I move to shoulder past him, done with this waste of a conversation, but he blocks me.

“What’s the matter, James? You want to hit me? Then fucking hit me. Or admit you don’t have the balls and I’ll let you walk away.”

My teeth grind so hard it hurts. Every muscle screams to give him what he’s asking for. To finally let the rage take over. “Trust me, motherfucker. You do not want that.”

His lips twitch into the faintest curl—mocking, needling, like he’s already won. “Oh, but I do. Go on, Serrano. Try me. Unless you’re not man enough.” 

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# Chapter 29

James

The red fog swallows me whole. My fist rockets forward, cracking against his jaw with a satisfying crunch. His head snaps to the side, spit and blood spraying, yet when he straightens, he's grinning through crimson teeth.

"That's it?" he taunts, blood slicking his smile. "That's all you got?"

That grin shreds the last thread of my control. I slam him into the wall of the shed, fists hammering with nothing but rage and brute force. He grunts, twists—body coiled, efficient—and in a blur he flips me over his shoulder. My back smashes the dirt hard enough to rattle my teeth and rip the air from my lungs. 

Agony spikes through me—savage, vicious. Proof I'm still breathing. That I'm still in the fight.

And fuck... it's exactly what I need.

I spit blood into the dirt, laughing through the ache as I push up to my knees. "That's it? A weak-ass defensive move? What's the matter, Dom? Afraid of getting hit?"

He's on me before I'm fully upright, a fist driving into my ribs with surgical precision. Pain explodes white-hot, but I lunge anyway, hooking his leg and dragging him down with me. We crash, dirt spraying, fists flying, grappling for control—me wild and feral, him cold and calculated.

A headbutt splits my lip. I answer with an elbow that crunches his nose and draws a grunt. His training keeps him balanced, but my chaos keeps him guessing. Back and forth, blow for blow, we trade punishment until every nerve screams for mercy and the copper tang of blood coats both our tongues.

Still, neither of us yields. Stubbornness—maybe the only thing we share—drives us until our lungs burn and muscles shake.

We break apart on instinct, doubled over, panting, fists still curled on our thighs like we can't let it go. Sweat stings my eyes. Blood drips hot from a cut on my lip.  

Dom spits red into the dirt, straightening with a half-smirk that looks too smug for his bruised, broken face. "Are we done?" he pants. 

I drag my sleeve across my mouth, shrugging like my ribs don't feel battered and splintered. "You hit like a washed-out cop."

The bastard grins wider—bloody teeth, split lip—looking like he enjoyed this as much as I did. "A washed-out cop who just went toe-to-toe with the infamous Reaper. Sounds like a good day to me." His brow lifts. "How'd you even get that name, anyway?"

I huff out a breath, half laugh, half growl. "Killed my first opponent when I was fifteen. Fight was to the death. Punishment for stealing from the wrong asshole. I made a choice that day—not to die." The words scrape out flat, matter-of-fact, but the memory of the life draining out of that man's eyes still haunts me. 

"After that, the boss decided I was too valuable to waste. His prized bull. His to parade and profit off of. If I died in the process, no big deal. But I didn't die. And the rest is history."

Dom goes quiet. The smirk slips. Something flickers in his eyes—not pity, not judgment. Just stillness. Calculation. Like he's turning it over in his head, weighing what kind of fucked up world puts a fifteen-year-old kid in that position.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Uncomfortable. 

Dom drags a sleeve across his face, smearing blood and sweat into a mess. Then, out of nowhere, he says, "I get it, you know."

I glance at him, confused. Then, yank off my sweatshirt, using it to wipe the blood from my face and my knuckles. Fuck, they're beat to shit. Skin split, swelling already. My face throbs like a motherfucker, a steady drum in rhythm with my pulse. 

Safe to say this little brawl's gonna leave marks.  

"Get what?" I rasp, unease crawling in as I think about how the hell I'm going to explain this to Annelly.

"Your point. Why you're pissed." He clears his throat. "I've seen men like Bastille before. Seen firsthand what they do. But I've also watched good men set out with the best intentions, only to turn rotten somewhere along the way. It doesn't happen all at once. Just one choice. Then another. And another. Until every line you cross feels righteous in the moment. Doing the wrong thing for the right reason. Sticking it to the bastards who deserve it. Feels good. Too good. And that's the trap."

His gaze hardens. "Here's the thing: every bad guy I ever arrested had a reason for the crimes they committed. Every single one felt justified in their actions. Far as they were concerned, they just did what needed to be done under the circumstances they found themselves in. Sound familiar?"

He looks at me, and where I expect that smug, judgmental mask he usually wears, I see something else. Genuine concern. 

"It's a slippery slope. That's why I'm so careful. Why I approached my career the way I did. Because someday, when I meet my maker, I want to know I did everything I could to be better than the criminals. Better than my old man. Better than the men in blue who stood by and let him get away with all he'd done."

That one lands hard. I'd heard his story before—how he stood up to the corruption inside the force, how it cost him his career. But the part about his dad? That's new.

I spit blood into the dirt with a bitter scoff. "Doing things the 'right way' doesn't always protect the people who matter. You know that better than most. You lived it. I know that's why you quit the force."

His jaw ticks. Vein throbbing at his temple. The flicker in his eyes says enough—I hit a nerve.  

"You're right," he mutters finally, voice low and raw. "Learned the hard way that serving the law isn't the same as serving justice."

Silence settles heavily between us. Thicker than the afternoon air.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, tasting copper and dirt. "Guess that's another thing we have in common. Doesn't mean I like you. You're still a dick."

Dom grins, teeth stained red. "Good. 'Cause I can't stand your whiny, emotional ass either."

A laugh rips out of me, loud and humorless, but it's real. "Look, we can't ignore this. Victor's not a problem we can sidestep. We need to hit him head-on. Can't afford to get it wrong. Not with her and Aunt Rosie caught in the crosshairs."

"I hear you." He straightens, rolling his shoulders like he's testing his body. Feeling out what hurts. "But on this, I won't back down. We do it the right way, or we don't do it at all."

"Well." My chest heaves, every word edged with steel. "As long as 
you
 understand that when it comes to her, there's no line I won't cross. And when the time comes for me to do what needs to be done... it'd be best if you'd stayed out of my way."

His eyes harden, but his tone stays maddeningly calm. "Don't know that I can do that."

"Then the chips'll fall where they may. Just know I'm a hard motherfucker to take down. You come at me, you better bring everything you've got."

"Won't come to that." He says it like he believes it, but the crease in his brow says otherwise. "But for what it's worth, I'll make you this promise—I'll protect her with my life. On that, you have my word."

I give a small nod. Nothing more. Words feel useless right now.

Dom claps me on the shoulder—a bruising smack that nearly knocks the wind out of me. "Feel better now, sweetheart?" he drawls, mocking me.

I wince, testing sore muscles, smirking faintly. "Not really... your smug face could use a little more rearranging."

He chuckles low in his chest, "I think that's enough rearranging for now. Pretty sure you broke my nose."

"Yeah. I did." I grin from ear to ear, smacking his back with equal force. "Trust me. It's an improvement."

And just like that, we head for the house. Side by side. Limping, bruised, and bloody. Still hating each other... but undeniably more bonded than either of us ever wanted. 

❤️

 
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REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

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Chapter 30

James

I limp through the door, the cabin wrapping me in silence that’s heavier than the cool spring air outside. Every breath grinds against my ribs, sharp enough to make me wonder if one’s broken. My face throbs in rhythm with my pulse, and my knuckles… hell, I can barely open my hand. Probably for the best, since even the slightest movement splits the cuts open, making them bleed all over again.

Dom’s words won’t quit replaying in my head: I’ll protect her with my life. On that, you’ve got my word.

Hell of a thing, hearing that from him. A man I’d rather put through a wall than trust, and yet he meant it. I saw it in his eyes.

I still can’t believe he goaded me into that fight. A fight we both clearly needed. One I would’ve won if I hadn’t started pulling my punches. Still, I give the bastard credit. He stood his ground, went toe to toe with me, even knowing my reputation. Almost like he trusted me to know when to stop.

Strange way to bond, if that’s even what it was. I still can’t stand him, but maybe the small breakthrough is enough. Maybe now, when the time comes for us to save her, what happened today tips the scales in our favor.

Anything to keep her safe.

I head for the stairs, eager to check on her, but the sight of my reflection in the hallway mirror stops me cold.

Blood.

Bruises.

I look like I went five rounds in the cage. No way in hell I’m walking into the bedroom we share looking like this.

The shower scalds when I step under the spray, steam rising as the water burns over torn flesh. I brace a hand against the tile, testing my ribs with careful pressure. They hold. Barely. Christ, the pain spikes sharp enough to steal my breath. They’re definitely bruised, if not worse. My knuckles are uglier: split wide, swelling fast, one gash bad enough it’ll need stitches to heal right.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, tilting my head back under the spray. This isn’t how today was supposed to go. I promised her I wouldn’t do this anymore—bleed my way through emotions. Yet here I am, proving old habits die hard.

But to keep her, I have to change. So tomorrow, I’ll start again. Like an addict counting his days of sobriety, I’ll be doing the same.

When I finally drag myself out, dripping and sore, I grab my phone off the counter and thumb out a text.

James: Need the med kit. Drop it off when you can.

I stare at the screen, then add another line.

James: And keep quiet when you come inside. Don’t wake her.

By the time I towel off, my body feels like it’s been worked over by an army of fighters. Every bruise throbs. Every scrape burns like acid on skin.

I knot the towel low on my hips and crack the bathroom door, easing it shut behind me. I move slowly, careful not to creak the floorboards or aggravate the shooting pain in my ribs.

The plan is simple. Make it to my bag, grab some clothes, slip back out, let her keep sleeping.

But like she can sense me, the second I cross the threshold, she stirs. Her lashes flutter open, hazy with dreams, and then her eyes find mine.

And just like that—bruises, blood, the fight, Dom’s promise—none of it matters. All of it forgotten under the pull of those green eyes that always strip me bare.

She’s beautiful like this. Just waking up, hair spilling in messy waves, that soft, dreamy look easing her face. But the moment her gaze registers the damage, the spell breaks.

“James.” Her voice sharpens, panic cutting through the haze. She pushes upright, the blanket falling away as she comes toward me. “What happened?”

Before I can answer, her hand is on me. Fingers feathering along my jaw, before brushing tenderly around the split in my lip. The tenderness in her touch steals my breath, especially as she trails lower, fingertips grazing my chest, lingering over bruises, tracing every ridge of muscle like she’s searching for more damage.

And it’s fucking torture.

Heat spikes through me, all the blood in my body rushing in the wrong direction as I stand there powerless to stop it.

Christ. Not now.

“Fight, then fuck,” my body screams.

A routine long since wired into me from my cage-fighting days. Violence first, then sweet release in a warm, willing body. Back then, it never mattered who. Just faceless, nameless ways to burn off the excess adrenaline still sparking in my veins. Not once did I ever think twice about it.

But with Annelly?

I couldn’t live with myself if I let those primal urges use her like that. She’s not some outlet. Not some random body to use and then forget.

No. She’s the one thing in my life that feels untainted. Unscarred by the ghosts of my past. And I have every intention of keeping her that way.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to step back. “I’m alright. Had a small tussle with Dom. Just for fun.”

Her eyes widened, horrified. “You got in a fight? With Dominick?”

“Well… no. Not a fight exactly. Just threw a couple punches. Wrestled a bit. Like I said, all in good fun. It’s a guy thing. That’s all.” I shrug, but the smile I give her feels brittle.

Her frown deepens. Instead of letting me retreat, she steps closer, eyes flashing.

“For fun? You’re bleeding, James. Look at your eye. Your lip. Your hands.”

Her voice trembles with frustration, but her touch is steady as she catches both my hands in hers. She lifts them, studying my knuckles like they’re the worst thing she’s ever seen. Her thumb ghosts around the torn flesh—gentle, horrified—and it cuts deeper than the injuries themselves.

I should pull away. Reassure her it’s nothing. But I can’t. Not when she’s looking at me like every wound on my body belongs to her, too.

The guilt hits hard.

But then, her fingers skim lower, brushing my abdomen as she checks the mottled skin for more damage.

Suddenly, she freezes.

Her breath catches.

And that’s when I realize what she’s noticed.

My erection.

Hard as stone, tenting the towel like it’s shamelessly reaching for her.

Humiliation surges hot as I instinctively shift a hand to cover myself, but it’s useless. There’s no hiding this. Not with nothing but a towel between us.

Her eyes stay locked there—wide, green, caught in stunned fascination. Pure. Innocent. And Christ, the sight of it nearly undoes me.

It’s so damn hot it strips me raw, like she’s peeling away the last shreds of my control.

A low, guttural groan rips free before I can stop it, shattering the fragile quiet, leaving no doubt how badly I want her.

The tension stretches. Becoming more electric with every second that passes until the air between us is vibrating with it.

I want to drown in her. To touch her, to give in, to lose myself completely. The urge claws at me, merciless and consuming.

But I can’t. Not like this.

Before my restraint snaps, I catch her wrists and gently, carefully, guide her back to the edge of the bed. She sits, confusion flickering in her eyes as I crouch in front of her, ignoring the screaming ache in my ribs, and more importantly, the brutal press of my arousal against the towel.

I force my voice steady, though my whole body trembles with my denial. “I’m fine. Promise. We can talk about it later if you want. But right now I just need you to sit here and tell me how you’re doing. After getting some rest, do you feel better? Because that… that’s all that matters to me, Annelly.”

Her lips part, but no words come. Instead, her gaze locks on mine, searching. Like she’s trying to see past what remains of the walls I’ve built.

Then—slowly, inevitably—her eyes drift lower.

Down my bare chest. Lingering over muscle. Sliding across my abs.

Every inch she tracks feels like a touch. My stomach clenches. My breath snags.

And still she keeps going.

All the way down to the towel, and the blatant strain of me beneath it.

Her inhale sharpens, brow softening like she’s reached some silent conclusion. Then finally, her eyes lift back to mine.

And in that moment, I know without a doubt I’m fucked. Because every wall, every defense I’ve built, is now gone in the space of her gaze.

She has no idea the power she holds over me. No idea she’s the only one who could bring me to my knees.

And Christ help me… because I think she’s about to do just that.

❤️

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# Chapter 31

James

She whispers it like a secret, shy but stubborn under the softness. "I want to touch you, James. Like you touch me."

The words hit harder than Dom's right hook.

For a second, all I can do is stare.

Since that first night she offered herself to me, everything I've done has been about her—her safety, her pleasure, her peace. I've never taken. Never asked. Hell, I've never even let myself say aloud the things I want. 

So this... fuck. What she's asking.

My ribs burn with every breath, the dull throb of the fight pulsing beneath the fire she just lit. But none of it matters right now, not with the war breaking loose inside me.

 My first instinct is to shut it down. To tell her no. Protect her from me, from the mess I am. But her eyes hold mine—pleading, certain, demanding all at once—and I realize this is her telling me what she needs. This is her asking for trust. For me to surrender to her, the same way she's surrendered to me since that first night.

The control I've clung to my whole damn life shifts beneath me, slipping fast. The truth is terrifying. Because if I give this to her, if I let her do this, there's no going back.

She'll own me.

Completely.

She waits me out, steady as stone, and guilt claws through me. After the day she had, and the way I pushed her, she should be resting. It should be me taking care of her, not the other way around. 

But then my mind betrays me. 

Her hands on me. Exploring my skin the way I've done to every inch of hers. Just the thought has me hard as granite, my body reacting to a fantasy I've only ever experienced in my dreams.

Christ, I want it. 

And wanting it only makes the guilt worse.

But then her hands are on me. Soft. Insistent. And just like that, the fragile control I've been clinging to shatters clean through.

Her touch is tentative at first, fingertips tracing my chest. Slow. Careful. She maps the ridges of muscle and old faded scars like she's memorizing me the way I've memorized her. There's reverence in every stroke, and it damn near drops me to my knees.

My breath stutters, ribs screaming with the effort to breathe.

Then her hand drifts lower. Past the bruises mottling my abdomen. Down to the edge of the towel. The thin fabric shifts under her touch, and my cock jerks hard against it, straining towards her like it already knows who it belongs to.

A growl rumbles out of me, half warning, half surrender.
 "Be sure, snowflake..."

Her fingers toy with the knot at my hip, hesitation stretching the moment taut. Then she looks up at me, eyes steady, and nods. 

"I am." Then, slowly, deliberately, she works it loose.

The towel slips.

And I stand bare before her.

Her soft gasp guts me. Pure awe, innocent wonder colliding with something rawer, deeper.

Christ, I'd bet she's never seen a man like this before. And the fact that I'm the one standing here, that I'm likely her first, wrecks me in a way I never expected.

Her hand trembles as she reaches out, brushing against my skin. Tentative. Testing.

She swallows hard. "James... I—I don't want to do this wrong."

I suck in a sharp breath, fighting not to thrust into her touch. "You couldn't," I rasp, voice rough with restraint. "Just touch me, snowflake. However you want. Whatever you do... it'll be perfect."

Her fingers curl around me, shaky but determined. She glances up through her lashes, searching my face. "Like this?"

A ragged sound rips out of me. "God, yes. Just like that."

Each stroke unravels me more than the last, not just because of the pleasure, but because it's her. Her first time touching me, learning me with that mix of awe and fierce focus.

My head tips back, eyes squeezed shut. My fists clench tight around the towel I've still got bunched in my hands, split knuckles burning. The sting should stop me, but at this point, nothing could. The only thing keeping me from grabbing her, from losing myself completely, is knowing she deserves more than my careless hunger. Every muscle trembles with the effort to stay still as she explores, finding her rhythm. Finding me.

God.
 

If her hand feels this good wrapped around me... fuck. I can't even imagine what it'll feel like being buried inside her.

Her fingers keep stroking, confidence building, until she pauses, biting her lip. She looks up at me, cheeks flushed pink, eyes uncertain.

"James... Can I...?" She swallows hard, voice barely a whisper. "Can I use my mouth?"

The words detonate in me, harder than any punch I've ever taken. My grip tightens on the towel, the only thing stopping me from hauling her closer, pinning her down, losing myself the way I've ached to since that first night. The way I can't. Not yet. Not until she's safe.

"Christ, snowflake," I rasp, my voice breaking apart. "You don't have to—"

"I want to." The interruption is soft but steady, her determination cutting clean through my protest.

A groan claws out of me, my head tipping back. "You're gonna kill me."

Her lips twitch like she's almost smiling, then she lowers to her knees and takes me into her hands.

The first brush of her mouth makes me curse under my breath. Heat explodes through me, savage and consuming. She's tentative, clumsy even, but it doesn't matter—because it's her. Her lips. Her touch. Her choice to be on her knees for me.

She pulls back after a moment, eyes darting up, anxious. "Is... is this okay?"

My hand trembles as I cup her cheek, my torn knuckles glaring back at me, the stark contrast gutting. Bloodied hands, built for violence, holding something this beautiful, this pure...

My voice shreds to gravel. "Okay? Baby, it feels fucking incredible."

Encouraged, she tries again, taking more of me this time, her tongue circling shyly over the head. My whole body jolts, and a broken groan tears from my chest.

Her eyes flick up, wide with surprise. "Like that?"

I can barely form words, my jaw locked tight against the urge to thrust. "Exactly like that. Just keep looking at me."

She does. Eyes locked on mine, mouth working me with that mix of innocence and fierce determination. And Christ, the sight of her like this... she's my ruin and salvation all in one.

Every sound I make seems to spur her on, until I'm trembling, every muscle strung taut, fists white-knuckled around the towel to keep from grabbing her.

Christ.
 Her lips, her tongue... if her mouth does this to me, I'll never survive her body.

She works me with a confidence she didn't have minutes ago. Like she's reading my body, learning every twitch, every sound, and giving me exactly what I need.

And oh my fucking god, it's destroying me.

Every instinct screams at me to hold back, to drag this out, to make it last. But my body—my traitorous, desperate body—is begging for release.

I look down at her—on her knees, working me deeper with that sweet, determined mouth–and Jesus Christ, it's brutal, filthy perfection. The exact thing I've been starving for. The image of grabbing her head and fucking deeper nearly undoes me, but I choke it back. Because she deserves better than that. Better than the savage I've always been."

"Fuck, snowflake," I groan, my voice fraying at the edges. "You're so perfect. You feel... so goddamn good."

My ribs ache from the way I'm breathing, every muscle locked as I fight for control. The pain only sharpens the pleasure, winding me tighter, dragging me closer to that breaking point.

And then the thought crashes in—what it'll be like the first time I sink into her. Her heat gripping me, milking me as she comes apart with me buried deep. Christ. The image alone has me swaying, sweat slicking my skin, control unraveling fast. 

"Jesus Christ," I rasp, head tipping back, knuckles white around the towel. "I'm not gonna last... baby, I can't—"

Her pace only quickens, like she wants to strip me of the last thread holding me together.

"Annelly, I'm close," I grit out, forcing the warning. "If you don't want—"

But she doesn't move away. Doesn't hesitate.

Her hands tighten around the base of me, her mouth taking me deeper, working me harder, like she wants to see me come apart more than anything.

It blows my fucking mind.

"You're gonna wreck me, snowflake," I choke out, voice breaking. "Christ... You already are—"

And then it hits.

My release tears through me, violent and absolute. My ribs seize with white-hot pain, but even that only feeds the intensity, agony and ecstasy colliding as one.

A guttural cry rips from my chest. "Annelly—fuck—"

Her name leaves me on a broken shout as I spill into her, body shaking, the towel long forgotten on the floor as I cradle her head with a gentleness I didn't know I had in me. These hands—hands that only knew how to break—suddenly feel like they're good for something more. For holding. For reverence. For her.

I groan through the aftershocks, voice rough and shredded. "Jesus... baby. You're fucking incredible."

She stays with me, swallowing me down until I'm trembling and spent, every ounce of fight wrung out of me. And even in the wreckage, I know—I've never experienced anything like this. 

Life-changing. 

Earth-shattering. 

The only words that even come close as I fight to pull my consciousness back into my body.

She pulls back slowly, lips glistening, breath uneven. For a moment, she won't even meet my eyes. She wipes the corner of her mouth, fingers trembling.

"Was that... okay?" Her voice quivers, small and uncertain, like she really doesn't know.

Christ. After that, how the hell could she not?

I cup her face, forcing her gaze to mine. My voice is rough, but the awe in it is unmistakable. "Okay? Snowflake, you blew my goddamn mind. Literally"

Her eyes widen, and I can't stop myself. I haul her gently to her feet, ignoring the way my ribs scream in protest, and cover her mouth with mine.

The kiss is reverent, worshipful, her breath trembling. I taste myself on her tongue, and it should feel dirty—but instead it wrecks me all over again. Turns me on in ways I can't explain.

When I finally pull back, breathless, a ragged laugh escapes me. I press my forehead to hers. "Christ, I'm ruined for anyone else. Not that I'd ever want anyone else. Ever."

We collapse onto the bed together, tangled and breathless. My ribs flare under the press of her weight, sharp enough to make me wince, but I don't let her see. Not when she tucks herself against my chest like she belongs there.

"Your bruises..." she murmurs, fingertips ghosting over my side as if afraid to hurt me. "I shouldn't—"

"Shh." I tighten my arm around her, burying my face in her hair. "Doesn't matter. Not when I've got you right here."

And Christ, I mean it. The ache in my body is nothing compared to the warmth of her against me, the numbing afterglow of what she just gave me.

I'd imagined it before—what it might feel like to come undone in her hands, her body, her mouth. But nothing, nothing comes close to this.

Because this wasn't just a physical release. It was emotional. Damn near spiritual.

It was her.

She's nothing like anyone I've ever been with. And yet, lying here with her pressed against me, it feels like she's the one my soul has been searching for all along. Like she's the answer to every prayer I never had the courage to voice, every need I thought would always go unmet.

Like she was meant for me.

To save me.

To piece back together all the broken fragments of a man who thought he'd never be whole.

Her breathing is a balm against my chest, her voice soft but steady when she finally speaks.

"We still need to talk... about the fight with Dom. About Victor."

The name cracks the quiet like a gunshot. A cold weight drops in my gut, a reminder of how close the storm is and how fast it's coming for us. For her.

And I can't. I won't let it take this from us. Not yet.

I tilt her chin up and kiss her before she can say more, pouring everything I feel into her mouth. The sweetness. The reverence. The desperate need to hold on to this a little longer.

When I pull back, her eyes search mine, still clouded with worry.

"You're right," I admit silently, the words caught in my chest. 
We do need to talk. About Dom. About Victor. About all the ways this world is closing in on us.

But not now.

Not when I've got her warm and safe in my arms. Not when—for the first time in forever—everything in my world finally feels so damn right.

"Later," I whisper against her mouth. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, I just need you here."

The truth presses hard in my chest because later is inevitable. The fight will find us soon enough, but until then, this moment is ours.

Annelly is my peace. 

My salvation. 

My second chance at life. 

And I'll fight to the death before I let anyone take her from me.

❤️

 
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Chapter 32

James

The stairs creak under my weight, ribs aching with every step, but hell if I care. For once, the monster in my head is quiet. For once, I actually feel… good.

Upstairs, the shower is still running, and I have to bite back a groan. Annelly’s in there, water sliding over that perfect body, and the hunger I’ve kept buried for months—the part she just breathed back to life—nearly pulls me straight to the bathroom door. The image of pressing her against the wall, sliding into her while the steam curls around us… Christ. It’s enough to make me forget I can barely breathe without pain.

I round the corner into the kitchen, grin tugging at my mouth, only to find Zeb at the table, arms crossed, med kit in front of him. His expression is carved from stone, irritation rolling off him in waves.

Oh… hell no.

Friend or not, he’s not ruining my good mood.

His eyes narrow as he takes me in, smirk and all. He mutters something under his breath before shaking his head.

“Jesus. All that lovey-dovey shit better not be contagious.”

I laugh, loud and unrestrained. “You wish you had this. Best damn thing that’s happened to me in like… well, ever.”

He leans back in his chair, unimpressed. “Swear to God, if I go outside and see pigs flying, I’m coming back in here to kick your ass. Now sit the fuck down, lover boy. Let me see the damage.”

I drop into the chair beside him, ribs twinging, grin refusing to fade. Then I catch the deep grooves etched into his forehead, and it hits me.

The cameras.

He must have seen the fight, which means so did Ben. Guess I’ll have to face that call soon enough. Normally, the thought of my boss reprimanding me in that patronizing way of his would have me snarling, ready to take someone’s head off. But right now? I couldn’t care less. Not with the taste of her still on my lips.

“The motion sensors lit up. We saw your tantrum. Then the fight,” Zeb snaps the kit open, jaw tight as he cuts me a glare. “Ben’s pissed. You’re on a job, James. You can’t just go around trashing property and beating the shit out of your teammates.”

I shrug, leaning back. “Relax. I’m fine. He’s fine. We worked it out. As for the mess I made, I’ll clean it up. It’s all good.”

“Bullshit. You forget I didn’t just meet you. I know exactly what that was.” He catches my hand before I can pull it back and drives a betadine swab hard into the split skin across my knuckles. Pain explodes sharp enough to drag a curse from between my teeth.

“Don’t be such a baby,” he growls.

I glare, jerking against his grip. “As I recall, I asked you to drop the shit off. I’d rather do it myself.”

He doesn’t even blink. “It’s your dominant hand, asshole. Unless you want it to look like a butcher job after it ends up infected three days from now, I suggest you shut it and let me stitch.”

He threads the needle with grim efficiency, and the first bite of it entering my skin sets fire racing through my hand. The bastard’s enjoying this.

Still, I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I sit there grinning like a fool instead.

“So how’s Dom?” I chuckle, because hell, it’s not every day you get to punch the person you hate most in the face. “Got him good, didn’t I?”

“About as good as he got you,” Zeb yanks the thread tight, almost hard enough to make me yelp. “Needed stitches too. I should start charging for my services.”

I huff out a laugh. “Worth it. I’d pay double if it meant I could knock him on his ass again. And anyway, it was good for us. Got all that animosity out of our systems. Feels almost cathartic. Like a truce.”

Zeb snorts, shaking his head. “A truce? You call that a truce? Beating each other bloody? You’re both idiots.” He stabs me with another stitch, damn near making me flinch. “And don’t fool yourself. One brawl doesn’t fix shit. That bastard won’t hesitate to hogtie your ass again if he even thinks you’re about to go off-script.”

My brows draw tight, the memory slamming into me—the rope biting into my wrists, the rage that nearly tore me apart. For a second, it almost drowns out the high Annelly left me with.

Almost.

I shove it back down. Determined nothing’s cutting through that.

“That was one time. And I was drunk. Only reason he got one up on me. Next time, I’ll take his head off before he even gets the chance.”

Zeb grunts, unconvinced.

Screw him.

I shrug, calm as ever. “Look, I’m not delusional. Still can’t stand the fucker.” I grin, not worried in the least. “But if he helps keep Annelly safe, then who cares. That’s all that matters to me.”

Silence settles heavy between us, tension rolling off him while I’m still grinning like an idiot. Maybe Zeb needs a woman of his own. One he doesn’t have to pay for. Hell, it’s worked wonders for me.

Zeb ties off another stitch, his movements efficient. Without looking up, he mutters, “You remember what you were like. Back then, when you were fighting.”

I arch a brow, still clinging to the buzz under my skin. “I do. Why?”

His gaze flicks up, sharp as a blade. “Fight, then fuck. Remember that? It was your motto. Violence and sex—the cure for everything, right?”

My stomach turns, the reminder souring me. “That’s not me anymore.”

“Isn’t it?”

The question cuts deeper than I care to admit. Is that really how he sees me? That nothing’s changed? That I’m still the bastard who used women the same way I used a fight—just another way to bleed out the poison inside me?

“I’m not judging you,” he says, softer now. “I’m worried. Annelly’s not some ring rat, James. She’s an innocent girl from a different world. And the man you were back then… he’s not good enough for her. She deserves better.”

The implication guts me. My chest goes cold, guilt twisting tight. Christ. Is that what I did? Use her? Reduce her to the same old pattern I swore I’d buried?

The thought alone makes me sick, my stomach knotting until I can’t breathe.

But no. That’s not what happened. I know it. I feel it in every broken piece of me she touched and stitched back together.

With her, I didn’t take. I let go. For her, I surrendered. And she—God, she cared for me. Pieced me back together with those hands, that mouth, that heart that’s too good for a man like me, but which I’m too selfish to ever give up.

No. What just happened between Annelly and me wasn’t the same. It was different. Because she’s different. Because she makes me different.

I meet Zeb’s stare, my voice calmer and steadier than I feel. “I know exactly who she is. And I’ll never treat her like that. She’s not a fix. She’s… everything. A forever kind of girl in a world where forever never existed before her. Believe me, I’m not fucking that up.”

He studies me long and hard before giving me a single nod. “Good. Happy to hear it.”

As he ties off the last stitch, his expression eases a fraction. “About Aunt Rosie—Ben got word to Keller. A police report’s been filed. Victor’s people are officially tied to the abduction attempt. Means if anything happens to Annelly or Rosie, he’s on the hook. Might not make him a prime suspect, but it’ll drag him through the mud and bring the kind of publicity a man like that doesn’t want. Should be enough to buy you some peace of mind.”

It doesn’t. Not even close.

Cornered men don’t retreat. They adapt. They lash out harder. And men like Victor? Their kind of creativity is often lethal.

I flex my stitched hand, the pull sharp but nothing compared to the dread curling in my gut. “It won’t stop him,” I say flatly. “It’ll only make him more dangerous.”

Zeb doesn’t argue, just quietly absorbs my words, as he tapes a clean dressing over my hand. “Maybe. But it’s something. More than we had this morning. Enough to make him think twice before he makes another move.”

He wipes his hands clean with an alcohol wipe, then starts packing the kit. “Anything else need patching up?”

I flex my hand again, eyeing the neat bandage. “Nah. Dom’s a lightweight. Most of the damage I did to myself.”

He snorts. “I saw the whole thing. Hate to break it to you, but he gave just as good as he got.”

“Whatever. You’re killing my vibe. Time for you to go.”

This time it’s his turn to laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Expect Ben’s call. And try to remember—he’s the boss. Signs your paycheck, so shut your trap and listen for once.”

Zeb stands, gathering the rest of his things, then pauses like something just clicked. “Oh—and Tyler. He tell you his plans?”

That little bomb my brother dropped on me this morning, like it was nothing? He told me, all right. He’s lucky it was before I found out what almost happened to Aunt Rosie.

“That he’s going to Philly for his fieldwork placement, yeah. I need to talk to Ben about it.”

“Already done. Tyler went to him directly. Ben’s got a connection out there, someone he trusts. Kids covered. He’ll be fine.”

The words loosen the vice on my chest, but I’m still not sold on the idea of him going. The thought of Tyler out there, in some unfamiliar city, grates on me. If I have my way, he won’t be going.

Zeb heads for the door. “And call Lucas. He’s back at work. Wants a word. Probably softening you up before Ben tears into you.”

Lucas. Of course. Ever the level-headed peacekeeper—ironic, coming from a retired Navy SEAL. If he’s reaching out, Ben must really be on the warpath. Which means no more hiding. No more pretending I can just bask in this high forever.

The mask—the James everyone expects—is waiting for me. Demanding I pick it back up. But for the first time in my life, I don’t want to. For the first time, I actually like the man I am without it. The man I am when I’m with her.

And that’s what terrifies me most of all, that the man she’s bringing to life might not be enough to keep her safe. And if the only way to protect her is to stay the monster, then what choice do I have?

A choice that may win us the war… but will almost certainly cost me the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted.

Her love.

❤️

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# Chapter 33

Annelly

I make my way downstairs, hair still damp from the shower, half-expecting to find James moving around the kitchen, that rare smile still tugging at his mouth the way it had when he left me upstairs.

Instead, he's at the table, elbows braced on his knees, staring at nothing.

The shift nearly knocks me back a step. Not thirty minutes ago, he looked lighter than I've ever seen him. Now the weight's back. Heavy. Crushing.

He glances up when he hears me, the corner of his mouth lifting. But it's not real. The smile is thin, strained, stretched over something that looks an awful lot like sorrow.

My chest twists. "James?" 

He shakes his head, like he can wave away the storm brewing inside him, and drops his gaze again.

That false smile, that guarded indifference—it might fool anyone else. But not me. Not after everything we've been through.

I cross the room without another word, sliding in next to him and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He exhales a shaky breath, and after a beat, his forehead drops against my stomach. It doesn't look deliberate, more like his body gave in before he could stop it.

The sight steals my breath. He looks like he did that day in his office, when Victor's flower delivery broke him open in my arms. Back then, he collapsed because the weight of having his safe space invaded was too much. And now... it's like it's happening again. Like he's back to feeling like he's on shaky ground.

The man in my arms isn't James, the protector. It's the little boy underneath, the one who's spent a lifetime carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

I smooth my hand through the soft strands of his hair. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

His head shifts against me in a small shake. "No," he murmurs. "Nothing you need to worry about."

The words are dismissive, but his body betrays him. His arms band around my waist, pulling me closer, like he can't help it. Like he's starving for comfort he doesn't know how to ask for.

For a few breaths, the world goes quiet. His weight presses into me, steady and warm, his walls slipping just enough for me to feel the vulnerable man underneath. The one who seldom lets himself be comforted, yet here he is, letting me hold him like he's searching for safety.  

But then, just as suddenly, it's gone. He exhales hard, straightens, and pushes to his feet. By the time he's standing, the protector mask is back in place, his expression guarded, shoulders squared like nothing happened at all.

I see it happening. The shift. The quiet retreat behind those walls he thinks I can't see through.

"James," I press, refusing to let him slip away. "Talk to me."

He doesn't.

Instead, his hands catch my face, and then his mouth is on mine. Hard. Urgent. Stealing the air from my lungs. 

It's just like earlier, when I asked about the fight with Dominick. Passion in place of honesty. A weapon and a shield all at once. His way of hiding, of buying himself time, of pulling me in on his terms instead of pushing me away like he used to. Progress, maybe. But still nowhere close to what we need.

For a moment, I drown in it—his mouth, his hands, the consuming heat of him. My body betrays me, answering without hesitation, giving whatever he asks, while aching for more.

But then the realization crashes over me. I brace my palms against his chest and push him back, both of us gasping for air like breaking apart is the hardest thing in the world.

"You're trying to distract me," I accuse.

He grins, boyish and teasing, that smile he seems to reserve only for me.

But his eyes ruin it. They're shadowed, carrying something behind them no smile could ever cover up.

My chest tightens, and as he tries to look away, I don't let him. "James, what is it?"

He hesitates, jaw working like he's fighting himself. Then a sigh slips free. 

"Tyler," he says finally. "He got his field placement. It's in Philadelphia."

"That's great. Right? It's what he wanted."

His shoulders tense, though he looks away so fast I almost miss it.

"Yeah. It's great." He tries to match my energy, but the way his hand rakes through his hair gives him away.

I nod, the pieces sliding into place. "You're worried."

His jaw tightens. He gives the barest nod, hands fidgeting restlessly at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them. Frustration radiates off him in waves, like it's taking everything in him to hold it all in.

I step closer, sliding my hand along his arm, hoping my touch will steady him.

"Philly isn't that far," I remind him softly. "He knows you're there for him. He'll call if he needs anything, just like you can call to check in. And if you decide you need to see him, you can be there in just a few hours."

He stands there quietly, eyes lost somewhere in his thoughts.

"James, you know this isn't him walking away from you, right? He's just... following his dreams. Forging his own path."

For a moment, his eyes flick to mine, like he's trying to come to terms with my words. Trying hard to buy in and accept them as truth. But I see it, the collapse happening inside him.

I take his hand, threading my fingers through his, holding tight.

"What is it, James? Tell me. What are you so afraid of?"

His mouth hardens like he's trying to swallow it down, but then the dam bursts.

"What am I afraid of? That something terrible will happen to him again, and I won't be there to protect him. That I'll fail him when he needs me most. That I'll fucking lose him for good this time." His fists clench at his sides, knuckles bone-white, voice trembling with fury. 

His chest heaves, breath tearing out of him. "Do you know what that feels like? To sit there helpless while the person you love most is being torn apart, and all you can do is pray you're not too late?" His voice cracks, but he barrels on, louder, harsher.

"I hate that he left me. I hate that it was so easy for him to walk away while I'm drowning without him. He's my brother—my whole goddamn world—and he just... left. Like he doesn't need me anymore. Like protecting him wasn't the only fucking reason I was put on this earth." 

He paces, sharp steps slashing across the room. He drags both hands down his face, eyes blazing when they meet mine. "And now... what the hell am I supposed to do?"

He spins back, fury twisting tighter. "And the worst part? I know what this is. Why he's going. Leaving. For some girl." His voice drips venom, rage thick in his throat. "A girl who couldn't even stick it out the first time. Too selfish to do what was best for him. Too wrapped up in herself to see what leaving did to 
him
. She crushed him, and who the hell do you think picked up the pieces?" 

He jabs a hand hard against his chest, spit flying with the force of his words. "
Me.
 Always me. I'm the one left holding it all together while he goes off chasing after some girl who's already proven she doesn't deserve him."

The words rip out of him like shrapnel, jagged and furious. But I see it for what it is: anguish. Desperation. Fear so raw, so debilitating, it can only come out as fire.

I don't move. I don't interrupt. I let him rage, let him get it all out. Because if I step in too soon, he'll only shove it all back inside and lock the door behind him, where I can't reach.

The words pour out of him until there's nothing left. By the time he's done, it's just ragged breaths and the echo of his fury hanging in the air.

His shoulders sag as the fight drains out of him, and when his gaze finally lifts to mine, it isn't fire anymore. It's guilt. Shame carved deep into his features.

My chest aches at the pain in his eyes, the way he looks at me like he's terrified of the damage he's just inflicted. But I know better now. The yelling, the anger, the poison he always talks about—none of that was meant for me. It was fear. Grief. The helplessness choking him. His way of bleeding off the pressure before it tears him apart.

I see where his thoughts are heading, and I don't give him the chance to retreat. I close the space between us and wrap my arms around him, breaking the eye contact that leaves him feeling too exposed, choosing instead the kind of touch that seems to steady him.

At first, his body goes rigid, breath caught tight in his chest. For a heartbeat, I think he'll pull away. But then he's clinging to me, breathing me in like he can't stop himself. Like I'm the only lifeline he has in the storm.

"It's okay. We'll figure it out. Whatever we need to do, we'll get through it," I whisper against his chest.

Something in him shudders. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the tension bleeds out of him. His arms squeeze tighter, like he's desperate to hold on to my promise.

It's a small surrender. But for James, it feels monumental.

I tilt my head up, catching those sad, lost eyes. Rising on my toes, I press my lips to his, kissing him with the same deep, breath-stealing passion he always uses on me. But unlike his earlier kiss, this one isn't meant to distract. It's meant to anchor. To remind him I'm here. That we're going to be okay.

When I pull back, I keep my gaze locked on his, pouring everything I can't say into the look. And then the words slip out before I can stop them. A truth breaking free like a whisper.

"I love you, James."

The silence that follows is deafening. My heart lurches. I hadn't meant to say it out loud. Not yet.

But I'll never take it back. Because it's true, and has been from the start. I love him. I've loved him almost since the moment we met, and fear was the only thing keeping me quiet. Fear that he wasn't ready. Fear that if I gave him my heart and he couldn't give me his, it would shatter me.

The words still hang between us when his eyes lock on mine. Dark. Unreadable. For a moment, something flickers there—longing, fear, awe... and then panic, quick as lightning.

He doesn't say it back, and still, I don't regret it. 

Not for a second. 

But as the silence stretches, my chest tightens. Because I feel it—the way his body stiffens, the breath he's holding like he's on the edge of flight.

For the first time, doubt cuts through me. What if I've pushed too hard? What if speaking the truth of my feelings only drives him back into the dark, makes him run, makes him shut me out the way he always does when the fear wins?

I hold him tighter, steady, determined to show him I'm not going anywhere—even as part of me braces for the moment he proves me wrong.

His hand comes up, rough palm cupping my face. Fingers brush my cheek, linger, then tuck a damp strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness makes my throat ache. And when his forehead drops against mine, his breath uneven, I feel it—the battle raging inside him.

So I close my eyes and breathe him in, praying he sees what I see. That love doesn't have to be another war. That he doesn't have to push me away. That I'm here. And I'll stay, even if the next breath he takes is the one that pushes me from his arms.

❤️

 
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Chapter 34

James

“I love you, James.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air clean out of me. For a heartbeat I’m weightless, lit up from the inside because it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I never thought I’d get.

Then it flips. Awe gives way to panic. My chest locks tight, breath short and ragged, hands trembling like I’m standing on the edge of a fault line ready to give way.

I’m drowning. Not in blood or rage this time, but in her. Because if she loves me, it’s only a matter of time before I lose her.

Like my mother. Like Tyler. Like everyone else who’s ever mattered.

Fear detonates in my chest, roaring in my ears. The same old alarm screaming—

You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough. And when she’s gone, what’s left of you then?

I set my jaw, force my shoulders back. Drag my gaze to her mouth so I don’t have to see what I don’t deserve in her eyes.

My hands find her face. Thumb brushing across her cheek, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. A simple task. Something I can control. One thing I can’t screw up.

I press my forehead to hers, desperate to hold on. To her warmth. To this second before it all breaks.

“James?” she whispers.

The sound of her voice snaps me into action. I shove the panic down, cram it into the darkest corner of my mind where I can pretend it doesn’t exist.

Don’t break. Not now. Not in front of her.

I kiss her forehead, lingering there. Closing my eyes, I breathe her in. My throat burns as I rasp, “I need a minute. I’m sorry. I’ll be back. I promise.”

Her face hardly shifts, but I catch it anyway—the flicker of devastation she tries to hide.

“James… don’t go.”

The plea guts me. And still, I turn. Because though leaving feels unforgivable, staying feels impossible.

I grab my jacket, shove my arms through the sleeves. Boots jammed on, laces yanked too tight. Every movement is clipped, mechanical, like if I stop moving, I might not make it out.

I can’t even look at her. Not as she stands just feet away, watching me.

She tells me she loves me, and I run.

Because of course I do.

It’s what I’m best at. Hurting her. Ruining things before they’ve even had a chance to grow.

The thoughts gnaw at me as I wrench open the door.

Cool air slams into me as I step outside. It should help. It doesn’t. The woods stretch quiet around the cabin, silence pressing in until all I can hear is her voice echoing in my skull—soft, certain, undoing me.

I love you, James.

God, she deserves someone better.

My hands won’t steady. I dig my phone from my pocket anyway, thumb fumbling until Lucas’s name lights the screen.

It rings once. Twice.

“James?” His voice is calm but edged, like he already knows I’m unraveling. “What is it?”

The words burst out jagged and painful. “She told me she loves me.”

Saying it makes it too real. My chest heaves as I stomp up the path towards the lake, gravel crunching beneath my boots. “And all I can think about is how the hell I’m supposed to survive losing her.”

The spiral rips loose, no brakes. “I’m terrified, Luc. I’m gonna fail her. I know I will. I don’t know how to keep her safe. Not when I’m like this. Not when I’m this fucked up inside. Not when hearing her say it makes me want to run.”

I rake a hand through my hair until my scalp burns. Fists clench, unclench, clench again. The itch to hit something crawls under my skin, screaming for release.

“I can’t be both,” I snap. “I can’t be the monster who puts an end to Victor and the man she deserves. And when it comes down to it—because it always comes down to it—I’ll choose wrong. I’ll fuck it up. And then she’ll be gone. Just like Tyler. Just like everyone else.”

The words pour fast, frantic, until my chest aches and my lungs burn. “I can’t do it. I can’t keep her. I can’t keep her safe. I can’t even be around her, not when I’m like this.”

Silence.

Then Lucas’s voice cuts through, steady and sure. “First, you need to stop. Breathe.”

Like my body’s starving for it, it listens. I drop onto a rock by the water’s edge, head in my hands, dragging air into my lungs.

“James, you’re putting too much pressure on it. She told you she loves you. The woman you’ve spent months pining over loves you. You . Let that sink in.”

My breath hitches, rough and loud. An angry sob claws up my throat. I’m pissed. And sad. And a billion other things that make no damn sense.

“What you’re feeling? That’s trauma talking. It’s your past clawing at you, trying to drag you back into the same cage because it feels safe there. I know, because I’ve been there. It’s fear. It’s not knowing where the road leads, not knowing who you’ll be when you reach the other side. But there are no shortcuts. The only way out is through. You sit in it. You let it bury you alive. You face it head-on. And yeah, it’ll hurt like hell. But it clears. And when it does, you’ll see the way forward. You can handle this, James. You’ve already survived worse.”

“How?” My voice cracks. “How the hell am I supposed to fight my demons and Victor and keep her safe? How do I do any of it when I can’t even hold myself together?”

“Why do you think Ben sent you, Zeb, and Dominick on what should’ve been a two-man job?”

I freeze. “What?”

“You heard me. There’s a reason there are three of you. Zeb and Dominick are her protection. You? You’re her support. And because those two men have your back, you can focus on the only things that matter—taking care of her… and you.”

My eyes burn as it sinks in.

Lucas presses on, steady and relentless. “You should already know this, James. When Embree was in trouble, who did I lean on? You. Zeb. Ben. The rest of the team. That’s how she and I survived the darkest days of our lives. Because my brothers were there to carry us through it. So let us carry you now.”

His words gut me because he’s right. After all these years, I still can’t let myself believe anyone truly has my back. Instead, I hold on tighter, carry more, power through on my own like if I don’t shoulder it all, everything will collapse. But now… now I wonder if maybe what terrifies me most isn’t losing control. It’s admitting I need them at all.

“It’s going to be alright. You’ll figure it out. In the meantime… maybe try not getting into fistfights with your teammates. Not even Dominick—though I’m sure he deserved it.”

A rough laugh cracks out of me. “Yeah.”

“Ben, though… fair game. I bet even Dom would back you on that.”

It almost makes me smile. I drag a hand down my face, wiping at tears I didn’t know were there. “I’ll do my best.”

Then Lucas’s voice softens. “Do you love her?”

There isn’t even a pause. “Yes.” The word rips straight from my soul. “I think I always have.”

“Then don’t waste it. Don’t make the same mistakes I made. Tell her. Before anything else happens. Because second chances aren’t always guaranteed.”

I go still. The quiet weight in his voice tells me what happened still sits heavy on him.

“The morning after Embree and Alyssa were taken…” His exhale is rough, almost broken. “I woke up and realized she might never know how I felt. That she was it for me. That baby or no baby, I wanted her. And when it came down to it, I wanted Sailor too—because he was hers. Those kids… they were already mine, even before I met them. I knew it in my gut. But that morning, she didn’t know. She thought I didn’t want them.”

His voice dips, thick with regret. “I waited too long, thinking I needed to be sure. Thinking I had more time. I didn’t. But by the grace of God, I got lucky—I got a second chance. By some miracle, we found them. And when I told her, she took me back. She forgave me for being a damn fool.” A rough chuckle escapes him, low and sad.

“Don’t be a fool, James. You never know what’s coming. You might not get another chance.”

My throat burns. His words hit harder than any punch I’ve ever taken, because I know how true they are.

“Live for today, brother,” Lucas finishes quietly. “Not for the past. Not for the future. Today. Because today is all you’ve got.”

I close my eyes, chest still aching, but the fear isn’t quite as suffocating. His words echo through the wreckage of my thoughts, cutting a path through the chaos.

Live for today.

For her. For us.

Maybe—for the first time in my life—I’ll find the strength to try.

❤️

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# Chapter 35

James

The walk back to the cabin is torture. Each step heavier than the last, each breath dragging shame deeper into my chest.

She told me she loved me, and like an idiot, I ran. After promising I wanted more. After swearing I was done being the man who fled, the man who pushed her away.

I sigh, jaw tight. Lucas's voice stalks me through the trees. 

Fear isn't an excuse. The only way forward is through.

Yeah. Sure. Sounds simple enough, but it doesn't stop the terror coursing through my veins.
 
I'm terrified of losing her. Either because I'll never be the man she needs, or because she'll finally see how broken I am and realize it's too much.

And yet... somewhere deep under the panic, something fragile sparks to life. 
Hope
. Reckless. Dangerous. Impossible to ignore. 

Maybe this is it. My one shot at a life I never thought I'd have. 

But first, I have to fix this. I have to tell her. Beg her to forgive me. 

Gravel crunches under my boots, too loud in the stillness. My chest feels stripped bare. Every shield collapsed. Every excuse burned to ash by the fire of what I feel for her.

The cabin comes into view, and my steps falter. She's on the porch with Zeb.

She's curled in on herself, gaze distant, lost in her thoughts. The sadness rolling off her slams into me like a blow, and I do what Lucas said. I sit with it. Let it level me the way it should. 

Beside her, Zeb sits rigid, arms crossed, jaw tight. His fury is all over his face, subtle as a loaded gun pointed straight at me.

Fuck.

I didn't tell him I was leaving, and I should have. He must have seen it on the cameras and came barreling over to cover my ass. To guard her while I was off falling apart like a coward. Like a fucking fraud.

I climb the first step, shoulders strained as I resign myself to my fate. Her silence is crushing. His scowl scathing.

I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the words die in my throat, strangled by shame.

Zeb watches me struggle, eyes full of judgment, offering nothing. Instead, he's content to just let me sit here, drowning in the consequences of my mistakes, exactly as I deserve.

I clear my throat, but the knot only tightens. My feet shift on the step like I'm fifteen again, caught sneaking in past curfew.

"I... I need to speak with Annelly. Privately. Mind giving us a minute?"

Zeb doesn't move. Doesn't even blink. He pins me in place with that flat stare of his, like he's deciding whether I'm even worth acknowledging. The air between us feels heavy enough to crush bone.

Slowly, deliberately, his gaze slides to Annelly, making it clear the choice is hers. Not mine. Not his. 
Hers
. And the fact that another man is watching out for her because I failed so miserably leaves bile burning in my throat.

She doesn't answer, just gives him the slightest nod. He exhales sharply then rises from the chair, the scrape of it against the porch boards loud enough to make me flinch. Then he steps into my space, close enough that the heat of his disapproval sears my skin. His jaw ticks once.

"Whatever you did, fix it," he growls. "Now."

He shoulders past and disappears into the trees, leaving us alone with nothing but the wreckage I caused.

Her gaze lifts, and the sadness there nearly buckles my knees. God, I want to take her in my arms, wipe away every trace of the pain I caused, and promise she'll never feel this way again. But I can't. I won't make her promises I know I can't keep.

"Can we talk? Inside?" My voice is rougher than I mean it to be, softer too. Almost like a plea. "Please."

She hesitates. One heartbeat. Two. Long enough to make my chest seize, long enough to make me wonder if I'm too late. Then she nods and slips past without a word. Her silence hurts more than any other I've experienced before.

I follow her inside. The door clicks shut behind me, and the quiet swallows us whole. It's electric, still alive with everything I ran from and now everything I still need to say.

She sinks onto the couch, hands twisting in her lap, avoiding my eyes. I stand a few feet away, muscles taut, heart pounding, palms damp. It feels like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff with no rope, no net—just the hope I can make things right holding me in place.

"I'm sorry." The words break loose, raw and clumsy. "For walking away. For leaving you standing there after what you said."

Her gaze flicks up, vulnerable for a breath, then drops to her hands again.

"I panicked." My breath comes out ragged. "When you said those words, it hit me—everything it meant, everything I could lose. The fear and the noise just crashed in, and I couldn't breathe. I thought if I stayed I'd break down in front of you and I—" I swallow hard, the rest getting stuck in my throat. "I didn't know what else to do."

I rake a hand through my hair. Because I have to move, I take one step, then another, before forcing myself to stop. She deserves more than this—my complete attention. She deserves my eyes on her, even if she can't bring herself to look at me. After all I did, I deserve the discomfort.

"It's no excuse. I know I hurt you, and I hate it. Hate that the first thing I did after you gave me something that real was turn it into pain."

The words feel thin, so I stop talking and do the only honest thing I have left. I kneel. Slowly. Hands braced on her thighs, so she knows I'm not running. That I'm here for her and only her. Shields down. My every emotion exposed. It's surrender and begging, and somehow it feels like home. Like this, right here, is exactly where I belong.

Her eyes widen—wet and bright—and something inside me loosens. My vision burns, and a lone tear slips from the corner of my eye.

"You told me you love me, and I should've said it back. I was an idiot." My throat sears, but I push on. "So I'm making it right. I love you, Annelly. God—I'm so in love with you, I don't know what to do."

My fingers hover, then settle over hers, desperate for the warmth of her skin. "The only question is..." I swallow, voice small. "...will you forgive me? Will you let me love you? Will you let me be loved by you?"

Light catches her tears. Sorrow melts into something soft. Her smile trembles with relief and joy, and it rips the air from me.

"Yes, always. I forgive you."

The words hit me like a physical thing. Relief crashes through me so hard a sound tears out—part laugh, part sob—and I move before I think, hauling her off the couch and into my lap.

I crush her to me, arms locking around her like I'll never let go. My mouth finds hers—desperate, reverent—kissing her the way I've been starving to since I first realized I loved her. I never thought I'd have this, and now that it's real, and hot, and trembling between us, I can't get enough.

Her hands are everywhere, fisting my shirt, sliding up my neck, threading into my hair. She clings to me like she's just as desperate, just as hungry, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us.

"Say it again, snowflake. Give me the words." I beg between kisses, my voice ragged and pleading.

She breathes it, soft, certain. "I—I love you, James."

The sound rips something open in me, and I crush my mouth to hers harder, desperate to make it stick. "Again."

She laughs, soft and wet with tears, and says it one more time. I trail my mouth over her jaw, down her throat, back to her lips, chasing that laugh until she can't stop smiling.

By the third time I get her to say it, she's laughing openly, breathless between kisses, hands tangled in my hair. "I love you, James. I love 
you
."

I grin against her lips, kissing her thoroughly, not wanting to stop. Because I don't have to. She's mine. It's no longer a question. It's fact.

Fuck—I can't believe she's mine.

Her laughter spills warm against my mouth, and I pull back, hungry to memorize her. The sparkle in her eyes, the curve of her cheeks, the dusting of freckles across her nose. This—her laughter, her light—this is what I want for her every damn day. Hell, it's what I want for both of us.

I cup her face with both hands, thumbs tracing the warm softness of her skin, and the breathless play shifts into something deeper, messy and terrifyingly perfect. 

I want to give her the grand declaration of love, the tidy lines and perfect words she deserves, but I'm not built for neat. Instead, pieces come out raw and jagged, but they're the truest things I've ever said.

"Annelly—" My voice cracks. "I love you." The words tumble out, unfiltered and useless because they're just not enough. "More than I can say. More than I thought I had in me. I'm making it official. I'm yours. I'm all in. There is no one else. There will never be anyone else. Just you. Only you."

Her eyes shine—wet and dangerous and beautiful—and it nearly breaks me. I press my forehead to hers, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's still not close enough. I keep talking because I have to. Because if I don't get it out, I'll drown in everything I'm feeling.

"And for the sake of this—for us—I'm apologizing in advance." The laugh that breaks out of me is half-choked, half-broken. "Because I need to warn you. I'm gonna screw up. I'll say the wrong things, lose my temper. My past—it's gonna bleed through and fuck things up sometimes, because it's in me. It's who I am." My throat burns, but I push it out anyway. "I'm a goddamn mess, Annelly. Flawed in ways I can't even begin to explain."

I try for a smile, but it comes out crooked, wet, desperate. "And I hate that. I hate that I can't hand you something cleaner, better, easier. But this—what I feel for you—I've never felt anything like it. A better man would let you go, but me... I'm just not that man anymore."

I press my forehead harder to hers, anchoring myself there like I'll fall apart if I don't. My voice drops, rough and raw. "I'm not an easy man to love. I'm hard—brutal sometimes. Angry and controlling. Worse when I'm scared. When life feels like it's slipping." My voice breaks. The fight I've held back finally gives.

I inhale a shuddering breath, trying to pull myself together. 

"I'm terrified as fuck. I've never felt more out of control. But none of that changes how I feel about you. None of it. It doesn't change how stupid-happy you make me, or how much I want to be the man you deserve. So I swear—on everything I am, on whatever good is left in me—I'll spend every damn day proving it. Fighting to be better. To give you better. For you, there is nothing I wouldn't do."

She moves then—fierce, sure—and kisses me like she's sealing the messy, stupid vow right onto my skin.

Lucas was right about one thing. I have no clue where this road leads or what waits on the other side. But I do know this. Whatever comes next, I'll spend the rest of my life making sure she never has a reason to stop loving me.

❤️

 
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REAM followers are already two chapters ahead!

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Chapter 36

James

Morning arrives slowly. Softly. Sunlight filters through the curtains in pale bands of gold, dust motes drifting lazily in the air.

For the first time in… hell, maybe ever, I don’t wake to the sound of my own demons screaming. No nightmares. No jolt of panic. Just quiet. A comfortable kind of quiet I’ve never known before, and for once, I don’t question it.

Maybe it’s the weight of her body against mine. Her back tucked into my chest. Her hair spilling over my arm like silk. I didn’t think I’d sleep at all after last night, but somewhere between her forgiveness and her laughter, exhaustion pulled me under. And I slept. Soundly. Deeply.

I shift, lifting my head just enough to look at her. She’s pliant in my arms in a way she never was before—like something inside her loosened when I told her I loved her. Like hearing me say she was mine smoothed out a fear she’d been carrying all this time.

The realization steals the air from my chest. I’ve spent a lifetime armoring up, keeping my distance from anything that resembled intimacy. And yet here I am, with the girl of my dreams pressed to me like I’m safe. Like I’m her home. And instead of panic clawing at me, instead of the old itch to run, I feel whole. Complete in a way I never thought possible.

My throat tightens. My eyes burn as I lower my face and brush my lips against her temple. Just a whisper of a kiss. Nothing, and somehow everything. She stirs like she feels the significance of it too, lashes fluttering, and when her eyes crack open, she gives me the smallest, sleepiest smile. Soft. Unscripted. Christ—it melts me straight through.

“Hey,” I murmur, voice rough with sleep and far too much emotion.

“Mm… morning.” Her voice is slurred, sweet, and it makes me want to kiss her again just to hear it.

Her sleepy smile lingers, soft as the dawn, and I can’t stop staring. I’ve seen her brave. I’ve seen her terrified. I’ve seen her shatter in my arms. But this—this quiet, unguarded version—it undoes me in a way nothing else ever has.

“Did you sleep okay?” I ask, brushing a thumb slowly over her hip, needing her to know I care about even the smallest things now.

She hums, a low, content vibration against me. “Better than I have in months.” Her lashes lower, then lift again, and her gaze hooks mine. “You?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Best sleep of my life.”

Her lips twitch, like she wants to believe me but doesn’t dare. Then, softer, she asks, “Do you regret it? What happened last night? Saying what you did?”

The question guts me. My chest constricts, sharp and aching, because that doubt, that uncertainty I see in her eyes, is on me. I put it there. And now she’s waiting for me to snap back into the man I used to be, the one who pushed her away, too broken to choose her.

I tighten my hold, dragging her flush against me. My voice comes out hoarse, unshaken in its truth. “Not for a second.”

Something in her eases at that, subtle but there. Her shoulders loosen. Her breath leaves in a shaky rush, and when her eyes finally meet mine, the doubt is gone. What replaces it nearly floors me. Trust.

She studies me for a heartbeat longer, like she’s memorizing this version of me—the one who isn’t running, the one finally letting her in. Then her hand finds my cheek, and her voice wavers.

“I need you to know… when you ran yesterday, it hurt. Bad. I thought maybe I’d pushed too hard. That maybe you’d never…” She shakes her head, swallowing. “But then you came back. And with everything you said… it meant everything to me. I’m okay with you getting scared and running sometimes—at least for now, while we figure things out. But only if you promise to always come back to me. To be honest, like you were last night.”

I cover her hand with mine, pressing it harder to my face, because I need her to feel this down to her bones. My thumb drags over her knuckles, reverent. “Snowflake, I told you last night—you’re it for me. There’s no version of this where I walk away from you and not come back.”

Her eyes glisten, but this time with something brighter than fear. She shifts closer, forehead brushing mine, breath warm across my lips. “Then I’m yours. No regrets.”

“No regrets,” I murmur back, conviction rough in my voice. I seal it with a kiss to her forehead, linger there, breathing her in. The weight I’ve carried for months feels lighter. Like last night didn’t just change us—it changed me too.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. I just hold her, soaking in the warmth of her pressed against me. Then, maybe because I’m not used to this kind of quiet, or maybe because she’s watching me too closely, a crooked grin tugs at my mouth. “Full disclosure—you keep looking at me like that and neither of us is leaving this bed.”

Her lips twitch, the sparkle in her eyes returning. “Pretty sure Zeb would break the door down if he showed up and breakfast wasn’t ready.”

“Fuck him. Let him starve.”

“James.” She smacks my chest playfully. “Not only is he your friend, but he’s been kind enough to follow us out here to keep me safe. The least we can do is feed him.”

“Nooo,” I groan, burying my face into the curve of her neck. Jasmine and vanilla fill my lungs, wrecking me all over again.

She laughs softly, fingers slipping into my hair. “James Serrano, are you pouting?”

“Not pouting.” My voice is muffled against her skin, though I cling to her like I’ll never let go. “Just… staking a claim. A man’s entitled to one peaceful morning with his woman, isn’t he?”

Her giggle bubbles into the quiet, and she shifts under me like she might try to wriggle free. The thought alone makes me tighten my hold, half growl, half laugh. “Don’t you dare. I’ll pin you down if I have to, snowflake. You know I will.”

Her grin is pure mischief, and for the first time in a long time, the heaviness inside me gives way to something almost boyish. Hopeful. Like maybe, against all odds, I might actually get to keep this.

She wiggles again, testing me, grin widening when I tighten my hold. “You can’t keep me pinned forever.”

“Bet your fine ass I can,” I rumble, dragging her closer until she squeals. “Hell, I’ll make it my life’s mission.”

Her laughter bursts out, bright and free. Before I know it, her fingers slip against my ribs, finding the one spot I’ll never admit exists. I jolt, a strangled sound ripping out of me.

“Don’t you dare,” I warn, narrowing my eyes.

“Oh, you’re ticklish,” she gasps, triumphant, and goes for it again.

“Christ—Annelly—” I squirm despite myself, burying my face against her shoulder like that’ll save me. “Mercy! Fuck, you’re playing dirty.”

“Admit it,” she teases, breathless with giggles. “James Serrano is ticklish.”

“Never,” I growl, twisting while she laughs harder. I finally catch her wrists and pin them above her head. Only this time, my body follows—bracing over hers, between her legs, chest pressed to hers.

Her laughter falters. Softens into something else entirely when our eyes lock. Her breath hitches. Mine damn near stops.

“Got you,” I murmur. But my grin fades, replaced by the kind of hunger I’ve been fighting for months.

Her lips part, her chest rising against mine. “Yeah,” she whispers. “You do.”

That’s all it takes. I dip down, catching her mouth with mine in a kiss that starts playful but turns hot in a heartbeat. Hungry. Desperate. It drags a whimper from her throat and nearly breaks my resolve. She arches beneath me, hips lifting to chase the hard line of my arousal, and the contact tears a groan from me.

Her gasp, her body rising again—needy, unrestrained—undoes me further. I grind down, helpless against the instinct, a slow, hungry roll of my hips that sends a shockwave of pleasure searing through my spine. She whimpers into my mouth, sweet and broken, and I swear I nearly lose it.

“Snowflake,” I rasp, voice wrecked, shaking with restraint. “You’re killing me.”

Her laugh bubbles out, soft and wicked, laced with a moan. “Good.”

The word spurs me like gasoline to flame. My grip on her wrists tightens, not to restrain her, but to restrain myself. I kiss her harder, deeper, chasing every desperate sound she makes while fighting not to lose myself completely. I promised her we’d wait until she was safe before taking that next step, and I meant it. Even if keeping that vow feels like it’s killing me, I intend to keep it.

Out of nowhere, my phone buzzes loudly against the nightstand. The sound slices through the haze, jagged and unwelcome.

I groan, dropping my forehead to hers, breath ragged, hardness still pressed to her warm center. “If that’s Zeb, I swear to Christ I’m changing my number.”

The phone buzzes again, rattling against the wood like it’s mocking me.

“Ignore it,” I mutter, rushing to brush my mouth over hers again, desperate to hold on to this moment. “They can survive without us for one damn morning.”

Her lips twitch against mine, amusement sparking in her eyes even as her breath comes fast. “James…” she teases, though her hips shift beneath me, proving she’s not exactly eager to stop either.

I groan, nosing along her jaw, clinging tighter. “Don’t make me answer it. Please. Just—let’s pretend we didn’t hear it.” The words come out half-growl, half-plea, embarrassingly raw, like I’m begging.

She laughs, soft but full of amusement, turning her head so I have no choice but to meet her eyes. “You know if you don’t, one or both of them will just show up and pound the door down.”

“Fuck ’em,” I grumble, burying my face into her neck, definitely sulking now. Her sweet, delectable scent fills my lungs, and I can’t stop myself from mumbling against her skin. “Please, snowflake. I’m dying here.”

Christ. I’m half-embarrassed at how messed up I sound, but I can’t help it. I’m that desperate.

She shakes with laughter beneath me, fingers sliding into my hair. “James Serrano, are you whining again?”

“Not whining,” I mutter into her throat, even as I nuzzle closer, refusing to let go. “Just telling you how I feel. It’s what you asked for, right? For me to be honest?”

Her giggle spills into the air, pure and bright, softening everything jagged inside me until all that’s left is warmth. “Yes.”

“Well…” My voice breaks, rough and low. “I’m honestly telling you…” I grind against her, slow, deliberate, perfectly aligned to give us both the maximum amount of pleasure our clothes allow. “…I don’t give a fuck about them. Just you. Just this.”

The moan that escapes her is breathy, needy—and fuck if it doesn’t nearly finish me.

“I—” My forehead drops to hers, breath jagged. “I need more of this, snowflake.” Another grind. Another broken breath. “And so do you.”

The phone finally goes blessedly silent, the buzz cutting off like the call went to voicemail. Relief floods me. I kiss her hard, deep, like we’ve just been granted a reprieve.

And then the goddamn thing starts buzzing again.

I growl low in my chest, feral. “I swear to God…”

Annelly bursts into laughter beneath me, still breathless, still flushed, but laughing like she can’t help herself. She plants both hands on my chest and gives a playful shove. “Answer it before Zeb actually does kick the door down.”

I glare at her, reluctant as hell, but the sparkle in her eyes ruins me. Muttering curses, I grab the phone off the nightstand, sitting on the edge of the bed as I swipe. “What?”

There’s a pause, then Zeb’s voice, all mock-innocence. “Well, good morning to you, too. Did I, uh—interrupt something?”

Behind me, Annelly laughs again, loud enough for him to hear.

I grind my teeth. “The fuck do you want?”

Zeb doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk. I can hear it clear as day. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Just—what time’s breakfast?”

“Fuck off,” I snap, hanging up before he can say another word.

Annelly is still laughing as I lean down to steal one more kiss—quick, rough, laced with all the frustration burning through me. Then I push off the bed before I forget every damn reason I had for stopping.

“Goddamn Zeb,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair as I stalk toward the door. “Man’s lucky I don’t lace his food with laxatives.”

She only laughs harder, giggles spilling free like she knows she can get away with it because she’s got me wrapped around her finger.

I stop at the doorway, ready to throw one last curse over my shoulder, but then I see her. The way she’s looking at me. Smiling like I hung the goddamn moon just by being here, by being hers.

The sight guts me. Knocks every word right out of me. My chest aches with it, tight and overflowing with the kind of love I never imagined existed.

“I’ll keep it, snowflake,” I rasp, voice rough, the promise tumbling out before I can stop it. “That look. I’ll fight like hell every day to make sure you never stop looking at me that way.”

My throat closes. The words scrape out, low and wrecked. “I love you.”

Her smile softens, eyes shining like she hears exactly what I mean and more.

And as I turn away, swallowing past the knot in my throat, I vow it again, silent and certain…

Whatever it takes, I’ll fight for this. For her. For us. Always.

❤️

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# Chapter 37

James

Dinner tonight is simple—roasted chicken, vegetables, bread still warm from the oven—but it all disappears the second she walks in. My eyes track her like they've got no choice, pulled by the magnetic current thrumming between us.

She reaches for her chair, but I'm already there, pulling it out. She gives me that startled little look, lips parting in a way that makes me want to kiss her senseless just to stop her questioning every time I step in to help.

"Sit," I tell her, voice low, commanding. The flush that rises under her skin nearly undoes me. I bite the inside of my cheek so I don't groan like an idiot in front of the two assholes I can't seem to get rid of.

Her sweater slips off one shoulder as she lowers herself onto the chair, pale skin flashing at me like a dare. Heat cuts through my chest as I ease her in, my fingers brushing that bare spot in a slow caress I hope lingers long after this dinner—when I can finally get her upstairs and lose myself in her.

Doing my best to conceal my erection, I take the seat beside her, thigh pressed tight against hers, possessive without apology.

Across the table Zeb stares, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. Dominick doesn't even bother hiding his disbelief.

Nosy assholes.

Normally I'd tell them both to fuck off, but not tonight. Not with the girl I love sitting this close to me. Instead, I ignore them, reaching for the serving spoons, piling food onto her plate before I even touch my own. Meat, greens, potatoes, all plated the way I know she'll eat it. Then I slide it in front of her, brushing my fingers against hers as I let go.

"Eat." My words are gruff. Non-negotiable.

"Thank you," she says, voice soft, eyes bright.

And Christ, I can't stop the smile that breaks across my face.

Zeb makes a strangled sound. "What the actual fuck am I looking at?"

Dominick shakes his head. "Fuck if I know."

"Shut up," I mutter, cutting into my own food. My hand drifts back to the edge of her chair, knuckles grazing that bare shoulder again. I don't even think about it. I just need to touch her, to anchor myself to her.

Annelly tilts her face up at me with that teasing, knowing glint in her eyes. "You're spoiling me."

"Not spoiling," I murmur, grinning like a fool and not even trying to hide it. "Just taking care of what's mine."

The table goes silent. Zeb's brows damn near hit his hairline. Dominick leans back, crossing his arms, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It won't. She's everything. And I don't give a damn how that makes me look. Her cheeks flush, her smile spreading like by claiming her in front of them I've handed her the world, and now I care about their opinions even less.

She catches the two men eyeing me and breaks the silence first, smooth as ever. "Well, when the two of you are done gawking, could one of you please pass the bread? Preferably before it gets cold."

Zeb barks a laugh, sliding the basket across the table. "Fuck. This is some 
Twilight Zone
 bullshit."

Dominick frowns. "Must be. Look at him. Acting like some love-struck fool."

They're both right, which is why I don't bother to deny it.

"
Twilight Zone
? What's that?" Annelly frowns as she looks at me, that little divot between her brows making me smile. 

I'm utterly done for. Unable to stop myself, I lean in and press my lips softly to hers. Just a brief grounding taste of her skin, her breath, her warmth. I'm fucking smitten.

"It's an old TV show, snowflake. Black-and-white, creepy music, what-the-fuck endings—not much different from our dinners with these two. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. They're just old fucks stuck in the past."

Dominick opens his mouth, already bristling. "Old f—"

Zeb interrupts with a laugh, cutting him off. "Christ almighty," he mutters, still shaking his head. "Didn't think I'd live to see the day a girl finally tamed Serrano. After so many... it's about damn time."

That's it. I level them both with a glare sharp enough to cut steel, hating how his reference to my past lands with her sitting right there. "So fucking what? She's mine. I'm hers. End of story. Either get over it and move on or mind your own fucking business."

The words hang there—threatening, unshakable—echoing through the quiet of the room with finality.

Zeb whistles low, grinning like he's just borne witness to an earth-shattering revelation. Dominick, on the other hand, shakes his head again, but there's something quieter in his eyes now. Not mockery. Not disbelief. Just... a resigned kind of understanding I don't quite get. If we were closer, maybe I'd ask him, but since we're not, I just let it go.

My attention turns back to my girl. Our hands find one another under the table, fingers lacing together like two pieces of a puzzle. I squeeze once, and when she squeezes back, smiling at me like I'm worth something, the warmth that floods through my veins makes everything else disappear.

The conversation settles into something easier after that. Zeb trading jabs with Annelly in a way that warms my chest, Dominick stabbing at his food like it personally offended him. Under the table, Annelly squeezes my hand once more before letting go and reaching for her fork.

 For the first time since leaving my house in Ruby Creek, it almost feels... normal. Like family. Like the safety of home. A dangerous thought, since experience has taught me complacency is our biggest threat.

As if on cue, my burner buzzes against the table. A sharp, vibrating warning that cuts through the moment.

One glance at the screen is all it takes. My chest tightens. Just like that, the peace melts away.

Tyler.

I push back from the table, brushing a quick kiss against Annelly's temple as I stand. "Gotta take this. It's my brother."

She tilts her head up at me, eyes questioning, but I'm already moving, stepping toward the doorway with the phone pressed to my ear.

"Hey, kid—"

His voice crackles down the line, teasing, bright, alive. 
So him.
 "Sup, old man?"

"Old man? I'm twenty-seven."

"Exactly. You're only four years older than me, so stop calling me kid."

I smile at that. God, I needed this—just to hear his voice, even when he's being a smartass. 

"Had some time. Figured I'd check in. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Eating dinner with Annelly and the guys."

"Yeah? You okay? You sound different. Relaxed. Anything I should know?"

My eyes drift back to the table. Annelly's laughing softly at something Zeb said, brushing her hair back behind her shoulder with that careless grace that undoes me every damn time.

A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.

"Yeah," I say quietly, more to myself than him. "There's something alright."

❤️

 
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Chapter 38

James

I don’t miss the way Annelly glances toward me, curiosity sparking across her face. I give her the faintest nod, a silent promise I’ll explain later.

For now, I step out of the room and onto the front porch, letting the door click shut behind me. Ready to face my brother, even if the conversation might wreck me.

The night air bites colder than I expect, cutting through my sweatshirt as I sink onto the porch steps. Phone pressed tight to my ear, I listen to his breathing and to the one voice I’ve missed more than anything.

Tyler’s still chuckling on the other end. “Seriously, though… what’s going on? You sound chill. Don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound like this.”

My jaw works, the instinct to deflect rising fast. But then I think of Annelly inside, her laughter warming the walls, the way she looked at me as I left the room. For once, I don’t want to deny it. Especially not to him.

“Yeah,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my mouth. “Guess I am. Relaxed, I mean. Happy, even.”

There’s a pause. Not long, but enough. Then his voice softens, careful. “It’s her, isn’t it? You finally made your move?”

I tip my head back against the railing, eyes closing. Christ. Kid doesn’t miss a thing.

“She did, actually. Told me she loved me. I told her I felt the same.” The words scrape raw on my throat, but I force them out. My hand rakes through my hair, restless, searching for control I don’t have. “She’s turned my world upside down, Ty. But I can’t deny I needed it. We’re together now.”

Silence stretches on the other end, heavy enough that I almost think the call dropped. Then Tyler exhales, low and shaky, and when he speaks again, the relief in his voice nearly undoes me.

“I’m happy for you, James. Really. You deserve this. All of it.”

For a second I can’t speak. The lump in my throat makes it impossible. I’ve spent years trying to keep him out of the mess inside my head, building walls between us because I thought it was what was best for him. Now that he’s telling me he’s relieved, that my happiness matters to him, I realize maybe he’s always known. That no matter how hard I tried to hide my damage, it still seeped through the cracks.

I drag in a slow breath, rubbing at my chest as if I can ease the tightness there. “I’m sorry. I messed up so badly with you. I tried so hard to protect you, and time and time again, I feel like I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me. You saved me. You were there when no one else was. Even when I pushed you away, you fought to stay. I wouldn’t be where I am without you.” His voice cracks, just a little, but I catch it. “You’ve carried so much shit, James. Too much. Things I don’t even remember. Things I probably can’t imagine. And I just… I want you to have something good. Someone good. After all you’ve given up for me, it’s your turn to finally do something for you.”

The porch light hums above me, moths batting themselves senseless against the glass, and I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees. My kid brother shouldn’t sound this old. He shouldn’t have to carry that much weight.

“Maybe,” I mutter, the word rough, torn from somewhere deep inside me. My chest aches. “Guess we’ll see.”

“Yeah.” His laugh is soft, wet around the edges. “We should both be so lucky.”

I close my eyes, knowing what’s coming before he even says it. Because I’ve heard it in his tone before. Restless. Determined. Already half-gone.

“You know I leave tomorrow for my fieldwork placement.”

Philadelphia. The conversation I’ve been dreading sits like a boulder between us.

My jaw locks. “Yeah. I know.”

“You’re not gonna start with me, right?” Tyler pushes, light on the surface, but I hear the nerves beneath it. “Don’t make me feel guilty for wanting this.”

I drag a hand down my face, every muscle in my body screaming to tell him no. To pull him back. To lock him down where I can keep him close, keep him safe. But that wouldn’t be fair—and worse, it wouldn’t stop him from going. It would only drive the wedge deeper between us.

“I’m not.” My voice comes out rough. “I just… I don’t like the idea of you being that far away. In a city you don’t know. With no one watching your back.”

“I’ll be fine, James.” He says it quickly, almost too quickly. “This is something I need to do. For me. For my future.” But there’s something else in his tone. A hint of sadness I’ve heard before.

“I know this isn’t just about the placement.” Silence. Then a sharp inhale. “Tyler,” I press, my gut tightening. “It’s her, isn’t it? Marissa.”

Silence stretches so long I think he might refuse to talk about it. Then he exhales hard.

“Yeah,” he admits, voice so low I almost miss it. “It’s her. I know it’s stupid—hell, we haven’t talked in months—but I can’t stop thinking about her. And if there’s even the smallest chance… I have to try, James.”

My hand curls into a fist against my knee. The ache in his voice shreds me, because I understand it too well. That kind of love you can’t shake, can’t forget, can’t let go of, no matter how hard you try? Christ, I’ve lived it.

But the thought of my little brother chasing ghosts in some city miles away, where I can’t shield him, can’t put him back together if it all comes crashing down—it makes my skin crawl.

“Tyler.” His name grinds out of me. “She left. Abandoned you like it was nothing. You can’t keep bleeding yourself dry for someone who already chose to walk away.”

“She didn’t leave,” he fires back, too fast. Too raw. “She ran. And if she ran, that means there’s something worth running from. I just… I need to know. I need to look her in the eye and know I did everything I could.”

I drag a hand down my face, tugging at the back of my neck, the weight of his words pressing down hard. He’s twenty-three. Too young to sound this desperate. Too stubborn to hear the warning in my voice.

“You think I don’t get it?” I rasp. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want something so bad it feels like it’s carved into your soul? But chasing it—chasing her—could break you worse than losing her ever did.”

“I’m already broken,” he says softly. Quiet. Final.

My stomach drops, a cold blade cutting straight through my chest. I squeeze my knees until my knuckles burn, breath stalling in my lungs, and it still doesn’t stop the words from slicing me open.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The night air cuts colder, sharp enough to sting my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way his words gut me.

“Don’t say that.” My voice cracks, rougher than I want him to hear. “You’re not broken. You’re stronger than me, stronger than you even realize. But damn it, Tyler… you’re all I’ve got. And the thought of you being hurt—the thought of losing you—”

“You won’t,” he interrupts gently. “You’ve always been the one holding me together. I know that. But that’s got to change. To be the man I want to be, I can’t let that be the rest of my life. I need to find out who I am without you constantly holding the line for me.”

And there it is. The truth I’ve been running from.

The distance between us has already started, and no matter how much I fight it, I can’t stop him from drifting.

“Okay,” I say, sounding more defeated than I wanted him to hear.

“I promise to call when I get there. To check in as often as I can.”

“Yeah,” I rasp, throat thick. “You better.”

There’s a pause, softer this time. “Love you, big brother.”

My chest tightens. “Love you too, kid. And, uh… I know I don’t say it enough. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.” He sounds choked up. And then the line clicks off, leaving me sitting in the dark with nothing but the echo of his goodbye.

For a long moment I just sit there, elbows braced on my knees, head bowed, letting the silence and sadness swallow me whole.

Philadelphia.

Marissa.

And the truth… my little brother’s already gone.

While me? I’m stuck here, clinging to what? Our past? Our shared trauma? The little boy I once failed?

The weight of it crushes down until I can barely breathe.

When I finally push back to my feet, my chest feels hollow, like something vital’s been carved out of me. I open the door and step inside, the hum of conversation spilling into the quiet I left behind.

Zeb and Dominick are still at the table, arguing about nothing that matters. But it’s Annelly my eyes find, Annelly who looks up the second I walk in. One glance, and she knows.

Her smile softens, fading into something quieter, steadier. She sets her fork down and rises, crossing the room without hesitation. Her hand finds mine, fingers threading firm and sure, pulling me back from the edge I didn’t realize I was teetering on.

“You okay?” she asks softly, searching my face.

I want to tell her no. That I’m not. That I can feel my brother slipping away and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it. But the words jam in my throat. So I just shake my head, pulling her in against me, burying my face in her hair.

Her arms circle my waist, tight, grounding me.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers, the certainty in her voice something I don’t deserve but cling to anyway.

I press my lips to the crown of her head, eyes burning.

Maybe I can’t hold onto everything. Maybe I can’t stop Tyler from drifting. But this—her—this I know I can hold on to.

At least for now.

And for tonight, that’s more than enough to keep me standing.

❤️

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# Chapter 39

Annelly

The scream jolts me out of sleep.

For a split second I don't know where I am—only that the sound doesn't belong here. It's raw and guttural, the kind of noise that rips through the dark and lodges in my chest until I can't breathe around it.

I twist toward him, and my blood runs cold. James thrashes beside me, sheets tangled around his legs, chest heaving like he's suffocating. His fists are clenched so tight the tendons stand out even in the dark. 

For one awful heartbeat, I can't move. My heart slams against my ribs, breath trapped in my throat, every instinct screaming to recoil from the violence of it, to run from whatever's making him scream like this. Then he gasps—a ragged, broken sound that doesn't even sound like him—and the fear inside me shifts. Not fear for myself, but fear for him.

My hand fumbles for the lamp on the nightstand. Light spills across the room as I turn back to him.

"James." His name tears out of me, raspy and strained, but he doesn't hear me.

His body bows off the mattress, caught in whatever hell has its claws in him. Panic spikes hard inside me, but I shove it down, reaching for him with hands that won't stop shaking.

I catch his shoulder, his arm, hot skin slick under my palms, muscles drawn so tight they tremble beneath my touch. "James, wake up. Please. It's me. Annelly. You're safe. You're here—with me."

I press my forehead to his temple, words spilling faster, my breath tangling with his ragged gasps. My palms sweep over him in frantic passes, like if I just keep touching him I can bring him back. To the present. To me.

Another strangled cry tears from his chest. His body jolts up, and his eyes fly open.

For a heartbeat, it's as if he doesn't see me. His gaze is wild as he looks around, pupils blown wide, chest pumping like he can't get enough air. Sweat beads at his temple, and the panic in his eyes tells me the nightmare still clings to him even as he stares straight at me.

Relief slams into me so hard it knocks the breath from my lungs. He's awake. He's here. But the storm in his eyes doesn't break. It only shifts. Confusion. Terror. And beneath it, something so fractured it makes my chest ache to look at him.

"James." My voice softens to a whisper, a plea meant to draw him back without pushing him further away. My hands stay on him. The thought of letting go feels too dangerous—like if I loosen my grip even for a second, he'll slip right back into the nightmare.

He blinks once, twice, throat working. And then I see it. He's awake now, fully aware of what's happened. And I know that look. He's about to run.

The signs are subtle, but I catch them—the shift in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw, the way his whole body goes rigid beneath my touch. He doesn't have to move. I know him well enough now to feel the retreat gathering inside him, coiled and ready to make its move.

And God, it hurts. Because it isn't just the nightmare clawing at him anymore. Now it's me—my presence, my eyes on him, the truth I can't unsee. For a man as proud as James, who's spent his life proving he's unbreakable, this moment of exposure is unbearable.

His eyes flick away like he can't bear to hold mine, shame carving into the sharp lines of his face. He swallows hard, the movement jerky, his throat working against words he does and doesn't want to say.

I know that instinct—his desperate need to hide, to shove every fractured piece of himself back into the dark where no one else can find it.

But not this time. I won't let him.

"Don't." My tone comes out steadier than I feel, my grip tightening. "Don't you dare do that, James Serrano. Don't pull away from me. Not until you talk to me first."

His gaze snaps back to mine, startled, raw. For a heartbeat he looks younger, stripped down to something unguarded and bleeding—the hurt, traumatized boy who never had anyone to guide him back from the pain, the loneliness, the dark.

And it wrecks me. Because I see him. Not just the man who's carried every burden without complaint, but the boy who learned too early that love could vanish, that safety was a lie, that the only way to survive was to build walls too thick for anyone to climb. That boy still lives inside him, desperate for someone to tell him he's safe. That he doesn't have to face the nightmares alone.

The realization is devastating. Because as much as I want to fix it, I know I can't. These wounds run too deep, carved into him long before I ever stepped into his life. All I can do is be here. Hold him steady. Take care not to make the cracks worse. Refuse to turn away from the pieces he's too ashamed to show, no matter how much it hurts to see.

And I make a silent vow, right here with his pulse racing under my hands. 

I will not fail him the way everyone else has.

I smooth my palms over his chest and down his arms until I find his hands, needing him to feel me, needing him to know I'm not letting go. "You don't have to run," I whisper. "You don't have to hide. Not from me."

The silence stretches, heavy with the pounding of his heart, with the storm still raging in his eyes. Shame battles panic. Panic battles something even more fragile—something that shimmers there, stark and beautiful, in those blue eyes I've come to know better than my own reflection.

And in that moment, I realize this is the truest version of him I've ever seen. Not the fighter. Not the protector. Not even the lover. But the boy who still aches to be seen, to be nurtured, to be loved.

That truth breaks something in me even as it heals. Because no matter what he believes, that vulnerability only makes me love him more.

And as a lone tear slips down his cheek, I know this is my chance to prove it. To show him I love him without conditions. Every part of him. Even the parts that cut me. Especially the parts he thinks are too broken to be loved.

❤️

 
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NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!

Chapter 40

Annelly

The tear tracks down his cheek before he even seems to feel it. I brush it away with my thumb, slow and careful not to make it a big deal, but another follows just as quickly.

To my surprise, he doesn’t pull away. He exhales a trembling sound—half breath, half choke—and shame flickers across his features. His jaw tightens, eyes cutting away before he drags them back, shoulders stiffening as if he’s trying to force the emotion down where it belongs. The part of him that wants to hide is fighting hard to regain control.

“James.” I keep my voice low, the way you’d speak to someone teetering on the edge. My thumb traces the edge of his jaw, grounding us both. “You’re here. You’re safe. I promise.”

He drags in a breath like it hurts. “I can still hear him.” His voice is hoarse, broken. “Tyler. I can still hear him screaming for me, and I—” His mouth snaps shut, jaw locking hard. “He was gone. Taken. I couldn’t get to him.”

My chest pulls tight. My fingers curl around his arm without thinking. “It was about Tyler?”

He nods once. “It always is.” His eyes unfocus and stare off somewhere past me. “He’s all I’ve got left. If something ever happened to him…” His voice frays and the sentence dies unfinished.

I slide closer until our knees touch. “I know that fear,” I whisper. “Not in the same way you do—but I know it.”

He looks at me then, wary and hurting.

“My mom,” I say softly. “She’s all I have. After losing my dad out of nowhere. One minute he was fine, the next…” My voice falters. “It’s why I was so scared when I heard Victor almost got to her. If he’d succeeded, if something had happened to her, I don’t know what I’d do.”

His fingers flex beneath mine. “You’ve been… closer to her since then. Since Ben told us what happened. I hear you call her every night.”

“Every night I can.” I smile faintly. “We’ve never been close, but the thought she might not be there someday… Even if half the time she ends up scolding me for one thing or another. She frustrates me sometimes, but I can’t bear the thought of her not being around.”

A shadow passes through his eyes. “You’re lucky,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “You still have her to call.”

“And you still have Tyler, James. You can call him. He can call you. You’re still brothers who love one another. None of that has changed.”

He goes still, jaw tightening. For a heartbeat, I think he might agree. But then he exhales a frustrated sigh, pulling a hand over his face.

“Everything’s changed,” he mutters, his voice low and filled with tension. “You just don’t get it. Nobody does. He’s moving on. He wants his own life separate from me. He doesn’t want my help, doesn’t need me anymore, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

He drags in another breath, harsher this time. “I spent my whole damn life protecting him. Making sure he never had to feel what I did. That he never had to face the world alone. And now what? I’m supposed to just let him go? Pretend it doesn’t gut me that, to talk to him now, I have to pick up the goddamn phone?”

He leans back, the space between us stretching, but I close it before he can vanish into it. My hands find his knees, grounding him, keeping him here.

“James,” I say softly, refusing to let him retreat. “What you do is turn those feelings into pride. Because it means you did your job.”

His mouth opens to argue, but I tighten my grip before he can. “A job that was never supposed to be yours,” I add. “You were just a kid, James. Barely older than him. But you did it anyway.”

His throat works, eyes flicking down to where my fingers now hold his—rough and calloused, from a lifetime of carrying burdens that weren’t his.

“And I get it,” I whisper. “You took on the role of parent because you had no choice. But because you did, because you loved him enough to do the impossible, he’s ready to stand on his own.”

I squeeze his hands, holding his gaze. “You gave him the comfort and stability no one ever gave you, James. You built him a life that felt safe enough to dream in. And that’s why he’s ready. Because you gave him that gift.”

I pause, breath catching as a memory surfaces—my mother, the argument before I left for Juilliard, weeks after my dad’s death. I can still hear her voice, frustrated and desperate, insisting I wasn’t ready. That I’d fail. That I belonged at home.

Back then, I thought she was trying to clip my wings. That she didn’t believe in me. But sitting here now, looking at this beautiful, broken man in front of me, I finally understand. She wasn’t trying to hold me back. She was scared. Terrified of losing the only family she had left.

“He’s prepared to face the world. To take it by storm. And you, my sweet, grumpy man, are the reason he’s strong enough to leave the nest you built for him—and make one of his own.”

His mouth twists, a flash of anguish cutting through. “But now I’m alone…”

“You’re not alone, James.” I lean closer, my voice steady but soft. “He’s still there. So am I. And the rest of your friends. What this really means is that now you can focus on you. You built him up, taught him how to be a good man—a great man. And now it’s your turn to do the same for yourself.”

He drags in a shaky breath. “If that’s true…” His voice breaks, raw and frayed. “Then why do I feel so broken? Why does it hurt so goddamn bad? Why am I so scared for him—for me? And why does it feel like I can’t breathe?”

The words hang between us, trembling on the edge of collapse. Silence folds in—not heavy, just full. It hums with everything neither of us says. Our shared fear lingers there, suspended between us like a heartbeat. Love’s price. Its weight.

“Because loving someone that deeply—so much that we’d sacrifice everything for them—means exposing ourselves to the inevitability of loss,” I say quietly. “That’s what terrifies us most, isn’t it? The idea that the people we can’t live without might someday be gone. That we’ll lose them… and then what becomes of us.”

He studies me for a long moment, throat working, eyes dark and distant. Then, something in him just gives. A tremor ripples through his chest, his jaw tightening once, twice, before it all unravels.

“It was the first lesson I ever learned,” he whispers. His face crumples as the last of his armor falls away.

My breath catches. “James…”

“I was twelve,” he says, voice shaking, lips trembling. “Came home from school and found her on the floor. My mom. Tyler was only eight. He was still in school.” His gaze drops to the space between us, like he’s staring at the ghost of that day. “I thought she was asleep at first… until I saw the needle sticking out of her arm.”

He chokes back a sob, but now that the dam is broken, the words pour out anyway. “I kept shaking her. Telling her we’d be good. That I’d help her get cleaned up. Make sure Tyler did his homework. If she’d just wake up, I’d take care of everything. I’d fix it. Make everything okay again.”

He laughs once, a hollow, broken sound. “I was just a kid. A stupid, stupid, fucking kid.”

He lets go of my hands. Instead, they clench against his thighs.

“Of course she wasn’t going to wake up. She was dead. Been that way for hours.” His voice cracks. “But back then I blamed myself. All I could think was—maybe if I’d been better. If I’d been there more. If I’d stayed home from school. Watched her. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”

His gaze flicks to mine, sharp and wet. “And then the anger came. When I realized I hated her for not choosing me and Tyler. For not loving us more than the drugs. And then I hated myself even more because even back then I knew she couldn’t help it. She was a fucking addict. And then I hated myself for giving her that out.”

He drags a trembling hand over his face, a bitter sound tearing from his chest. “God, I was a mess. Fucked up from birth. Didn’t stand a chance. And I’m still not sure I’ll ever be right. Still just as fucked up now. Still just as damaged.” His eyes drop, voice going quiet and resigned. “It’s no wonder Tyler’s moving on. Leaving me. He’s probably better off.”

The words hit like glass.

“James…”

“No, Annelly.” His gaze flicks up, brows drawn tight in something that looks like anger but feels like pain. “You need to hear this. You need to know what you’re signing up for. If you’re going to be with me, you need all the facts.”

“Okay.” My voice stays steady even as my heart sinks with the fear he’s doing it again—getting ready to push me away. “Then tell me.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, fingers digging into his temples like he’s trying to hold himself together. “After my mom died, I promised myself I’d never let anyone matter that much again. That I’d never love anyone to the point I’d twist myself into knots trying to be what they needed… trying to make them love me. It was easier that way. Safer. For me. For Tyler.”

He swallows hard, breath shuddering out of him. His hands flex once on his knees. “And then you entered my life.” His eyes lift to mine, raw and shining. “That’s why I pushed you away. Over and over. Because the more time we spent together, the harder I was falling. The more I wanted to take care of you. To be what you needed.”

His voice cracks. He looks down again, shoulders hunching like he’s bracing for a hit. When he speaks this time, it’s barely a whisper. “And the last time I tried that…” Another breath. “I wasn’t enough.”

His eyes squeeze shut. “She died because I wasn’t enough.”

My heart stumbles. I reach for him, wrapping my fingers around his, grounding us both. “You couldn’t have saved her,” I whisper. “That wasn’t your job, James. You were just a child.”

His shoulders tense, and he pulls his hands away. The muscles in his jaw flex before he lets out a low, broken laugh—cold and hollow, the sound of someone who’s bled dry of hope. “Sweetheart, if years of therapy haven’t convinced me, I don’t think anything you say will change that.”

The words should sting, but they don’t. I know by now what this is. His anger, his edge—it isn’t meant for me. It’s just the pressure valve, the only way he knows to keep from imploding.

“I don’t need to convince you,” I say calmly. “Because deep down, you already know it’s true. You’re just too stubborn to let yourself off the hook.”

His head lifts sharply, eyes cutting to mine—defensive, angry. But the anger flickers a second later, softening into something fragile. His throat works once before he looks away, jaw tight, like the truth is too heavy to hold.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice drops, almost flat. “At the end of the day, I am who I am. A byproduct of where I come from. A legacy of filth. Of addiction. Of brokenness and self-destruction.”

He swallows hard, shoulders curling inward. “I might have been able to pull Tyler out of that—a fact I’ll forever be grateful for.” His hands flex against his knees, knuckles turning white. “But for me…”

He shakes his head, more sadness in that small motion than I’ve ever seen in anyone, and it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.

“For me, it’s too late.” His voice cracks on the last word. “I’ll never be anything more than this.”

❤️

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# Chapter 41

Annelly

For a heartbeat I just stare at him. 
Is that really what he believes? 
That everything he is—the good, the fierce, the protective—is forever damned because of where he came from?

The thought twists in my stomach, not just with heartbreak but with something hotter and sharper. Anger. Not at him, but for him. At every person, every moment that convinced him this was true.

"I don't believe that." My voice trembles. "Not for a second. You may come from a legacy of filth and addiction and self-destruction, but that's not your legacy. Your legacy is survival. Resilience. Triumph." 

I move closer, refusing to let him hide in the dark. "Look at all you've done. You clawed your way out of tragedy. You pulled Tyler out. You built a good life from the wreckage, and as if that weren't enough, you've spent your adult life helping people. Protecting them. Saving them. Just like you're saving me now."

He flinches, shoulders tightening, his whole body drawing back as if my words are something he can physically dodge. Like he's determined to reject them before they can take root.

"Stop." His tone cuts through the air—sharp, almost mocking. "I'm not anyone's hero, Annelly. Don't fool yourself into thinking I'm someone I'm not."

"You're mine," I say, louder now, my voice cracking. "And if I called Tyler right now, I bet he'd say the same."

"No—" He's on his feet before the word finishes. "Don't. Don't do that." He paces, dragging both hands through his hair like he could rip the truth out by the roots. "I'm not a hero. I'm nothing but an angry fuck-up. A fraud who's spent his life fooling everyone into thinking he's something he's not."

"You're wrong." My heart pounds, but I follow him anyway, each step closing the distance he keeps trying to create. "I see you, James. All of you. The man who's loyal. Fierce. The man who carries more than he should because he can't stand to see anyone else hurt. The man who still knows how to love, even after everything he's endured."

"Stop!" His voice cracks like a whip, fists clenched at his sides. "You don't get it. I'm not that man. I'll never be that man." Fear and devastation ripple through every word.

"Yes, you are." I step into him, so close I can feel the heat of his breath. "You're exactly that man. And nothing you say will ever change the fact that I love you—every broken piece of you. Especially the parts you think are unworthy. The parts that make you, 
you.
 The way you love. The way you fight. The way you feel everything so deeply."

His eyes find mine, wild and uncertain, his breathing ragged, like he's run miles. "Don't," he whispers. "Don't say that. You can't possibly mean it."

"I do, James. I mean every word." My hands rise to his face, framing it even as he trembles. "And I'll say it over and over for the rest of my life if that's what it takes to make you believe me. Nothing you do will make me stop believing in you."

For a heartbeat he just stares, his chest rising and falling, eyes glassy with something between fear and need. 

And then something in him snaps. 

His mouth crashes onto mine—fierce, consuming, desperate. The kiss is all heat and ache and fear, the sound in his throat that of a man trying to drown out his heartache. His hands tangle in my hair, slide down my back, before gripping my thighs as he lifts me.

I taste the salt of tears—his or mine, I can't tell—and for a moment, I let him have it. Whatever he needs. I let him pour every shattered piece of himself into me, because I know what this is. 

It isn't just passion. It's panic. It's pain. Expressed in the only language he trusts when words fail.

Then his body surges forward, and suddenly I'm falling back onto the mattress beneath him. His weight pins me to the sheets as his mouth finds my throat, my shoulder, his breath rough against my skin. His hands roam—frantic, lost, desperate to feel something that will silence the noise in his head.

"James." I thread my fingers through his hair. "Hey. Look at me."

He doesn't. His breath comes faster, his touch more frenzied. My chest aches for him—this beautiful, broken man who doesn't know how to ask for comfort without destroying himself to get it.

I press my palms against his chest, gentle but firm. "James." My voice steadies. "Stop."

He freezes, muscles taut beneath my hands. His head drops, forehead to my collarbone, breath coming in shallow bursts. For a long heartbeat, the only sound is him trying to breathe through it.

"I'm sorry." The words scrape out of him.

"It's okay." My tone softens as I smooth my hands down his shoulders. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He shudders, and when he finally lifts his head, the look in his eyes steals my breath—wild, desperate, terrified. "I'm so fucking sorry," he rasps. "I just... I needed to feel something. Anything other than..."

"I know." My thumbs brush the scruff along his jaw. "But you don't have to lose yourself to feel me."

Slowly, I press against his chest until he yields, sinking back into the mattress. He looks up at me, eyes clouded with want and uncertainty, but he doesn't fight me. 

I lean over him, hair spilling across his chest, my lips tracing the line of his jaw. "We have time," I whisper, letting the words melt into his skin. "All the time in the world."

The air between us shifts. What was frantic becomes reverent. Urgency gives way to quiet intention.

I peel off my sleep shirt, the fabric whispering against my skin, and his eyes follow every movement like he's afraid to blink and miss a thing. His hands tremble at his sides, so I take them, pressing a kiss to the back of each one before tracing the jagged scars across his knuckles with my lips.

When I rise to my knees, it's only to remove the last barriers between us—his boxer briefs first, then my panties. I climb back over him, the heat of his body radiating through mine. He exhales, something breaking loose in his chest, and I lower myself until I feel the warmth of him against me, the steady pulse of his heart beneath my palms.

My fingers map the scars across his chest—each one a story, no doubt a war he's fought and survived. I follow them slowly with my lips. The jagged white lines along his chest. The faded burn near his shoulder. Then the bruises marring his ribs and abdomen from Dominick's fists. 

He watches me, breath uneven, realization dawning in the glassy sheen of his eyes. This isn't foreplay. It's acknowledgment.

"Every mark," I whisper against his skin, "is proof of who you are. Proof that you're still here. Because of your strength. Because of your love. Because of the way you fight for the people you care about."

His hand comes up, tentative, fingers threading through my hair. But there's no urgency now. Only need. Only gratitude. Only the quiet, broken awe of a man finally letting himself be loved.

His hand slides from my hair to my cheek, rough palm trembling as he cups my face like he's not sure he's allowed. I turn into his touch, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. His breath catches, and I feel the shift in him. The resistance, the fight, the guilt that's always lingering just under the surface of who he is... it all dissolves.

"Annelly." My name slips from his lips.

I rise slowly, settling over him, my bare center brushing against his hard length, and his whole body reacts—a sharp inhale, a low sound that vibrates through both of us. His hands find my waist, fingers flexing like he's still afraid to hold too tightly.

Desperate to give him this, to give him something good, I reach for him. Wrapping my fingers around him and guiding him to my entrance with a trembling hand, letting instinct lead where experience can't.

Before I can go further, he gasps. "Stop." His hand lifts, thumb brushing my cheek before grazing my bottom lip. "We can't. Not yet."

I still, my heart thundering.

He exhales, voice breaking under the weight of restraint. "Not like this. Not while you're still in danger. You deserve better than a safe house and borrowed peace."

My throat tightens, tears blurring the edges of him. "James..."

He shakes his head, fingers still at my cheek—gentle but firm. "I want it to be right," he murmurs. "I want you safe. I want you home. I want you to remember it for the rest of your life and never once wonder if it came from fear. I made you that promise, and I'm keeping it."

"Then how..." The words falter, soft and shy. "How do I give you what you need? What we both need?"

"Like this."

His hands return to my hips, guiding me against him. A slow, steady roll of my body over his—long and unhurried—that pulls a strangled sound from his throat and a whimper from mine. The friction sparks heat low in my belly, but beneath it there's something deeper. Older. A hum of recognition, of comfort. Like we've always known how to find each other this way.

Over and over we move together, my hips rolling as he arches up to meet me. Our bodies learn the rhythm on their own, chasing something neither of us can name.

"I want..." My voice trembles. "I want to make you feel good."

Bright blue eyes, dark and desperate with pleasure, meet mine. "You already are," he breathes. "Fuck... you already are."

After that, words fall away.

There's only breath and heartbeat. The slide of skin. The quiet hitch in his throat each time I move. The soft whimpers that escape my chest when the head of him drags against that tender place just right. The heat builds quickly, like sunrise breaking the horizon—gold and intense, burning away the shadows that brought us here.

The rhythm builds—not faster, but deeper. Every movement becomes a conversation. Breath answering breath, heartbeat answering heartbeat, pulsing ache answering pulsing ache.

He trembles beneath me, every muscle drawn tight like a bowstring. His eyes never leave mine, and for once there's no armor there. Only need. Only trust.

The air hums with everything we've both held back for too long—grief, longing, hope—and when it crests, the sound he makes is raw and broken and beautiful. His hands find mine, fingers locking as his body shudders beneath me, and I follow him there—into the warmth, into the quiet that exists in this place where love and pleasure finally collide. 

When it's over, neither of us moves. I lie on his chest, skin damp between us, our breaths uneven, but there's peace in the stillness.

He draws in a shaky breath, his fingers tracing the curve of my back. "I didn't know it could feel like this," he whispers. "Like something healing and good instead of just... I don't know. It feels like everything I've done up to this point was nothing compared to this. To what I have with you."

I lift my head to kiss his chest, right over his heart. "I love you, James."

He exhales, the sound caught between a sigh of hope and one of relief, and for the first time all night, I feel him fully relaxed—no ghosts, no panic, no distance. Just James. Happy, and for now, whole.

For tonight at least, all that exists between us is love, safety, and the fragile quiet of peace. 

If only I had known what daylight would bring, I would have held on to that moment a little tighter. 

❤️

 
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.

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"Follow"
 on 
REAM
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Chapter 42

Annelly

Dawn presses at the curtains in a thin, pale glow, not quite light, not quite shadow. The room still smells like him and the clean bite of soap from last night’s shower. James’s breath moves steadily against my neck, an answer to the quiet I prayed for and finally found.

I let myself memorize it. The weight of his arm across my waist. The way his fingers rest open and loose, as if for once the tired warrior is truly at rest.

I don’t know how long I’ve been awake. Maybe a part of me just wanted a head start—to get ahead of the day by savoring these last few hours of peace, of stillness, of the feel of his body when he’s relaxed. While I don’t wish to fix him, I do wish I could ease the weight he carries, if only so he could breathe without the constant drag of anxiety that rules him.

I should have known better than to think it would last, because in the next breath the burner phone rings. A sharp, utilitarian sound thunders through the quiet, shattering our reprieve from the outside world.

James goes from warmth to armor in a heartbeat. His hand tightens around me—a reflex more than intent—pulling me close enough to sting. Then he’s gone, sitting upright and reaching for the phone on the nightstand. The line of his back is rigid, muscles drawn taut, ready to spring at the slightest provocation.

“Yeah,” he says, voice raspy with sleep.

Ben’s voice follows, urgent enough that I hear it from the bed. “We need everyone up. Incident report. Twenty minutes.”

The word lands hard. Incident. No details, just dread wrapped in a single syllable.

James sits on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to his ear, every muscle locked. “What kind of incident?”

Ben hesitates. “Get dressed. Meet Zeb and Dominick downstairs.” A pause, then quieter, “Twenty minutes.”

The line clicks dead, and silence swells in its wake.

James moves immediately. The blankets slide from his hips as he stands and reaches for jeans and a sweatshirt. There’s urgency in his movements, but also restraint—the way a man paces himself so he doesn’t frighten the people he loves.

I push up from the mattress, heart caught somewhere between fear and instinct, dressing quickly. I want to reach for him, to make sure he’s okay, but I’m afraid it will break the fragile hold he has on himself.

“You heard.” He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t have to. My heartbeat is probably loud enough to answer for me.

“I did.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. I don’t want him thinking he needs to protect me from this. I want him to know I’m okay—that he doesn’t need to worry.

He pulls the shirt over his head, the bruises along his ribs dark against the dim light.

“I hear the guys. They’re already downstairs. Means they know, and whatever it is can’t be good.” His voice wavers, and he clears his throat.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe they found him.” I try to sound calm, the words meant to steady us both. They don’t.

I move around him like it’s no big deal, like it’s any other morning, grabbing a hoodie from the dresser, a hair tie, then my toothbrush. Simple motions to keep us anchored. He follows me into the small bathroom. No words. No looks. Just movement. I’ve learned that action is the only thing that seems to help when his tension starts to rise.

When I’m done, his eyes find mine, and for a heartbeat I see the man who let me ease his pain last night. Then, just as quickly he’s gone again, the softness hidden behind the fighter.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Always.”

I cross to him, sliding my fingers over the hand he extends toward me. He intertwines them, a grip both comforting and needy, and I smile up at him before brushing a soft kiss to his lips, meant to soothe the beast beneath his skin.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Together,” he echoes, though hints of uncertainty still cloud the edges of his eyes. I see it, feel it, but there’s nothing I can say that will make it go away, so I let it be.

By the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, the smell of coffee greets us. It shouldn’t calm me, but it does—something ordinary threading through the weight of the unknown.

Zeb and Dominick are already there, laptops open on the table, screens throwing a pale glow across their faces. The old coffeemaker hums in the corner, its steady drip too loud in the silence.

Neither of them looks up right away. Zeb’s jaw works, tight with something he’s not ready to say, while Dominick finally glances our way—just long enough for me to catch the grim set of his mouth before he looks back at the screen.

I feel it when James notices. His hand slips from mine, the warmth gone in an instant, his body hardening beside me—a quiet severing that shouldn’t hurt but does. Upstairs, we said together , but this feels like him pulling away, bracing, rebuilding walls brick by brick as he prepares to face whatever this is alone.

He moves straight to the table, posture rigid, every line of him coiled for impact. On the main screen, Ben’s face flickers to life, framed by the harsh fluorescent lights of what I recognize as OTS Headquarters. Owen and Lucas appear beside him, grim and silent.

Ben doesn’t waste a second. “James, at approximately 0300 hours, there was an explosion,” he says. “A fire broke out at your house.”

For a heartbeat, it’s like someone has sucked all the air out of the room.

James, who I think has stopped breathing, goes utterly still. Then I see the shift in him—the tightening of his shoulders, the slow curl of his fists, the muscle that jumps in his jaw. He’s looking straight at the screen, but I’m not sure he’s even listening.

Like he hasn’t noticed, Ben keeps talking, voice even, professional. “The culprits scrambled our security feeds. They blocked our systems and took out the power grid before we realized what was happening. Response was delayed—five, maybe six minutes. By the time Owen got eyes on it, they were gone, and the structure was already burning.”

My pulse thrums in my ears.

“Victor?” Zeb asks quietly.

“Most likely.” Ben exhales. “It was targeted. No doubt. These were professionals. Tactical entry. In and out in under five minutes. “

James hasn’t moved. He stares at the screen like he’s trying to make sense of the words, but I can see the fight in him—that edge between fury and collapse.

Ben’s tone softens. “James… Tyler is safe. I spoke to him myself just minutes ago.”

Relief flares through me. I know Tyler wasn’t staying at the house, but hearing it confirmed eases a fraction of the tension swallowing me whole. For James, it doesn’t seem to register. If anything, the mention of Tyler’s safety makes him go harder still, like the thought of what could have happened burns hotter than what did.

“Where is he now?” James’s voice is low, tinged with something dangerous.

“He made it to Philly last night. I spoke to the head of his security detail. He’s secure.”

The answer doesn’t seem to land. He drags a hand down his face, breath coming unevenly. “They got inside?”

Ben hesitates. “Yes. Briefly. They blasted through one of the garage doors to gain entry. As I said, they were there and gone in under five minutes. As for the rest, the fire department contained it quickly. I’ve seen pictures. Damage looks extensive, but was limited to that section of the house. It’s repairable. We’ll get to work and have everything fixed up and brand new for you before you get back.”

Ben’s assurance hangs in the air like smoke—thin, choking, impossible to breathe into acceptance.

James’s gaze drops to his hands on the table. His knuckles whiten, knees bouncing under the table, the muscles in his arms twitching with the effort it’s taking him to reel everything in.

I want to reach for him, to remind him he’s not alone, but the air around him sizzles with volatility. Like one wrong move might make everything he’s holding back explode. So I stay close instead, within reach if he needs me, letting the smell of coffee and ozone from the electronics fill the quiet.

Nobody speaks. The only sound is the faint hiss of the coffeemaker finishing its last drip, a reminder that even here, life goes on—and that somehow makes it worse. His silence is a pressure I can feel in my chest, and I’m scared that when it finally breaks, this time my love won’t be enough to save him.

❤️

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# Chapter 43

Annelly

The silence stretches. Everyone's watching James, waiting for the inevitable. They all see what I see—he's hanging by a thread, and none of us wants to be the one to snap it.

Zeb clears his throat, thumb brushing over the scruff on his chin. "Do we know what they wanted? Anything missing from the house?"

"Not that we can tell," Owen says. "We assume they were gathering intel. These guys were good. It's likely they'd been watching for a while and knew no one was home."

"How many?" James asks, his voice flat, detached.

"There were five," Lucas answers quietly. "The breaching tactics suggest military training. They were quick, efficient. Knew exactly what they were doing."

The room falls into another tense pause.

Dominick exhales hard, jaw tight as he finally breaks the silence. "No one was hurt. Our location's still secure. That's what matters." He shakes his head, frustration edging his tone. "All this tension over a damn house. It's just property, Serrano—wood, drywall, a roof. You rebuild and move on."

The words snap something inside James.

His chair screeches back, the sound grating through the quiet as he rises in one violent motion. "Just property?" His voice isn't loud, but it cuts through the air like thunder. "I can never go back there now. Never. Don't you get that? Don't any of you know me at all?"

The room goes still. Even the air feels like it's holding its breath.

He starts pacing, sharp movements slicing through the space, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with the anger coursing through him.

"It was supposed to be safe," he mutters, voice rough and breaking. "The one place that couldn't be touched."

Zeb lifts a hand, steady but cautious. "We'll rebuild it, brother. It's—"

"Don't." The word explodes out of him. His jaw locks, chest heaving. "You talk about rebuilding like it's simple. Like I haven't spent the past decade trying to do just that."

Ben's voice softens through the speaker. "James, we'll make this right. We always do. You're not—"

"There is no making this right." His voice booms through the room, reverberating off the walls even as it cracks. "You don't understand what that place 
was
. What it 
meant
. What I 
needed
 it to be."

He drags a trembling hand through his hair, eyes burning. When they land on me, he flinches—like my tears are proof of everything he's failed to protect.

"Don't do that, snowflake." The endearment sounds more like a plea. "Don't you cry for me. It's not... I'm not—" His voice falters, the rest lost to the tremor in his throat.

I know exactly what that house meant to him. After a childhood of chaos, hunger, and fear, he built that place from the ground up—a sanctuary for him and his brother. A promise of the safety neither of them had ever known. A fortress meant to keep the ghosts of their pasts from ever finding them again. Safety. Stability. A home. And now it's gone. Violated. Desecrated.

For James, it's devastation in its purest form.

And all I can think is that it's my fault.

"This is on me," Owen says quickly, breaking the silence. "But I promise you, James, it won't happen again. I'll overhaul the systems, upgrade everything, make it airtight. You have my word."

James shakes his head, jaw tight. "You don't get it. None of you do." His voice cracks. "They were in my house. In my fucking house. The house I built for Tyler. The one place I swore would always be safe—for him." His hands tremble as he points toward me without looking. "For her. The home I promised her would never be tainted by that vile man, his threats. And now—" He swallows hard, breath hitching. "Fuck."

The word splinters the air.

He paces again, movements growing more erratic, each one steeped in anguish. He looks feral and broken, fear and fury colliding behind his eyes until all that's left is wreckage.

I want to reach for him, to ground him, but my feet won't move. Every part of me aches to bridge the distance, to be the anchor he's lost sight of, but I can't. What right do I have when my very presence is the reason he's lost so much?

Like he's run out of fight, he stops. Then he turns toward the coat rack by the door, grabs his jacket and shoes, his movements abrupt and trembling.

At the door, he hesitates. For a heartbeat, his gaze meets mine—something desperate flickering there, a silent apology—but he can't hold it.

"I'm sorry, Annelly," he mutters, voice hoarse. "I just... I need a minute."

Then he's gone.

The door slams shut, the sound reverberating through the walls long after the echo fades. The silence that follows is worse.

No one moves. No one speaks.

The room feels smaller without him, like he took all the air with him when he left. Ben's voice still crackles through the speaker, but it's just noise now—a low static whisper scraping at the edges of my mind. Zeb leans forward and ends the call without a word.

For a long moment, there's nothing but the hum of equipment and the faint hiss of the heater kicking on. Ordinary sounds that shouldn't feel this hollow. This empty. And yet they do.

Dominick exhales sharply, shaking his head as he starts packing up the gear. "Typical. Serrano needs to get his head on straight. No one was hurt—that's what matters. Running off doesn't fix a damn thing."

Zeb rubs a hand over the back of his neck, eyes cutting toward Dom before settling on me. "He's fine. Just needs a minute." His voice softens as he adds quietly, "I'll go find him. Talk to him. You gonna be all right here for a bit?"

"Of course," I say, forcing a smile despite the sting in my eyes and the burn in my throat.

"Everything's going to be fine. You'll see," Zeb says, but the reassurance falls flat.

I can't stop staring at the door, willing it to open. This is his pattern, after all. He runs until the guilt catches up, then he finds his way back to me.

But what if this time he doesn't?

The thought takes root fast, twisting deep in my chest. Because this isn't something he can just breathe through. They didn't just break into his house—they destroyed his sense of safety.

And I know him. If he can't find a way to reconcile this—if he can't find a way to make it right—it'll eat him alive.

And it's all because of me.

If I hadn't come into his life, if I hadn't dragged Victor's war—my war—to his doorstep, his home would still be untouched. His sanctuary would still be whole.

I press a hand to my chest, trying to breathe through the ache. Zeb says something else, but the words don't reach me. All I hear is my own pulse pounding in my ears and the faint creak of the floorboards as he moves toward the door.

While it's true that I can't undo what's already happened, maybe I can stop it from getting worse. Maybe it's time I take matters into my own hands—find my own way to keep them safe. My mom. James. Tyler. All of them.

A dangerous thought slips through before I can stop it. 

I could talk to him. To Victor.

That thought steadies me in a way it shouldn't. It's reckless, I know that, but it feels like clarity. Like the first real breath I've been able to take after drowning in guilt and helplessness for months now.

I glance at the door again, heart pounding harder now, the shape of a plan forming in the shadows.

I can negotiate. Offer myself in exchange for their safety.

All I have to do is find a way to reach him.

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Chapter 44

Annelly

Even though it’s been minutes since James stormed out, I swear the walls are still vibrating from the sound of the door slamming. The coffee’s gone cold on the table, Zeb’s chair sits pushed back at an odd angle—like the room itself hasn’t recovered from the impact of what happened.

Dominick’s still here, packing up the last of the equipment, his movements brisk but uneasy, the faint clatter of metal breaking the stillness.

For a moment, I think he might actually say something—words of encouragement, or maybe something to ease the hurt simmering inside me—but instead he stops by the door, his bag slung over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and uncertainty.

All he offers is a stiff, “You good?”

I nod before I even realize I’m doing it, the lie slipping out as naturally as breathing. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He studies me for a beat longer than feels comfortable, his jaw ticking like he wants to say more but doesn’t trust it’ll come out right. Then he exhales hard, turns away, and pulls the door shut behind him—sealing me inside.

For a long moment, I stand there, listening to the hum of the heater and the faint tick of the clock, pretending the stillness means something other than loss. Something other than the kind of guilt that never loosens its grip.

But then hope sparks. Right there, beneath the ache in my chest, a fragile, dangerous thought flickers to life.

This right here… this is my chance.

I move before I can talk myself out of it. The floorboards creak in protest as I cross to the stairs, taking my time so I don’t raise suspicion. With all the cameras and motion sensors around the house, I have to be careful. Every step feels like a test of will—how calmly I can move, how quietly I can breathe, how long I can keep pretending I’m not betraying the people who’ve given up so much to save me.

Upstairs, the air feels colder. James’s sweatshirt is draped across the foot of the bed, and the faint scent of his cologne catches in my chest. It takes everything I have not to break.

One breath at a time, Annelly. One step at a fricken time.

It’s the only way to get through this.

I move to the closet, pull out my small duffel, and start to pack. I don’t need much—just a few things, enough to get me through the next several hours. My every movement is careful, deliberate. I take nothing that might draw suspicion if someone notices it’s missing.

A change of clothes.

Cash from my bag.

The photo of my parents and me—the one from my sixteenth birthday, taken after opening night of my high school production of Grease. I was still in my Sandy costume, smiling wide without a care in the world, like I genuinely believed life was simple and safe.

I tuck the picture away carefully between my clothes, protecting it like it’s something fragile—something I hope Victor might actually let me keep when this is all over.

My movements stay slow and methodical. Quiet and controlled. I tell myself that’s a good sign. That it means I’m thinking clearly. That I’m holding it together, even as my mind spirals with fear and guilt.

A plan takes shape as my hands keep working. I’ll take the spare car—the one Owen left in case our group ever needed to split up. The keys should still be in the visor, where James stashed them in case we had to make a run for it. Once I’m on the road, I’ll look for a payphone. Maybe a gas station. A convenience store. One of the small towns along the way has to have one. Once I reach Victor, he’ll handle everything else. For now, I just need to make it that far on my own.

It’s going to be okay.

I keep repeating the thought in my head because it has to be. At the very least, everyone I love will be safe, and that’s the only thing that matters.

My hands shake as I zip the bag closed, but I keep moving. I fold James’s sweatshirt and pause, the familiar scent—cedar and soap—wrapping around me like a memory I can’t shake. For a moment, I press the fabric to my nose and breathe in, my eyes burning with a sadness so consuming it nearly buckles my knees.

“If I can’t give him back his peace,” I whisper, “then I can at least take the danger with me.”

The words steady me more than they should. But I welcome the calm that follows—the sudden, fragile certainty that, for the first time in a long while, I’m doing the right thing.

A sharp knock startles me. My heart stutters so hard in my chest that for a second, I can’t breathe.

I shove the half-packed bag under the bed and swipe at my face, forcing myself to look normal—to be normal. Another knock follows, louder this time, and my heart kicks harder against my ribs.

When I open the door, Zeb is standing there. His shoulders look heavier than usual, eyes shadowed, his expression caught between exhaustion and something that looks dangerously close to pity.

“Found him down by the ridge,” he says, voice rough and cautious. “He’s, uh… processing.”

The pause between his words says everything. Whatever happened down there clearly didn’t go well.

I grip the edge of the door, keeping my voice as calm as I can. “Is he okay?”

Zeb exhales through his nose, his gaze flicking past me to the bed before settling back on my face. “He will be. He just needs a little time.”

There’s a long beat of silence, heavy with everything he’s not saying. Then, gently, he asks, “Want me to hang around for a bit? Until he gets back?”

The lie slips out smooth as silk. “No, it’s okay. Really. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Zeb studies me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s trying to decipher the thoughts turning over in my head. For a terrifying second, I think he might see it—the guilt, the plan, the duffel bag hidden under the bed.

But then he just nods. “All right. But if you need anything—”

“I know.” I force out a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Thank you, Zeb. For everything.”

He lingers for another breath, then turns toward the hall. The door clicks shut behind him—quiet but final—the sound sinking deep into the stillness.

I wait until his footsteps fade down the stairs before I move again. My pulse is still thundering in my ears.

Hours later, I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, pretending I’m asleep. Pretending I’m not listening for his footsteps—that I’m okay, even though he’s been gone since morning without checking in once. I know he’s upset. I know he needs time. But knowing he’s somewhere out there on the property, avoiding me… feels like torture.

The house is dark and deathly still. Only the hum of the heater keeps the silence from swallowing me whole. Every soft groan of the cabin makes my heart jump, each one a false promise that maybe—finally—he’s come home.

But the door never opens.

My hand drifts across the mattress, searching for the warmth I’ve grown accustomed to. The warmth that isn’t there. My fingers meet only cold.

He’s still upset. And I get that. I don’t blame him. I did this to him, and if I were in his shoes, I’m not sure I’d forgive me either.

The thoughts loop relentlessly, each one digging a little deeper until I can’t tell which hurts worse—the guilt in my chest or the emptiness his absence has left behind.

It isn’t until somewhere past midnight that the ache begins to shift. The guilt doesn’t fade—it just changes shape, hardening into something tangible. Something I can hold on to.

Resolve.

I sit up slowly, my body heavy, my mind—for once—strangely clear. The fear that’s been choking me for months is gone, replaced by a steady calm that feels foreign. Too good to be true, which somewhere deep down I know is dangerous. But after everything… after today, I don’t care.

I know what I have to do.

It’s close to three a.m. when I finally move. The world outside is silent, blanketed in pale moonlight that leaks through the curtains. It’s the kind of quiet that feels permanent and impossible to break through.

I dress quickly, pulling on my jeans and the thick sweater I left on the chair. My hands shake as I slip into my jacket, then my boots, the faint scrape of the zipper too loud in the stillness. Every sound feels magnified—the soft creak of the floorboards, the whisper of fabric against skin, the steady thud of my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

I move carefully down the hall, keeping to the edges where the sensors are least sensitive. Each step feels like a test. When the heater clicks on, I freeze, heart hammering, waiting for it to settle before I move again.

At the door, I pause. My hand hovers over the knob, breath catching in my throat.

I’m doing this for them.

My mom. Tyler. James.

If this is what it takes to keep them safe, then so be it.

The cold hits the second I step outside, biting into my skin, sharp and real. Frost glitters across the ground, silver beneath the moonlight. I hurry toward the spare car tucked behind the tree line. Every shadow feels like a threat. Every gust of wind, a warning that I don’t have much time.

I need to hurry. I may only have seconds before they realize what’s happening—before they come out to try and stop me.

The keys are right where James told me they’d be, tucked into the visor. The metal feels icy against my palm as I slide into the driver’s seat.

For a moment, I just sit there, breathing hard, staring at my reflection in the dark windshield. Then I turn the key. The engine hums to life, soft but loud enough to make my chest tighten.

As the car rolls forward, the headlights carve a narrow path through the trees, the dirt road stretching endlessly ahead into the dark.

Relief and terror churn together inside me, but I don’t let myself think. Not for a second.

All that matters is that I’m almost free.

And that, in my gut, I know I’m doing the right thing.

Even though it hurts. Even though I’ve never felt more terrified—or more alone.

“Keep going, Annelly,” I command, my voice breaking. “You know it’s the only way to protect them.”

Determination floods through me as I press harder on the gas. The trees blur past me faster and faster, swallowed by the night and the fear I’m leaving behind, until the gravel gives way to pavement.

A painful sob tears through my chest as I turn onto the main road—the one that will lead me away from the man I love.

“I’m sorry, James,” I whisper into the dark, though there’s no one left to hear it. “It’s my turn. This is me fighting to save you.”

And just like that, I disappear into the night.

❤️

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# Chapter 45

James

"Get the fuck up, asshole."

Something hard slams into my shoulder before I can even open my eyes. I swing on instinct, fist half-cocked, but another hand catches my arm and twists it behind my back until pain rips through my shoulder. A second later, my chest hits the ground.

"Jesus Christ, stop!" Zeb's voice cuts through the haze.

Dominick's the one holding me down, his grip firm and punishing, the smell of dirt and stale booze thick in the air making my stomach churn. My skull feels like it's splitting open, and the sour taste of moonshine still coats my tongue. It takes a few seconds to piece it together—where I am, how I got here. The shed. That unlabeled bottle of liquor I found. The hours I spent on that ridge drinking myself into oblivion just to make the screaming in my head stop.

"What the hell's your problem?" The words come out rough, slurred. I blink, the darkness spinning around me. "Get the fuck off me."

"She's gone, asshole." Dominick's voice hits like a gunshot. "If you'd answered your goddamn phone, we could've stopped her. Instead, we're out here chasing your dumb ass."

His words sink through the fog in my head.

Gone? No. That can't be right. I left her at the cabin—safe, protected, surrounded by my brothers.

It takes a full heartbeat for the meaning to hit, and when it does, it's nuclear. All I see is red.

"No—" The word tears out of me, raw and violent. "No, no, no—" I shove off the ground, breaking out of Dominick's hold and lunging to my feet, but I'm too slow, too drunk. Zeb's on me in a second, slamming me back against the rock face.

"Stop." His voice cracks—not angry, not yet—but it's strained, desperate in that way I've only ever heard when a mission's gone bad. "James, you need to calm the fuck down."

But I can't. I can't breathe. My pulse is a war drum in my throat, every vein burning with panic. I need to find her. Bring her back. Beg her to forgive me. Hold her until she knows she's safe again.

"Get off me!" I shove hard enough to break free, stumbling forward before my legs buckle. They both move in again, cautious—like I'm an animal they're not sure won't bite. "Where is she?" My voice comes out shredded. "Where the fuck is she?"

Zeb drags a hand over his face, pacing hard. "She drove off. We thought it was you—we heard the engine, saw the car go. We called you. Over and over. But you didn't answer. By the time I got to the cabin and realized she was gone and you were missing, we had no choice but to double back and find you. Because we didn't know what the fuck happened—if maybe you were hurt, or taken, or dead." 

He stops, turns on me, his voice breaking into a roar. "Instead, you're out here fucking wasted. Passed out drunk while she spent the entire day alone—scared, probably blaming herself, wondering if you were ever coming back. This—" He jabs a finger into my chest. "This is on you."

The words hit harder than any punch. My knees give out and this time I don't fight it. The cold ground rushes up to meet me. My palms dig into the dirt as regret floods my throat like bile. Sobriety claws its way back in, violent and cruel.

Memories slam into me like shrapnel—the fire, the strangers tearing through my house, the hollow where my home used to be. My brother walking away. Every loss I swore I'd never feel again.

And now her. Gone too. Because of me. Because, like a coward, I walked away when she needed me.

"We have to find her," I rasp. My throat burns. The words scrape their way out, acid and shame coating every syllable.

"No shit." Dominick's voice is razor-sharp. "I swear to God, I want to break your face. You're fucking lucky we don't have time. Now pull your shit together and let's go. I'm driving."

He storms up the path, boots crushing the leaves underfoot like every step is a punishment meant for me.

By the time we reach the SUV, Zeb's already on the phone. "Owen, we need a GPS trace on your truck. Annelly's gone. Drove off maybe half an hour ago." He listens, jaw tight. "Yeah, we fucked up. Left her alone, thinking lover boy here would pull his head out of his ass long enough to take care of her—"

It stings, but he's right. Every word of it.

Zeb puts the phone on speaker. "You're on, brother."

"I'm here," Owen says, voice gravelly, still waking up. "What the hell happened?"

"Can you cut the engine?" I snap before Zeb can speak. "She's already thirty minutes ahead. Kill it before she—"

"Slow down," Owen cuts in, voice sharp. "I can kill it, sure. But should I? Because if I do, she's stranded—alone, exposed—and you're too far away to reach her."

Zeb looks back at me, waiting. My pulse pounds so hard I can taste blood.

"No," I choke out. "You're right. As long as she's in the car, we can track her. Kill the engine and we might lose her completely."

Silence fills the car, heavy and taut. The hum of the tires against the pavement sounds like thunder.

"So what's the plan?" Owen asks quietly.

"We drive," I say. "As fast as it takes to close the distance. We follow her until she stops—and pray to God we're close enough to reach her before something happens."

No one argues. They don't have to. Within seconds, Dominick's flooring it, the SUV flying down the mountain road, headlights cutting through the dark. The GPS signal pings faintly over Owen's end of the call, like a heartbeat between us and her.

These men—they should hate me for what I've done. Hell, maybe they do. But they're still here. Still running headfirst into the fire, giving me one more chance to fix what I broke. Because that's what family does, even when you don't fucking deserve it.

For close to ninety minutes, we drive. Owen stays on the line, his calm voice relaying her position the only thing holding me together. Every second feels like an hour. Every curve in the road feels like it's taunting me—reminding me how far she still is.

Finally, Owen's tone changes. "She's slowing down. Looks like a gas station. You're about thirteen minutes out, so step on it."

My stomach twists. Gas station means exposure. She's on her own—vulnerable—and we're still too far away. 

"Owen, can you get eyes on her? Just in case," Zeb asks.

"Already on it." The sound of typing fills the line, then, "Got her. Grainy feed, but I can see her. She's at the register—must be getting gas."

Several agonizing seconds crawl by. "She's outside now. Pumping gas."

"Kill the engine," I demand, my voice cracking. "Do it now."

"You got it," Owen says. A click, then, "Done. Car won't start."

"How far?" I can barely form the words.

"Five minutes out," he replies. "I've hacked into the pumps, throttled the pump speed. As long as she doesn't lose patience, you'll reach her before she realizes the car's dead."

Dom snorts. "Owen's hacking fuel pumps, Zeb's babysitting like you're some spoiled toddler, and I'm breaking every speed law in the state—all because you're a fuckup. Hope you're enjoying the VIP treatment, Miss Daisy."

I don't bite back. Can't. He's got every right to be angry.

The next several minutes are the longest of my life. Every heartbeat feels like it might split me open. Every breath, a countdown I can't escape.

When the gas station finally comes into view, I don't wait for the SUV to stop. The door's open before we've even rolled to a halt. My boots hit asphalt and I'm running, lungs burning, vision tunneling to one thing—finding her.

And then there she is.

Standing beside the car, eyes distant and hollow, the cold wind whipping her hair across her face.

"Annelly!" Her name tears out of me like a prayer I've been holding in for years.

She turns, and the look in her eyes nearly takes me to my knees. It damn near matches mine—relief, fear, love, despair—all tangled together into one unbearable truth.

"Baby, you can't leave me." My voice breaks as I reach her, pulling her against me. "Please don't leave me."

Her hands clutch at my jacket like she's drowning too, and when her sob hits my chest, something inside me breaks wide open. I pull back just enough to kiss her—desperate, trembling—tasting salt and moonlight and everything I almost let slip away.

Her lips meet mine with equal need, the same raw ache, and for a few impossible seconds, the world stops spinning.

Home. Safety. Security.

Everything I thought I'd lost, I find right here. In her.

When I finally pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, both of us shaking, tears streaming down our faces.

"We have to get you off the grid, snowflake," I murmur, voice rough. "Back to the cabin where it's safe. But first, I need to know you're okay." My thumb traces her jaw. "I need to know we're okay."

"I'm sorry," she whimpers. "I had to do this—to make up for everything you've lost. To save you from losing more. You need to let me do this, James. Please." Her voice cracks on a violent sob, her forehead drops to my chest as the sound breaks through her again and again.

God, Zeb was right. She blames herself for everything that bastard did. And I abandoned her for hours to face it alone.

"No. Because you didn't do this," I tell her, my tone adamant. "None of this is on you, Annelly. I swear it. Just... come home with me. We'll get you safe, and then we'll figure the rest out. Just tell me you still trust me. That you still want this. That you still want me."

"Yes." Her arms tighten around me, desperate and sure. "I just... I want to fix this. I need to fix what I've done."

"Shh..." I press a kiss to the top of her head, my chest aching with relief and guilt. In the state she's in, she's not hearing me—not understanding that I don't blame her. "We'll talk about it when we're home, okay? But right now, we need to go."

Before she can answer, I lift her into my arms and carry her toward the SUV where Dominick waits, engine idling. The second I climb in, she curls against me, trembling. I hold her tighter, breathing her in like oxygen.

Dominick glances at me in the rearview mirror. "We good?"

I look ahead, see Zeb in the other SUV waiting for us to move so he can follow us back to the cabin. Then I nod.

"Yep," is all I manage, past the lump stuck in my throat.

As we pull away, the lights from the gas station fade behind us, swallowed by the darkness. The hum of the tires and the faint sound of her breathing fill the silence between us.

For years, I thought safety came from walls and locks and plans that couldn't fail. From control. From never needing anyone but my brother.

But now, with her pressed against me, trembling and real, I can't help but wonder if I've had it wrong all along. If maybe the safety I've been chasing my whole life wasn't something I could build... but something I could only find here—with her.

In a love that feels terrifyingly close to home.

❤️

 
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Chapter 46

James

The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is the light. Golden. Intense. Much too bright for how somber I feel inside.

It slips through the curtains in narrow streaks, warming the sheets tangled around us, glinting off the curve of her shoulder where the blanket’s slipped away. She’s still asleep, her head tucked beneath my chin, her hand resting over my heart like she’s feeling for the beat—like if she can feel it, it’s safe for her to rest.

God, I wish we could stay like this. Pretend the last thirty hours never happened.

But I can’t.

The memories hit fast and hard—the explosion at my house, the hollow panic when I heard she’d driven off, the desperate race to find her before it was too late. The drive home after, when she didn’t say a word, just stared out the window with red-rimmed eyes, her hands trembling in her lap.

When we finally made it back to the cabin, just after sunrise, I couldn’t bring myself to let her go. I carried her straight inside, took her with me into the shower, because I couldn’t stand the thought of being apart from her—not even for a second.

She didn’t fight me. Didn’t speak. Just let me wash the dirt and tears from our bodies while the water ran over both of us, like it could rinse away everything we’d done wrong.

By the time we crawled into bed, she was half-asleep, her body pressed to mine like she was trying to disappear inside my chest.

Now, hours later, she’s still here—still breathing, still warm—and somehow, that feels like a goddamn miracle.

My body aches from exhaustion, but my heart aches worse. I can’t stop replaying it—the sound of my own voice breaking when I realized she was gone, the feeling of utter helplessness when she stopped at that gas station, exposed and alone, as we raced to reach her in time.

And the worst part?

I know exactly where she was going. I just can’t let myself think about it too long without feeling like I might implode. That she would run to him. That she would put herself in harm’s way like that. That I let it happen.

I just…

I can’t.

A shaky breath leaves me as I glance down at her. She looks fragile in the sunlight, pale and worn out. There’s weariness in the line of her brow even in sleep, and the dark circles beneath her eyes twist something painfully tight in my chest.

She left me. Ran from me.

Something I wholeheartedly deserved.

But even knowing that, I couldn’t let her go. I won’t. Because I can’t.

Her hand shifts against my chest, a soft twitch in her sleep, and that’s when the thought hits me.

When was the last time she ate?

The realization makes my stomach sink.

Dinner. Not last night, but the night before. That was the last time I cooked for her. The last time I watched her eat. The last time I made sure she was taken care of.

Fuck.

I spent the last day drowning in anger, sadness, guilt, and whiskey while she was probably starving. Terrified. Alone.

The urge to fix it—to do something —claws at me like it always does when I feel like this.

Move, James. Feed her. Protect her. Make sure she’s safe.

It’s the only way I know how to make it so I can breathe again.

I brush my thumb along the back of her hand, tracing small, absent circles until she stirs.

“Snowflake,” I murmur, voice rough from too little sleep and too much regret. “My love. Wake up.”

She stirs slowly, a soft sound leaving her throat as she shifts closer. For a second, I think she’s still dreaming. Then her lashes flutter open, and her eyes—those soft, green eyes—find mine.

There’s a flicker of confusion at first. Then fear. And finally, a sadness so heavy it feels like it sinks straight through me.

“Hey.” I brush my thumb along her cheek, her skin warm and flushed from sleep. “It’s okay, Snowflake. We’re at the cabin. You’re safe.”

She blinks, like she’s still trying to remember where she is. Her voice is low, barely audible. “What time is it?”

“Little after one,” I tell her. “We slept most of the day. I would’ve let you sleep longer, but you need to eat something.”

She nods, but doesn’t move. When she finally tries to sit up, she winces—her body stiff, her movements cautious, like she’s afraid to touch me. To lean on me. Her eyes dart everywhere, clearly avoiding mine, like she’s scared of what she’ll find if she looks too close.

It kills me, that look. Like she expects my anger. Like she’s waiting for me to pull away, and can’t bear to take the chance and watch it happen.

Desperate for the connection, I grab one of my sweatshirts from the foot of the bed and pull it over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves. The fabric swallows her, and for some reason, that feels right. Like maybe I need for her to be surrounded by something that’s mine, something that might bring her comfort.

“There,” I murmur. “You warm enough?”

She nods, still not looking at me.

Her hands fidget in her lap as she whispers, “Are you mad at me?”

It’s not the question that guts me. It’s the fear behind it. The quiet, hesitant kind that tells me I’m the reason she’s afraid to ask.

“No.” My voice comes out rough, breaking around the edges. “I’m mad at myself.”

Her head tilts slightly, eyes glistening, but she doesn’t look at me.

“I don’t blame you for leaving,” I add, my voice cracking. I clear my throat, trying to sound steady—for her. “You had every right. I gave you every reason to.”

The silence that follows is painful, the tension thick enough to cut through.

Her eyes stay downcast as she twists the hem of my shirt between her fingers. I can see her trying to find the right words, maybe even the courage to keep going. To face the painful truths that led to last night.

I feel it too. That inevitable, crushing weight pressing down on us. The conversation we’ve both been avoiding isn’t somewhere down the road anymore. It’s here, sitting between us, demanding to be had.

And as much as I want to believe time could heal this, as much as I want to pretend I can force this fragile peace to last—

The painful truth is… I can’t.

The only way forward is through.

By baring our hearts. Our souls. Our pain.

By putting it all on the line and hoping somehow we’ll find our footing again.

It’s time. 

❤️

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# Chapter 47

James

I shift upright against the headboard, careful not to jar her. She looks so small sitting there beside me, drowning in my sweatshirt, knees drawn up, fingers tangled in the fabric like she needs something solid to hold on to.

"I need to say something," I start, my voice low but firm. "And I need you to let me get it out before you say anything back, okay?"

Her eyes flick up to mine, hesitant but open. She nods once.

I take a breath that feels like nails scraping down the back of my throat. "Yesterday... when I found out about the house, it messed with my head. The second Ben said it, the second he said those words, it's like the ground dropped out from under me. I was in freefall."

Again.
 

It had been so long since I'd felt that—damn near a decade—that I'd forgotten what it was like. Like plunging into ice water without warning. The shock, the sting, the way your lungs seize before you can even scream. It didn't just steal my breath—it froze me from the inside out. And for a second, all I could think was, 
How the fuck do I survive this too?

"It wasn't just about the explosion or knowing those men were in my house. It was about what that invasion—what that violation of my home—stood for."

My hand drifts through my hair, restless, aching. "That house was the one place where my control was absolute. I built it to make sure what happened to me and Tyler when we were kids could never happen again. It was where I finally believed I could let my guard down. The one place where, if I knew he was there, I didn't have to worry if he was okay. And hearing that safety net—that illusion of safe—was gone? It triggered every goddamn thing I've spent years trying to bury."

She's quiet. Listening. Her gaze doesn't waver, even when mine falters.

"I shouldn't have left you." My voice cracks, raw. "I know that now. But in that moment, I went back to the only coping mechanism I've ever known—shutting down, shutting out—because that's what used to work before you."

I swallow hard. "Before you... I thought love meant fighting alone. Protecting people I care about from a distance so they couldn't get close enough to see how fucked up I really was. So they wouldn't be tainted by the damage that consumes me. But you—you changed that. You changed me. Made me think differently. Maybe that's why it took me so long to let you in—because you scared the hell out of me."

My throat tightens. "You made me question everything I thought I knew about love. About how it isn't something you fight for alone—it's something you fight for together. And fuck..." My voice splinters. "I wanted that. I wanted you. But hope—it's a dangerous thing. A terrifying thing. Because people leave. They move on. And they leave you behind to face the wreckage alone. So yeah, I was afraid."

The confession burns on its way out. "And the worst part is, that's exactly what I did to you yesterday. I left you. Abandoned you. Failed you. And I'm sorry for that. More than I can ever say—more than you'll ever know."

For a long moment, there's only silence. Just the sound of our breathing through the heartache. Then the question I've been avoiding claws its way out.

"But I don't understand... why?" My voice drops to a whisper. "Why would you leave like that? Why would you run back to him?" The words sting my tongue, sour and bitter. "Of all people, how could you choose that life over staying here with me?"

She flinches like I've struck her. "James..."

"Tell me," I press, softer now. "Please. I need to understand. I know I messed up. I know I did wrong. But how could going back to him ever feel safer than staying here?"

She hesitates, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I didn't run from you," she says finally, voice trembling. "I ran 
for you
."

That makes me freeze. "What?"

"I couldn't—" She breaks off, dragging a shaky breath. "I couldn't stand being the reason everyone's in danger. My mom. You. Tyler. Every time something happens, it's because of me. Because of my choices. Because I left 
him
."

Tears spill down her cheeks as she stares at her hands. "I thought if I left—if I went back—maybe then you'd all finally be safe."

"Annelly..." My chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself.

She shakes her head, refusing to look at me. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. God, that's the last thing I ever wanted. I just—" Her voice breaks into a sob. "I wanted to make it right. I wanted to save you for once."

Her shoulders shake. Every word cuts deeper. And as much as I want to reach for her, to tell her she's wrong, I don't. I stay still. Let her speak. Just as she let me.

Her next words are barely a whisper. "You and Tyler... you were both so gracious when you opened your home to me. All this time you've been trying to save me, James. From him. From myself. But I couldn't live with the thought of you losing yet another thing because of me."

The heartbreak in her voice mirrors my own.

From day one, all I've ever wanted was to protect her—from myself, from Victor, from the pain she's carried almost since the day we met.

And here she is trying to do the same for me. 

To know we're the same in this way—two broken people trading pieces of themselves to save the other—is madness. Beautiful, tragic madness.

No wonder we keep hurting each other.

My throat tightens. "I don't need to be saved."

She nods once, a tear tracking down her cheek. "You deserve a life that isn't haunted by my mistakes."

Her words splinter something in me. I close my eyes and let out a breath.

I've spent my whole life mistaking control for protection. 

Walls for love. 

Distance for safety. 

And though for her that part is different, it turns out we've both been living the same lies.

That our mistakes make us unworthy of happiness. Of love. Of true peace. 

And that the only way to atone for our sins is through pain. Through sacrifice. Through bleeding for someone else.

It's why we bend. Why we break. Why we're so willing to set ourselves on fire for the sake of those we love.

It's a cycle we have to break—right fucking now—before it destroys what's left of 
us
. 

But I'm still too goddamn thrown by what she just said to handle this the way I should.

Something inside me snaps.

❤️

 
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"Follow"
 on 
REAM
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Chapter 48

James

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

The words come out sharper than I mean them to, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not when anger’s the only thing holding me together.

“You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t deserve, especially if it means you sacrificing yourself. If it means I’m forced to live without you.”

She flinches, her lips parting in surprise, but I’m already too far gone to stop.

“I get that you think that’s the answer—your way of protecting me, protecting all of us. But you don’t get to decide that’s the only way.”

I push to my feet, the motion abrupt and restless. My hand drags through my hair, rough enough to sting my scalp. I can’t seem to stay still. My pulse roars in my ears, each beat hammering against my ribs until it hurts to breathe.

“Because it’s not,” I grind out. “You didn’t even give us a chance. You didn’t come to us to talk it through, not even to me. Which is a little disappointing, considering you said you loved me.” My voice splinters, the crack dragging raw across my throat. “You sacrificing yourself to save me… that’s not love, Annelly. Don’t you see? That’s punishment. For you. For me.”

I pace again, words spilling faster now, messy and unfiltered. “You hurting yourself would only hurt me, which is the goddamn irony of it, isn’t it? Because that’s what you’ve been trying to teach me all along—that when I hurt myself, when I shut down, when I deny myself, it hurts you too.”

My chest heaves. My hands shake. I press a palm against my ribs to ground myself, but it doesn’t help. The air feels too thin, like I can’t get enough of it.

“That entire drive last night…” I choke, pressing both hands to my face before dropping hard onto the edge of the bed. My legs can’t hold me anymore. “I was terrified—of losing you, of what losing you would turn me into. Because I can live with a lot of shitty things—the anger, the guilt, the fear. But what I can’t live with, what I will never survive, is losing you. Especially if it’s to that abusive asshole.”

My voice splinters on the last word.

She looks at me, eyes shining, wet and wide, so full of pain it damn near undoes me.

“I’ve spent my whole damn life building walls,” I rasp, my voice barely more than gravel. “Brick by brick. Layer by layer. Because that’s how you survive in this world. You keep everyone out. You stay in control. That’s how you keep from getting hurt.” I swallow hard, my throat burning. “And for years, that worked. Until you.”

I press a trembling hand to my chest, like I can hold myself together. “You tore those walls down without even trying. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You get inside people’s defenses without realizing it. You did it to me. You took this broken shell of a man and made me want things—to love, to live, to open up. For the first time in my life, I wanted all of it with you.”

A humorless laugh slips out, thin and shaking.

Christ, I sound pathetic.

But I’m too angry and too damn sad to care.

I drag a hand down my face, exhausted, undone. “Since then, you’ve been the thing holding me together. And last night, when I heard you left—” My breath catches, the next words barely making it out. “When they told me you were gone, it felt like there was nothing left to keep me standing.”

She takes a shaky breath, lips parting to speak, but I shake my head. “Don’t. Just let me finish.”

I force a steady breath past the ache in my chest. “I know it’s not healthy, me sitting here confessing that I can’t live without you. I know it’s not fair to put that kind of pressure on you.” My throat tightens. “I’m well aware I’ve got more baggage than any one person should have to put up with, and God, I hate that I’m even asking you to try. Especially after all this, after you’ve seen the mess of a man I really am. A man who might be too broken to be loved. Who might be too broken to love you in a way that’s healthy.”

Her expression twists—pain, guilt, disbelief—but I keep going, quieter now, the fight bleeding out of me and leaving only truth.

“And you wouldn’t be wrong for wanting to run from that.” My voice cracks on the next word. “Hell, I’d run too if I could.”

I rub the heel of my hand over my sternum, trying to ground myself. “But this is who I am, Annelly. My attachment issues run deep. I’m scarred and fucked up in ways therapy and time can’t fix. And I wish to God I could promise you I’ll be better someday, but I can’t.”

I swallow, the words splintering on the way out. “Because I won’t. Because this is me.”

The admission leaves me hollow. I exhale hard, the sound rough and defeated.

“But what I can promise you is that I’ll fight. Every damn day, with everything I’ve got. For you. For us. For this. For a future where this mess—all this pain and guilt and uncertainty—is finally behind us.”

She’s crying again, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, and I hate it. Hate knowing I’m the reason her heart hurts.

“If you still want this,” I rasp, “even after everything I’ve done, everything I’ve said—if you still want me —then you need to understand something.”

I move closer, the space between us dissolving. Dropping to my knees, I take her hands in mine, gripping them tight like they’re the only thing keeping me upright.

“If we do this, then you have to agree to fight with me. Beside me. Help me protect what we have, our love, our future, our hopes and dreams.” My voice shakes. “To save me. To save you.”

I lift her hands, pressing them flat against my chest, right over the erratic rhythm of my heart. “Saving us has to come first.”

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing—ragged, uneven, heavy with everything I just confessed.

Then she moves.

No hesitation. No words.

Her hands frame my face, trembling as her fingers slip into my hair. Her thumb drags across my bottom lip, and the sound that leaves me is rough, involuntary. Then she kisses me, soft at first, a whisper of contact that feels like forgiveness and apology all at once, before she deepens it.

And just like that, I’m gone.

The taste of her. The feel of her. The quiet, broken sounds that escape when I pull her closer, bringing her onto my lap, her legs bracketing me where I kneel on the floor. Every part of me answers to her—body, heart, soul, my every breath.

She presses into me, warm and alive and shaking, and I can’t stop. My hands find her hips, her waist, her back—gripping, anchoring, needing. I kiss her harder, deeper, chasing something I can’t name. Maybe forgiveness. Maybe proof that she’s still here. Maybe the kind of release that burns away everything I’m too afraid to say out loud.

For a moment, there’s no past, no pain—just her. Just us. Just the frantic, desperate rhythm of two people trying to piece themselves back together the only way they know how.

And then, like she senses how close I am to the edge, she breaks the kiss.

Her palms press flat against my chest, holding me there. Her forehead rests against mine, both of us trembling, breaths tangling in the narrow space between us.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers first, the words barely audible. “For leaving. For hurting you. For making you think you weren’t enough.”

Her voice fractures, but she keeps going, her thumbs brushing along my jaw like she can ease the ache out of me. “You were right about everything you said, James. About love. About fighting together. About me trying to take that choice away from you.”

She swallows, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “But you’re wrong about yourself. You’re not broken, James. You never were. You’ve been hurt, and you may have been scarred, but that doesn’t make you unworthy of love. And the way you love me…” Her breath trembles. “It’s beautiful. Like nothing I’ve ever felt. All those parts of you you’re still struggling to accept—the ones you can’t see as good—those are the parts that only make me love you more.”

My chest tightens. I start to protest, to tell her she’s wrong, but she shakes her head gently, refusing to let me undo what she just gave me.

“I’m in this, James,” she says, her voice steadying. “With you. Completely. I want to build a life with you.”

Something inside me cracks open. I lean in and capture her mouth in a kiss that’s equal parts desperation and gratitude—everything I’ve wanted to say but couldn’t. But I pull back before I lose myself completely, because this conversation isn’t over. Not yet. Not until I say it the way it needs to be said. Not until she understands there’s only one way this works.

“Annelly,” I murmur, my voice rough. “If we’re really doing this, then we have to agree. We start here—with both of us choosing to focus not on what we’ve lost or the mistakes we’ve made, but on what we still have right here. Us. Your mom. My brother. Our friends. The life that’s waiting just within reach.”

Her breath hitches. Her fingers curl into my shirt. “I want that,” she whispers. “More than anything. But I don’t know how to stop feeling like everything’s my fault.”

I lean into her touch, my eyes burning. “Then you’re in good company,” I murmur, a sad smile tugging at my mouth. “Because I feel the same way. About everything. About the things that went wrong in my life, in Tyler’s… hell, now even in yours.”

A broken laugh escapes her, wet with relief. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

“We are. Definitely. But maybe,” I whisper, brushing my thumb across her tear-streaked cheek, “the answer isn’t in trying to control the guilt. Maybe it’s learning how to let it go—to stop punishing ourselves for what we can’t change and start making room for what we still can.”

Her breath catches, a sob tearing loose. “You’re right,” she chokes out. “You’re so right.”

We sink back onto the bed together, tangled in the same sheets that still smell faintly of hope, of love—of us. She cries quietly against my chest, and I hold her close, pressing my face into her hair, breathing her in like oxygen.

When silence finally settles, it doesn’t feel heavy anymore. It feels like release. Like the kind of healing that only comes after you’ve bled all the poison out.

I press a kiss to her forehead, my voice a whisper against her skin. “Promise me, Snowflake. No more running. And I’ll promise you the same. Next time either of us feels like running, we run straight to each other.”

She lifts her head, lashes damp, eyes searching mine. Then, barely a breath: “Okay. I promise. No more running.”

The sound of those words hits like air after drowning, filling my lungs with the first real breath I’ve taken in thirty-one hours.

For the first time since I woke up, the world outside doesn’t matter.

But I know it’s only a matter of time.

Soon, our problems will come crashing back in—Ben’s fury, Zeb’s disappointment, Dominick’s judgment. The debrief. The fallout. The mess we left in our wake. All of it waits on the other side of that door, waiting to be faced, waiting to be made right.

But not yet.

Because right now, all that exists for me is her, and this messy, imperfect, terrifying kind of love that makes me feel invincible.

Strong enough to face my demons.

Strong enough to fight hers.

Strong enough to take on the world.

Because, as I’m finally learning, love isn’t a weakness. It’s the strength that helps us survive the pain.

❤️

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# Chapter 49

Annelly

The front door clicks shut, and the house swallows the sound. For a second I just stand there, palms damp, feeling the silence move in like fog—heavy, wet, impossible to breathe through.

Zeb's tired sigh lingers in the hall, followed by the fading echo of Dominick's boots as he stomped out of the cabin. On the table, the laptop screen has gone black, but Ben's voice still rings in my head—clipped and about as patient as the edge of a knife.

"Walk me through it again. How—why the hell did this happen?" 

We did. Twice. Together we recounted every painful detail of last night. From James unraveling after hearing about the home invasion, to the moment I decided running was the only way to keep everyone safe.

It was awful.

I press my thumb against the seam of the counter and focus on that small, ordinary pain. It's something I can control. Something to distract me from the bigger ache beating inside my chest. 

"They're mad at me," I say quietly. My voice sounds small, hollow, like it's coming from some faraway place.

James stands beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. He's still—calm in a way that feels strange for him. "Snowflake," he says softly, "you can relax now. Trust me. It's not you they're mad at."

"They could barely look at me."

"That's because they were too busy glaring at me." His mouth curves in that mischievous way that would normally make my stomach flip, but right now it just falls flat.

Because I can't forget the sight of Zeb standing in the kitchen doorway when we came downstairs, arms folded, the tired disappointment in his eyes more cutting than any lecture. Or the way Dominick didn't say a word for the first twenty minutes—just breathed hard through his nose and watched James like it was taking everything not to take another swing at him. To keep from adding fresh bruises to the ones finally fading across James's ribs.

Ben had been on the laptop in the center of the table, the harsh light from the screen flattening his features into something cold and unreadable. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The questions did all the work for him.

Why didn't you call one of us? 

Where were you headed? 

What was your plan when you got there?

When he asked the last one, my mouth opened, but no words came out. I'd already hurt James enough. Saying it out loud again—admitting my plan was to go back to Victor—felt like twisting the knife. I just couldn't do that to him. So I stared at the wood grain on the table and gave the only honest answer I had.

"I made a mistake
."

Each time I stumbled, James stepped in—not with anger or the old fire we'd all braced for, but with a quiet steadiness that caught everyone off guard.

"Everything that happened is on me," 
he said when Ben's tone sharpened. 

When Dominick snapped at me, 
"What the hell were you thinking?"
 James cut him off. 
"You want someone to blame, then blame me."

Throughout the conversation, he never once let go of my hand. His grip stayed firm and grounding, an anchor keeping me from drifting too far into the guilt.

"I shouldn't have run—" I start, then stop, because I've already said it too many times in the last hour, and the words still don't feel like enough.

James steps forward and pulls me into his arms—tight enough that I feel contained, held. His sweater smells like cedar, soap, and the faint trace of his cologne, a blend that sinks deep and quiets my racing thoughts.

"It's done," he murmurs into my hair. "It happened. We got through it. Now it's time to let it go."

I curl my fingers into the back of his sweater and close my eyes. For several seconds there's only the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear, the heater kicking on, the low hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet.

"I'll try," I whisper. "It's just... hard. I hate that they're mad at me." The words come out smaller the second time, but the sting is still there.

He leans back enough to look at me. His thumb brushes away a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "They're not mad," he says simply. "They're scared. There's a difference."

I think about Ben's questions—the ones he didn't bother to soften, the ones that carried all the hurt and disappointment he tried to mask.

"Do you have any idea how your decisions affect this team? Or how your actions put the very people you were trying to save in danger?"

I'd looked at James then, catching the hollow defeat in his eyes—the same look I'd seen last night when he found me. The realization hit me all over again. No matter what he said, he's not over what I did. Not yet. Because of me, he's still hurting. Still fighting ghosts I helped create.

The memory twists beneath my ribs, sharp and deep, stealing my breath.

"I wish I could fix this. I just don't know how," I whisper.

James shakes his head once. "There's nothing to fix. Not for you, anyway." His mouth tips, the hint of a grim smile softening the words. "Trust me—they're not half as pissed at you as they are at me. Which is fine. Being the black sheep of our little crew is part of my charm."

A broken sound escapes me, part laugh, part sadness. "Dominick looked like he wanted to punch you again."

He shrugs, a genuine smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "He could try. Might be fun."

When I don't smile, he sighs. His fingers brush along my cheek as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Look, they'll get over it. I promise. In a day or two, everything will be back to normal."

"I don't know. I've never seen Ben so angry."

He meets my gaze. "Trust me. Ben will do what he always does—he'll stew for a while, use the anger to hide the fact he's scared shitless. Protecting you has become personal for him. He, more than anyone, isn't mad. He's terrified of what could've happened."

His voice softens, the edge giving way to something gentler. "But you'll make it up to him. We both will. Because what happened... it won't happen again. Right?"

I nod, meaning it.

His words settle around us, warm and steady. This is a side of James I've never seen before. He's different today. Not softer exactly, but clearer. The edges that make him fierce are still there, just not as jagged. And I love that after everything—the chaos, the fear, the past thirty-four hours of hell—he's somehow steadier than me.

"I really am sorry," I say it again, because no matter how many times I do, it still doesn't feel like enough.

"I know." He presses a kiss to my temple, a brief touch that lands like a full breath after being underwater too long. "Me too."

He stays there a moment, lips lingering at my hairline, his breath a soft caress against my skin. Then he draws back, studying my face the way he always does when he's reading me, deciding what I need before I even know myself.

"I swear," he says quietly, firm but gentle, "if Ben ever talks to you like that again, I'll make it 
my
 personal mission to put him in his place."

A startled sound slips out of me, half laugh, half sob. "Please don't hurt him. Remember, he's family." I smile through the tears as the sight of my fierce protector returning sends my stomach into ridiculous somersaults.

His mouth softens with that playful smile that only ever comes out for me. "How about this? I'll be merciful. No permanent marks. Nothing that won't heal."

I laugh, an honest, startled sound that feels good leaving my chest. "Okay. You've got yourself a deal."

"Well, alright then." He grins wide, lighter than I've seen him in days. "Look at us, Snowflake. Compromising and shit. Like a regular couple. Not that I'm biased or anything, but I'd say we're really excelling at this relationship thing."

I smile, appreciating his attempt to pull me out of my spiraling guilt. "Yep. Look at us."

He draws me in again, holding me until my hands unlace from his sweater on their own. When he finally steps back, his palm stays at the small of my back—a light, steady pressure guiding me toward the table.

"Now sit. Relax," he says, voice warm with mock authority. "Your man's got this. I'm thinking we start small—popcorn, a movie, maybe a little making out if you play your cards right."

My mouth drops open, half laugh, half disbelief. "Making out?"

He grins, already moving toward the cabinets. "What? I'm proposing a perfectly respectable date night. A movie, then dinner. You know... like regular couples do."

His tone is teasing, deliberately light, and I can see exactly what he's doing—trying to shift the energy, to remind me we're allowed to breathe again. And damn if it doesn't work.

The tension in my shoulders starts to ease as I watch him move around the kitchen, barefoot, sleeves pushed to his elbows, rummaging for the popcorn like it's the most important mission of his life.

It hits me then—how good it feels to see this side of him. The easy grin. The domestic softness that shouldn't fit a man like him but somehow does.

For the first time all day, I let myself believe we might really be okay.

But then, like the universe is conspiring against me, the burner phone on the counter rings.

❤️

 
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Chapter 50

Annelly

The sound jolts through the quiet.

A sharp, vibrating ring that slices straight through the peace James managed to build around us.

For a second, I just sit there staring at the burner phone on the counter, the vibration rattling against the wood like the countdown of a ticking bomb.

My pulse spikes. Dread claws its icy way up my chest, wrapping tight until my lungs forget how to work.

“Hey.” James’s voice cuts through the static in my head, calm and threaded with warmth.

He moves toward me and crouches in front of my chair, his hand finding mine. His thumb draws slow, soothing circles against my skin, the rhythm syncing with his steady breathing until I start to settle.

“You’ve got to answer her this time, Snowflake.”

He sets the burner in front of me gently, his gaze never leaving my face. His eyes are soft, his mouth curved in that half smile—equal parts reassurance and quiet pride. Like he knows this is hard for me, but also knows I can do it.

“I know.” My throat tightens. “But… what if she’s furious?”

He leans in, pressing his lips to mine in a brief, grounding kiss that steadies me more than words ever could. “Then she’s furious because she loves you. Because she cares. Same reason Ben and the others were upset—it’s all fear dressed up as anger.”

His voice drops lower, rougher, like he’s speaking from a place that’s cost him something to learn. “But she needs to hear your voice, Snowflake. For her sake—and for yours—you’ve got to do this.”

Blinking back tears, I nod, but my hands stay frozen in my lap.

James lifts my chin, thumb tracing the edge of my jaw until I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “You’re stronger than you think, Annelly.”

The phone rings again, sharp and jarring in the quiet room.

He presses a kiss to my temple, lingering long enough for his breath to steady mine. “Go on, baby. I’ll be right here.”

That’s all it takes. I grab the phone as it buzzes again and head for the stairs, bracing myself as guilt claws its way up, heavy and relentless.

The bedroom upstairs feels cooler when I step inside. The afternoon sunlight filters through the curtains, soft and muted. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air—clean, warm, distinctly him—and for a moment, I let it steady me.

I sink onto the edge of the bed and swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Sweetheart.” Emilia’s voice floods the line—warm and familiar, but lined with worry that hits me square in the chest. “Thank God. I’ve been worried sick.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“You didn’t mean to—? Annelly, you just ran off. Without telling anyone where you were going. What did you expect? That we wouldn’t be worried? Or out of our minds with fear?” Her voice wavers, anger and heartbreak tangled together, and it shreds what’s left of my composure.

“I panicked,” I breathe, the words catching on a sob. “I made a rash decision—one I regret—but at the time, it felt like the only way to fix this. To protect everyone. To end this nightmare—for Mom, for James, for all of you.”

“Annelly…” The disappointment in her voice nearly breaks the dam I’ve been holding together. “How could you think going back to that man would fix anything—for any of us?”

There’s a soft rustle, the sound of movement, and then the faintest coo—a baby’s sigh that punches a hole straight through my guilt.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. I can hear it in your voice. But sweetheart, you can’t ever do that again. Sacrificing yourself doesn’t fix anything—it only makes it worse. Because these men—James, Ben, Lucas, all of them—they’re not the kind to give up. They’d rush in after you. They’d go to war to bring you home, no matter the cost. And that’s exactly what the monsters want.”

Her words hit like thunder, reverberating through me.

My chest aches. “I know. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Take it from me,” she says, her voice softening. “You don’t save the people you love by disappearing. You save them by staying close. By staying safe. By being patient—letting the men who love us do what they do best. Fight for us until the threat is gone.”

The pain in her voice is a reminder of everything she’s been through. It hasn’t even been a year since that awful day when everything went wrong—when an RPG tore through the car James and Tyler were driving, sending it off the road in a fireball. That explosion gave the bastards the opening they needed to go after Emilia and her girls. By the grace of God, Mallory got away, but Emilia and Alyssa were taken. It was a miracle no one was killed. And an even bigger one when, days later, Lucas and the team found them alive and unhurt.

“I know what it’s like to feel helpless, Nell,” she continues quietly. “To feel trapped and afraid, convinced the danger will never end. But it will. You just have to trust the guys. Trust that, in time, everything will be okay.”

Something inside me crumples and settles all at once. “I understand.” My voice trembles, but I mean it. “I promise. No more running. No more throwing myself into danger.”

“Good.” Relief softens her voice, laced with a smile I can hear. “Because if you scare us like that again, you’ll have more than Ben’s wrath to deal with—you’ll have me. And I’m a mom of three now. Means I’ve got no patience left, and according to Lucas, I’ve perfected the terrifying ‘angry mom’ look.”

A watery laugh slips out of me. “Noted.”

Her voice lightens. “That’s better. I can’t tell you how badly I needed to hear you laugh.”

Somewhere in the background, a baby’s cry breaks through the quiet.

“Sorry—Wyatt’s special talent is making his demands known.” She laughs, and I can hear Lucas’s low voice humming softly, stepping in to soothe the tiny infant.

“Oh my gosh, is that Lucas singing to him?”

“Yeah.” Her tone turns soft and reverent, like she knows exactly how lucky she is. “He’s so good with him, Nell. With me. With the girls. Better than I ever imagined. I feel so blessed.”

“I’m so happy for you, Emi. You deserve this. Really. So… is he sleeping through the night yet?”

Emilia chuckles. “Not even close. He’s still determined to sleep all day and party all night. Lucas has been amazing, though—he’s up with me for every feeding and lets me sleep in when he can. And the girls? They’re obsessed. They fight over who gets to hold him, touch him, talk to him. Honestly, if I wasn’t breastfeeding, I’d probably never get any time with him. Lucas and the girls would hog him completely.”

The warmth in her voice spreads through me, loosening something in my chest. For a moment, I just close my eyes and listen to the soft, gentle chaos on the other end of the line—the muffled laughter of the girls, the clatter of ordinary life that feels a world away from where I am.

A quiet ache blooms in my chest, deep and familiar.

I miss them—God, do I miss them.

But it’s more than that. Listening to Emilia, I can’t help but wonder if James and I will ever have that. A home of our own. A family full of little ones. A life that feels safe, steady, and beautifully mundane in that magical way every little girl dreams of.

“I wish I could be there. I miss you all so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. We miss you too. Soon, we’ll all be together again. I promise.”

A lump rises in my throat, thick and aching. Like she can feel it, she changes the subject.

“So… you and James. Anything I need to know?”

My heart stumbles. It’s the last thing I expected her to ask. “What?”

“Come on,” she teases. “You know these men gossip. I’ve heard the way James hovers over you like a helicopter boyfriend—growling and threatening anyone who so much as looks at you sideways. The kind of over-the-top devotion only a man in love has.”

I hesitate, then exhale the truth. “Yeah. We’re… together now.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a smile in her voice. “It’s about dang time.”

I laugh softly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

As if on cue, the baby’s cries grow louder.

“I’m sorry, Nell, but I’ve got to go feed Wyatt.”

“It’s okay. I understand. Just give the kids a hug and kiss from me.”

“I will.” Her tone softens one last time, quiet but firm. “Annelly, please promise me—no more reckless moves, okay? My heart can’t take one more scare.”

I don’t even have to think about it.

“I give you my word. No more reckless moves.”

Emilia exhales, warm and relieved. “Thank you. I love you, Nell.”

“Love you too, Emi.”

When we hang up, I lower the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen, feeling more settled than I have all day. The promises I made still hum in my chest, steady and certain, like a vow etched in stone.

No more running.

No more trying to do this alone.

Whatever comes next, I’ll trust the man I love—and the men he trusts—to help bring this nightmare to an end.

❤️

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# Chapter 51

James

The fire's burning low when I add another log, the wood catching with a slow, steady crackle that fills the quiet.

Outside, the mountain air presses cold against the windows, but in here, everything feels warm—the kind of warmth that seeps into bone, quiet and soothing. The scent of woodsmoke drifts through the room, mingling with something softer and sweeter. Jasmine and vanilla. 
Her.

I don't have to look to know she's watching me. I feel it—the weight of her gaze, that soft, steady awareness that always manages to undo me.

She's been quiet since the call with Emilia. She smiled through the movie—some rom-com she picked out—and laughed with the guys over dinner, but I know the difference now. I know what she sounds like when she's really okay. And this? This isn't it.

I brush my palms on my jeans, the heat of the fire still clinging to my skin, and cross the room. She's curled up on the chaise, one leg tucked beneath her, a blanket draped across her lap. When I sit down beside her, she doesn't hesitate. She folds right into me, like it's the most natural thing in the world—like it's something we've been doing for a lifetime, not just a few weeks.

As my arms go around her, she exhales—soft, tired—and the sound catches somewhere in my chest as I draw her closer.

For once, the quiet doesn't make me restless. It doesn't feel like the calm before the inevitable storm.

I tighten my hold, my chin brushing the top of her head as I breathe her in.

This is new.

This... sitting still.

This version of me that can exist inside the quiet and not want to run from it.

I've spent so much of my life waiting for silence to turn dangerous, like it always tends to do. But with her, it feels different. It feels like peace. Like being here with her in my arms somehow shields us from the world—from whatever the universe might throw our way.

She shifts slightly, her hand sliding over my chest until her fingers find mine, and I feel it again—the unexplainable calm that comes only when she's close.

I swear, the world could burn to ash around us right now and I wouldn't care. Not as long as I have her. Not as long as we're together.

But even as that thought settles, I can feel the tension humming just beneath her skin. The faint hitch in her breathing. The way her body presses closer but never fully relaxes. Whatever's on her mind is still there, sitting heavy between us.

I brush my thumb along her arm, tracing slow, grounding circles against her skin.

"You've been quiet tonight," I murmur.

She lifts her head slightly, eyes half-lidded in the firelight. "I'm okay. Just tired."

I don't buy it for a second.

My fingers find the ends of her hair, sliding through the strands slowly—soothing her, anchoring myself.

"You sure? You've had a hell of a day. You don't have to pretend to be okay, Annelly. Not with me."

"I know." Her gaze drifts toward the fire, eyes reflecting the flicker of orange and gold.

When the silence stretches, I exhale and try again. "If it's about the guys—about Emilia—I promise they'll come around," I murmur, thumb still moving along her arm. "What happened... it's behind us now. We just have to move forward like everything's okay. Eventually, they'll follow our lead."

"It's not that. It's not anything," she sighs. "I promise, James. I'm okay." 

The slight break in her voice betrays her, and she pulls the blanket higher over us, as if that alone can fix whatever's wrong. 

"What about you? Are 
you
 okay?"

"Me?" I shake my head, confused for half a beat before I realize what she's doing—deflecting.

"Yeah. Has Ben said anything else about your house? Or... about what comes next?"

I tip my head back against the chaise, staring at the wooden ceiling beams while I breathe through the tension burning through my veins.

"No. To be honest, I asked him not to bring it up." I wince, hearing how wrong that sounds. "I know I'll have to face it eventually, that there are decisions waiting for me, but..." I pause, the words snagging on something raw. "Not yet. I'm just not ready—it's all still too fresh."

She doesn't press, and somehow that makes it easier to keep talking. 

"But lying here with you, in this cabin... out in the middle of nowhere—it's got me thinking. If I do go back there, if I rebuild, maybe I should make it look more like this place."

Her lips twitch into a small smile. "You mean rustic? Warm? With actual color?"

"Yeah." A quiet laugh rumbles in my chest. "Less modern lines and stainless steel. More soul."

Her smile widens as she looks around the cabin, the firelight painting her skin in gold. "I like it here."

"Yeah," I say, softer now. "Me too."

I glance down at her, my voice dropping lower, the truth slipping out before I can stop it.

"Must be because you're here."

The corner of her mouth curves as she leans her head against my shoulder, but it takes only seconds for that dreamy look to fade into something sadder.

I tilt my head, catching her profile in the glow of the fire. "Talk to me, Snowflake," I murmur. "Tell me what's going on in that beautiful head of yours."

She hesitates, eyes tracing the flames before meeting mine. "Just thinking," she says finally. "About Emilia. About Lucas. The kids. My mom. I just... I miss my family."

I tighten my hold, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You'll be back together soon. I promise."

"It's not just that."

She lifts her head then, eyes glimmering in the firelight—hesitant, uncertain. "Talking to Emilia, hearing Lucas in the background, the baby, the girls... it got me thinking about the future. About what I want. About what 
we
 might someday want."

The words still me. My pulse stutters, slow to catch up as she looks up, searching.

"Have you ever thought about it?" she asks softly. "Having a family? Getting married? Kids?"

The question hits like an explosion beneath my ribs. My heart lurches, then races.

The old part of me—the James who existed before her—comes roaring awake, whispering all the reasons I've never let myself even think about it. The world I came from. The one steeped in addiction, violence, self-destruction. The one that still lives in my blood.

I swallow hard. "No," I admit quietly. "Not really. At least... not before you."

Her breath catches. I push through the lump in my throat. "Since you came into my life, so much has changed. Being with you has made me consider things I never would have before. It's made me want things I never thought I'd want."

"Like?" she asks, gaze turning back to the fire—giving me space to find the words.

"Marriage," I say, the word heavier than I expect. Saying it aloud for the first time... 
fuck.
 My chest warms with a longing so sharp it almost hurts. "You walking down the aisle toward me. You being my wife. My partner in this life. I've imagined it."

"You have?"

I nod, smiling faintly, though I can't quite meet her eyes—not with the fear simmering just beneath the awe. Fear that has nothing to do with commitment anymore, and everything to do with the possibility of failing her. Failing 
us.

"And kids?" she asks softly. "Do you want them someday?"

I stare into the fire, the flames shifting in the darkness, stirring ghosts I've spent years trying to bury.

"It's not that I don't want them," I say finally. "It's that I don't know if I'd be any good at it—at being a father." My voice roughens. "It's not like I ever had an example. I wouldn't even know where to start. What if I pass down the same darkness? The same anger and addiction? Even if that weren't a possibility, I still don't trust myself to be patient enough. Gentle enough. 
Good
 enough."

A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. "Hell, look at me. Look at how fucked up I am."

I shake my head, staring at our joined hands. "It would be irresponsible to even think about bringing a child into that."

Her thumb brushes my wrist, grounding me, but I can't look at her—can't risk seeing the disappointment in her eyes.

"But if I ever did," I manage, voice low, almost reverent, "if I ever decided to try and bring a child into this world... I'd want it to be with you."

I look at her then—
really
 look—and the truth slips out before I can stop it. 

"Because I'd want them to have your heart. Your strength. The purity of your soul. Your light."

Her eyes glisten, and I reach up, tracing the curve of her cheek with my thumb. "And if I ever get married..."

I pause, swallowing past the ache in my throat.

"It'll only ever be to you, Annelly. Only you."

For a heartbeat, she just stares at me—wide-eyed, motionless—and I feel the weight of everything unspoken settle between us.

Then the fear creeps back in—old, familiar, impossible to silence.

"I just..." My voice cracks, quiet and raw. "I don't know if I can give you what you want. I don't know that I'll ever be good enough for that kind of life."

Her hand comes up, gentle but sure, cupping my face, her thumb brushing along my jaw as she coaxes me to meet her gaze.

"Hey," she whispers. "Your past doesn't define you, James. What defines you is who you are now—the choices you make now."

I shake my head, ready to argue, determined to tell her she doesn't understand, but she doesn't let me.

"No." Her voice stays soft, but there's steel beneath it. "I won't let you keep talking about yourself this way. I get it—you think you're broken. Messed up. Beyond redemption. But that's not what I see when I look at you. No matter how many times you try to convince me otherwise, what you claim to be just isn't there."

Her fingers slide down, resting against the side of my throat, her eyes glimmering with something fierce and unyielding.

"What I see instead is you," she continues. "Your strength. Your resilience. Your bravery. I see a man who'd sacrifice the world for the people he loves. Look at everything you've done, James. You raised Tyler when you were barely more than a kid yourself. You gave him a home—safety, stability, a chance to heal from things no child should ever endure."

Her voice trembles, emotion threading through every word. "And then there's me. You've held me through this nightmare — through every moment I wanted to disappear. You made me feel safe again. Made me feel loved."

I drop my gaze, the weight of her words pressing against the part of me that's barely holding on. But she won't let me look away. Her hand stays firm, anchoring me in place.

"That's what a good man does," she says softly now. "That's what a good husband, a good father, does. You, my love—my sweet, strong James—you are everything a child, a wife, a family could ever want."

Her words hit so hard they steal my breath. My throat constricts. I try to speak, but the words won't come. So I do the only thing I can. I pull her into my arms, burying my face in her neck, holding her tight — unwilling to ever let her go.

Her fingers slip into my hair, slow and soothing, and I breathe her in. The lump in my throat swells, and for a second, it feels like everything I've spent my life running from has finally caught up to me—only this time, it's not the darkness.

It's the light.

The part of me I buried beneath the pain the day my mother died. The part of that twelve-year-old boy who once believed the world was good. That people could change. That he could save his mom... his family. Maybe even change the world.  

And beneath all that... there's hope. 

And love. 

And the aching, terrifying longing for a life I never believed I could have.

❤️

 
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Chapter 52

Annelly

The morning feels brighter than it should for mid-March. Sunlight spills like honey through the thin curtains in the living room, and outside the air is unseasonably warm. Even with the trees still bare, their branches etched against the bright blue sky, tiny shoots of green peek through the soil like the first shy promise that spring is on its way.

I stand by the window, coffee cooling between my palms, watching James outside. His sweatshirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows, the shovel balanced on one shoulder, sunlight cutting a clean line across his jaw. He looks… different. Lighter. Freer. These last few days have felt like a dream I’m afraid to wake from.

Him sleeping soundly beside me. No nightmares. No jolting awake. Just him breathing softly against my skin, like he’s finally found rest.

Him touching me—absently, instinctively. His hands at my waist. His fingers brushing mine. Him pulling me close, even in front of the guys, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like loving me out in the open comes as easily to him as breathing.

And then there’s the teasing. The way he pretends to be annoyed about how “domestic” he’s becoming, shooting me those side glares with that half smirk that gives him away every single time.

It’s more than I ever let myself imagine we could have. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me a little—how good this feels, how easy it is to want it all. But the fear never lasts long. Because whenever he touches me, or looks at me with those piercing blue eyes, the only thing I can do is fall even more in love with him.

He pauses now, surveying the patch of ground he’s cleared in front of the porch, and the sight makes something ache deep in my chest. For so long, I only knew him tense and ready for a fight, every movement calculated and precise. But this man—the one standing there with dirt on his boots and ease along his shoulders—is someone new. I’d like to believe it’s the man he was always meant to be.

My gaze drifts to the small pots on the porch railing. Daffodils—white and yellow, delicate and bright. Beautiful.

According to James, though, not even close to what he’d asked Zeb to bring back when he went into town for supplies. Apparently, he’d asked for a dozen red roses—a surprise he planned to give me later that night. But Zeb, being Zeb, stopped at the local greenhouse instead and picked up live flowers, thinking they’d be a better choice since they wouldn’t die.

Let’s just say James didn’t agree. I heard him grumbling under his breath for nearly an hour before he finally handed them to me with an awkward, almost boyish scowl.

I’d barely managed a thank-you before he muttered, “It’s not what I wanted. But I guess they’ll do.”

When I told him they were perfect, I’ll never forget the way the tips of his ears went bright red. I couldn’t help it—I laughed, then threw myself into his arms, knocking him back a step as my legs wrapped around him. Our mouths collided in a kiss that still makes me smile.

And blush.

As if he can sense the memory, he glances toward the cabin at that exact moment. Our eyes meet through the glass, and that slow, crooked smile spreads across his face.

He jerks his head toward the yard, voice muffled but unmistakably playful as he calls, “Hey, Snowflake—anytime now. Wanna stop staring and come help? I’m not out here digging in dirt for funsies.”

I laugh under my breath, setting my cup aside. I grab a light jacket and shoes, still smiling as I push open the front door.

“You told me to stay inside and finish my coffee,” I remind him as I step outside.

“Yeah, well, that was before I caught you ogling me—cheeks all pink, giving away every filthy thought bouncing around in that pretty head of yours.” He leans on the shovel, mock-grumbling. “I’m more than just a pretty face and sexy body, you know.”

The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. God, he’s ridiculous. And it’s amazing how sweet and funny he is when he isn’t weighed down by worry or fear.

He watches me walk over, his brow furrowed like a man facing some impossibly complicated task. “You realize this ground’s still half frozen, right?” he mutters, wedging the shovel into the dirt with a grunt. “Damn thing’s like concrete. Whoever invented spring flowers clearly hated people.”

I chuckle. “God, you mean?”

“No. Not God,” he fires back, mock-offended. “I’m talking about asshats like the one who brought those home instead of the dozen red roses I ordered. Fucking asshole ruined my surprise. Probably did it on purpose.”

He’s still grumbling under his breath by the end of his outburst, sounding so much like a sulking little kid that I can’t help laughing. He digs again, scowling and huffing for dramatic effect just as the shovel clinks against a stubborn root.

“See? Even the trees don’t want us here.”

Still smiling, I grab one of the daffodil pots and set it beside the hole he’s working on. “You know,” I say, unable to hide the warmth in my voice, “you’re really bad at pretending you hate this.”

He glances down at me then, that slow, crooked grin spreading across his face. There’s a smear of dirt on his cheek, another along his neck—and somehow he’s never looked more heartbreakingly sexy.

“You’re right. I don’t totally hate it,” he concedes, straightening, the humor in his tone easing into something quieter. “I just don’t see the point in planting something we won’t be here to see bloom again.”

My chest tightens as I kneel on the ground, the pot resting between my knees. For a moment, I don’t answer. I press my fingers into the cool soil, loosening it from the edges of the container so it can slide free when it’s time. The grit slipping under my nails, the smell of damp earth—it grounds me in a way almost nothing else can right now.

“Because someday, someone will be here to see them bloom,” I say finally, my voice softer than I intend. “And they’ll know someone once loved this place enough to leave a piece of themselves behind.”

He stills, taking a second to let the words sink in.

I keep my eyes on the flowers, their white and yellow petals glowing like captured sunlight against the backdrop of dark earth.

Ever since my father died, everything in my life has felt borrowed or temporary—like I was always passing through, never truly belonging anywhere or to anyone.

But this…

Planting these simple flowers…

It feels different.

It feels like staking a claim to something that’s mine. Like I’m planting the first seed of the life James and I are building together—right here, in the earth outside the cabin where our love finally took root.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

The wind rustles gently through the trees. A bird calls from somewhere up the ridge. The shovel thuds rhythmically beside me.

James’s shadow stretches long and lithe beside mine in the sunlight.

I place the second plant into its new home, pressing the soil around it with slow, careful hands. “I guess,” I murmur, “in our case, this isn’t just a piece of ourselves we’re leaving behind.” I look up at him, smiling softly. “It’s a piece of our love. Knowing they’ll keep growing here—blooming long after we’re gone… it gives me hope for what’s still to come.”

He goes still again, his jaw working like he’s trying to swallow whatever emotion rose too fast to hide. Then he drops the shovel, wipes his hands on his jeans, and steps toward me.

The sun catches his blue eyes, igniting that warm flicker of emotion he never quite knows how to hide from me—the one that always, always undoes me.

When he reaches me, he pulls me gently to my feet. His arms slide around my waist—possessive, protective, tender. His voice is roughened by the emotion written all over his face.

“When we get home, I’m building you a garden. A place where you can plant every flower I’m going to buy you from this day forward.”

My breath catches—not because of the words themselves, but because of the way he says them.

Without fear.

Without walls.

Without hesitation.

Like our future is certain. Like he believes in us completely.

He doesn’t realize it, but this version of him—the man who loves without flinching or apology, who’s no longer defined by what he’s survived but by the depth of his heart, by how open he is to being loved—this is the man I’ve been fighting for since the day I met him.

I rise onto my toes, my fingers curling into the front of his sweatshirt as I pull him closer. “That sounds like heaven,” I breathe against his lips.

He exhales a low, involuntary groan—the kind that rumbles from deep in his chest whenever I’m the one who bridges the space between us—and then his mouth is on mine.

The kiss starts slow, reverent, but deepens quickly into that quiet, unrestrained passion that’s all him. His hands tighten at my waist, pulling me flush against him until there’s nothing left between us but heat and heartbeat.

For one beautiful moment, the world falls completely away. It’s just us—sunlight and soil, skin and breath—the promise of everything we never dared hope we could have.

He slows the kiss before finally pulling back, his forehead resting against mine, breath warm and steady across my lips. When he speaks, his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.

“Annelly… I love you so fucking much.”

The words move through me like sunlight—bright, warm, anchoring. I cup his face, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my own.

“I love you too. With all my heart.”

For a moment, we cling to that warmth—our foreheads touching, our breaths mingling—before we turn back to the garden bed. Our hands brush as we kneel side by side to plant the last two daffodils.

Four tiny bursts of yellow and white nestled into dark, freshly turned soil, sunlight catching on the petals and highlighting their fragile beauty. Against the weathered cabin, they look perfect. Like they were always meant to grow here.

Just like me and James.

The thought makes me smile.

James steps back with a proud little grunt. Then, without warning, he pulls the cheap burner phone from his pocket.

I blink. “Wait… are you taking a picture?”

He lifts one shoulder, that crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “Of course. How else will we remember?”

Something in my chest pulls taut—tender and overwhelming—especially when he surprises me by turning me gently, pulling me against his chest as he lifts the phone and snaps a picture of us with the daffodils glowing behind us.

The gesture sends tears to my eyes. The man who once lived afraid to hope, to love, now wanting to capture this moment—this tiny, fragile beginning—because it matters to him. Because we matter to him.

It means so much.

A cool breeze stirs through the clearing. He brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, sunlight glinting off his blue eyes. He looks so relaxed, so happy, that it almost hurts to take him in.

Then—

A sudden thunder of wings erupts from the trees. A flock of birds bursts upward, frantic and loud, scattering across the sky.

James freezes. The ease in his shoulders disappears as instinct hits him hard—his gaze sweeping the treeline with that same quick, ruthless precision that makes the sunlight around us feel suddenly colder.

I press a hand to his chest, hoping to draw him back. He takes a slow breath, then another, and the tension gradually drains from his frame. When he looks at me, he gives a sheepish half-smile, like he’s embarrassed to have slipped back into protector mode.

But I love him for it.

Every sharp edge that defines him. Every soft place he tries to hide. Every part of him I’m still learning and discovering.

I love them all. Completely.

“Come on,” he murmurs, taking my hand. “Let’s get cleaned up. Then I’ll figure out lunch.”

I lean into him as we head up the porch steps.

Then—out of nowhere—a faint crackle fractures the quiet.

Static hisses from the walkie holstered to his belt. Zeb’s voice cuts through the line, sharp and clipped.

“James. Do you copy?”

James’s grip tightens around my hand as he unclips the radio. “I copy.”

A beat passes.

Then—

“We’re headed your way. Ben’s called an emergency meeting—everyone, all hands on deck.”

The world shifts.

James freezes mid-step.

A quiet, instinctive “Fuck…” slips from his lips.

That’s all it takes.

My stomach drops as the fragile peace around us—the rare, impossible breath of safety we’d only just begun to believe in—shatters like it was never ours to keep, signaling the first crack in a storm I should have known was coming.

❤️

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# Chapter 53

Annelly

The walkie still crackles in James's hand as he guides me the rest of the way through the front door, his grip firm but gentle around mine. He doesn't rush. He just moves with intention, steering me inside with that steady, protective touch he uses whenever he's trying to keep us both calm.

As soon as the door closes behind us, he stops and turns toward me, and the shift is immediate.

His hands come up to cradle my face, thumbs brushing lightly along my cheeks as he searches my eyes—tender and focused, quietly assessing me like he's trying to anticipate exactly what I'll need before whatever's coming hits us full force.

"You okay?" he murmurs, voice low and roughened with concern yet impossibly gentle. "You want water? Coffee?"

Before I can answer, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. It's quick, grounding, and so achingly sweet. He lingers there longer than a breath, the space between us tightening with something unspoken—like he wants to promise me everything will be okay, but he won't risk a lie.

Or maybe he just needs those few quiet seconds to steady himself, hoping I won't notice the tremor he's trying so hard to hide.

"No. I'm okay." I reach up, brushing my fingers lightly over his hands still resting against my face. "Are—are you?"

"Of course."

His answer comes much too fast to be the truth, but before I can push him to open up, he guides me deeper into the room. His hand slides down my arm before settling at the small of my back, shielding me with his body like he already knows it's what I need. Hell, what we both need.

Within seconds, Zeb and Dominick burst through the door, moving with the kind of sharp urgency that makes my skin prickle. Zeb doesn't even spare us a glance before sweeping the windows, checking sightlines, flipping the lock with a snap that echoes through the suddenly shrinking room.

"Where's your laptop?" Dominick asks, breath clipped.

"Table," James grinds out, already moving. And because he can't seem to let me go, he brings me with him, our hands still locked. "Do we have a breach?"

"No. Nothing like that. Not here anyway," Dominick replies, all business as he flips open the laptop and starts prepping the video call.

"Until we know what's happened, we can't be too careful," Zeb mutters from the window, tablet in hand as he checks and rechecks the sensors and perimeter cameras.

There's none of the usual teasing between them. None of the dry humor or easy back-and-forth that usually fills the background. Instead, the three of them move like a single, coiled muscle—tension humming beneath their skin, shoulders pulled back, every line of their bodies carved tight with alertness.

Dominick boots up the encrypted call, and within seconds Ben's face fills the screen—grim and shadowed. Lucas stands behind him, jaw clenched, eyes hard. Owen slips into frame last, fingers flying over a second keyboard just out of view.

My stomach plummets.

Something's wrong.

Really wrong.

"Everyone here?" Ben asks, even though he can clearly see we are.

Zeb nods once. "Go ahead."

Ben doesn't ease into it. He doesn't soften the blow or give us a moment to brace. He just exhales—slow, heavy—and says, "We intercepted an email from Bastille. To Annelly."

James goes utterly still beside me.

On-screen, Owen swallows hard before clicking something.

A second window opens. And that's when I see it.

"Dear Dove:

Three months today since you left me. That's three months of embarrassment that you will need to make up to me. My patience at this point has grown thin, so you've left me no choice but to break those who've stolen you from me. Tell Mr. Serrano I have someone very important to him. He need only say the word, and I'll be happy to exchange you for him. "

My breath turns to ice. My spine floods with a cold I haven't felt in months—a cold made of fear and dread and the echoes of a night I will never forget.

The room plunges into silence as everyone absorbs the words, but I'm not watching Dominick or Zeb.

It's James.

He isn't moving.

Not even to breathe.

He's just staring at the screen, frozen, like the words are in a foreign language he can't quite interpret.

"Ben," Zeb says quietly, his voice threaded with warning—an unspoken demand cutting through the silence. And that's when it hits me—what Ben's been afraid to say out loud. "Just fucking say it."

Ben doesn't hesitate. "We reached out to the team watching Tyler."

My pulse slams into my throat.

Suddenly I can't breathe.

"He's missing."

And the second the words leave Ben's mouth, everything we've rebuilt—every fragile piece of us we've fought so hard to save—slips through my fingers along with every hard-won step toward hope.

Because Tyler is James's whole heart... and if Victor has him because of me, I'm terrified it'll break James in ways our love might not survive.

❤️

 
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👇🏼

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And the best part? Following me there is totally 
FREE
.

Just hit 
"Follow"
 on 
REAM
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NEW CHAPTERS post at 3:00 PM EST on Tuesdays & Thursdays!!!

What’s Next…

“Not every monster is a nightmare. Some are survivors who lived through them.”

Cassie Alexander , Guarded by the Nightmare

This isn’t the end of James and Annelly’s story. Not even close.

But it is the moment everything they’ve fought for breaks.

Writing

Broken Resolve

meant stepping into that painful place where love and trauma collide. Watching James’s growth through this book—as he faced his trauma, his fears, and chose love anyway—wow! I’m still so proud and awestruck by him.

Which is what makes the ending of this book hurt so badly. Because James and Annelly finally found their way to something fragile and beautiful… and now here they are. Seemingly losing it all in a single heartbeat.

Tyler is missing.

Victor is closing in.

And the man Annelly loves is on the verge of shattering in ways a man like James may not be able to come back from.

But trust me…

We can’t give up just yet.

Because in this next book, James and Annelly will be tested in ways that will forever bind them together in a love so strong, nothing will ever break them again.

And though the journey will be dark, painful, and far from easy…

It will be so worth it.

The final installment of their story continues in

Broken Salvation (Broken Redemption - James & Annelly Book 3)—now available to read.

BROKEN SALVATION 

(Broken Redemption Series: James & Annelly Book 3)

The final installment in James and Annelly's love story...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Some monsters aren't meant to be feared... but to be loved back into the light."

Annelly

 

Everything is falling apart, and James is shattering faster than I can reach him.

Every step we take toward safety drags him deeper into the darkness and further from me. He's angry, broken, and hurting in ways I can't fix—and I'm terrified.

Of losing him. Of failing him. Of not being enough to bring him back.

But I won't let the man I love go without a fight. Not when he's fought so fiercely for me. Not when I still believe we can find our way back.

Regardless of what he wants... it's my turn to save him.

Even if loving him through the wreckage is the hardest thing I've ever done.

James

 

I'm losing myself, and with every hour that passes, I can feel the future we wanted slipping further out of reach.

The darkness I fought for years is clawing its way back in, twisting everything—my thoughts, my control, the man I swore I'd never be again. I'm angry, hurting, unraveling faster than I can contain—and I'm terrified.

Of losing her. Of failing her. Of breaking her. 

Of becoming the very monster she's running from.

When I said I'd protect her, I meant from every danger—including me. But she won't give up. She won't back down. She's still fighting for us with everything she has.

She believes love can pull me out of this...
 But I'm terrified I'll destroy every last piece of her hope long before she saves me.

In the 
Broken Redemption World
, every step toward survival threatens their love—and salvation may come with a price neither is ready to pay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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