“I’m still figuring it out,” he said finally, his voice low and raw, like gravel softened by rain. "Life, I mean. But after what I've been through, I know I don't want to be alone. Not anymore."
The honesty of it settled around me like a blanket. No pretense. No armor. Just truth. My heart fluttered in response—not from fear, but from recognition.
“Me too,” I whispered, the words like a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. And when I let them go, I felt lighter—less like a woman clinging to the edge and more like someone beginning to believe in solid ground again.
He nodded and turned his gaze toward the window. Snow kissed the glass in slow, spiraling patterns, like stars falling gently from heaven. I followed his gaze and let the silence stretch—full, not empty.
“I know it’s scary,” he murmured after a pause, his tone barely louder than the wind outside. “But maybe… maybe we can be that for each other. A safety net. Not perfect. Just real.”
His words sank into me like warmth, like light breaking through long-held clouds. I blinked, eyes stinging for a heartbeat, and then nodded. “I’d like that,” I said, steadier than I’d expected. And I meant it. Every syllable was a promise to try—to hope.
I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder, and he pulled me closer without hesitation. His arms didn’t feel like chains—they felt like home.
And in that moment, I understood: love wasn’t always a sweeping gesture or a perfect fairytale. Sometimes, it was two broken hearts finding the courage to beat beside each other. Sometimes, it was this—snow on the windowpane, quiet in the dark, and a vow unspoken but felt in every breath:
We’d face whatever came. Together.
Chapter19
Cavil
Ihovered in that fragile space between sleep and waking, the soft weight of Callie tucked against my side grounding me more than any dream ever could. Her breath, steady and warm against my shoulder, felt like an anchor. I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been holding on to everything—grief, anger, guilt—until her presence began loosening the knots without even trying. Her hair spilled across my chest like it belonged there, and for the first time in too long, I let myself believe I wasn’t completely broken.
Then came the knock.
Sharp. Loud. Final.
It cut through the stillness like a gunshot, jerking us both upright. Callie tensed beside me, and I felt the tremor in her body as her hand instinctively grabbed the hem of the blanket. I could hear her breath hitch, and my chest constricted. She didn’t deserve more chaos. Not tonight.
“I’ve got it,” I murmured, my voice rough with sleep but firm.
I pressed a kiss to her temple before easing out of bed. My body was already shifting into something half-feral—trained, alert. I yanked a shirt over my head and moved quickly, quietly, every step calculated.
A million possibilities flared in my mind.
Trouble? Probably.
Leo? Maybe. The thought made my jaw clench.
I reached the door and paused, one hand on the knob. My heart thundered. Behind me, Callie waited—fragile but fierce, always stronger than she gave herself credit for. I thought of how she’d looked earlier, the way she’d opened up to me like I was something safe. And now? I had to protect that. Protecther.
Whatever waited on the other side of this door—it was going to have to get through me first.
I yanked the door open, heart pounding with the kind of tension that comes from knowing exactly what kind of night you’re about to have.
And there he was.
Leo stood on the porch like the ghost of every mistake that ever haunted Callie. Swaying. Drunk. Reeking of cheap whiskey and worse decisions. His eyes were bloodshot, wild, and already looking for a fight.
“So it’s true,” he slurred, mouth twisting. “You couldn’t wait, huh? Sleeping with her now?”
I didn’t flinch. Just stared. Let him see the fury simmering just under the surface.
“Go home, Leo,” I said, voice low and even, because if I let it rise, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
But of course he didn’t listen. He staggered forward, trying to shoulder his way past me. “She’s mine.”
I stepped in, solid as stone. “Not after what you did.”
