I stepped forward, slow but sure, closing the space between us until the only thing I could feel was her—her warmth, her breath, her presence cutting through the chaos like a balm I hadn’t known I needed. She didn’t step back. She didn’t flinch. She just looked up at me, like I was something she hadn’t decided on yet—but wanted to.
And God help me, I wanted to be whatever she saw.
Callie stepped out onto the porch, the glow from inside catching on the hem of her robe and the ridiculous Christmas socks stretched over her ankles. Her bare legs were already covered in goosebumps, but she didn’t seem to notice—or maybe she didn’t care. Not with the way her eyes locked onto me like I was the only thing she saw, even with blood still drying on my knuckles.
The cold didn’t touch me. Not when she was standing there like that—fragile and fierce all at once.
Her expression shifted when our eyes met, a flicker of fear giving way to something softer. She didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t have to. It was all there in the way she looked at me—concern, confusion, maybe even something closer to heartbreak. I turned fully toward her, breathing hard, every part of me still buzzing from the fight. But what pulsed louder than pain was her—just her.
“Cavil…” Her voice was a whisper of warmth against the night. She reached for me, her fingers feather-light as they touched my face, skimming along my jaw like she was scared I might disappear. “You didn’t have to?—”
But I did. God, I did.
I caught her mouth before she could finish the thought. My hands found her waist, her ribs, anything solid I could hold onto like a lifeline. The kiss was rough around the edges—unfiltered and aching—because I didn’t know how else to say what I felt. I didn’t have the words. I hadthis.
She kissed me back like she meant it—like shefeltit, too. Her hands curled into my shirt, pulling me down, closer, into her. I could feel the press of her heartbeat through the thin cotton of my tee, could taste the storm of everything we’d been holding in for far too long.
When we finally pulled apart, breathless and trembling, she rested her forehead against mine. Her eyes searched mine, glassy and sure.
And I knew—this wasn’t just a kiss. This was a vow.
We were done running.
Chapter20
Callie
Iwoke slowly, warmth still clinging to me like an afterglow, like the ghost of his touch hadn’t quite left my skin. The memory of Cavil’s kiss lingered—gentle but unshakable—settled somewhere deep beneath my ribs. Everything about last night felt like it had cracked something open inside me, something I hadn’t realized I’d been holding closed.
But when I rolled over, my heart stumbled.
The other side of the bed was empty. No imprint. No warmth. Just a sheet creased like it had never been disturbed.
For one breathless moment, I froze. What if he regretted it? What if I’d misread everything? I tried to shove the thoughts away, to stop the spiral before it started. But my chest still squeezed tight as I sat up, pulling one of his shirts over my head—soft cotton worn thin and smelling like cedar and safety.
I padded barefoot down the hallway, the wood floor cool beneath my feet, my hair a wild tangle down my back. Each step felt heavier with uncertainty, hope flickering like a candle in a drafty room.
Then I stopped at the kitchen doorway—and all the fear in my chest softened.
There he was. Cavil. Standing at my counter like he’d always been meant to be there, sleeves pushed up, pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs. Barefoot. Rumpled. Beautiful. He moved like the space knew him already, like he’d stitched himself into the quiet fabric of my morning without asking.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching in silence, committing every detail to memory. The curve of his back. The way he cradled the mugs like they mattered. The little furrow between his brows as he focused on getting it right. My lips curved into a smile before I could stop them.
And then he looked up.
That quiet smile of his—half-sleepy, half-knowing—unraveled something in me.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, voice low and warm, like it was just for me.
“Merry Christmas,” I breathed, stepping into the kitchen.
His gaze swept over me—bare legs, messy hair, his shirt swallowing my frame—and the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.
He hadn’t run. He’d stayed.
And that? That felt like a beginning.
A soft Christmas tune floated through the kitchen, the kind that had played in the background of every December memory I’d ever clung to. It wrapped around me like warmth, like nostalgia and hope stitched into melody. Without thinking, I stepped onto the cool tile, the chill biting at my toes, but I didn’t care. I needed tofeelsomething good. Something real.
