Because suddenly I needed the truth more than I needed safety.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
Lie.
But he let me keep it.
Outside, Wolf’s headlights cut through the rain as they pulled in behind us.
Trigger climbed out first and immediately looked miserable.
“I hate this weather,” he muttered, sprinting around the truck.
I could barely breathe.
Hersh came around the truck fast, opening my door before I touched the handle.
Always protecting.
Always there.
His hand wrapped around mine the second my boots hit the wet gravel.
Warm.
Solid.
And suddenly I realized something terrifying:
I trusted him with my life.
Completely.
The porch creaked beneath our weight as we climbed the steps.
Everything smelled like rain and old wood.
Memories hit me so hard I almost staggered.
Christmas mornings.
My mother laughing in the kitchen.
My father teaching me how to ride a bike.
Teenage me sneaking outside to kiss Hersh after football games.
God.
Hersh’s thumb brushed lightly against my hand like he could feel me unraveling.
Maybe he could.
Wolf checked the windows first.
“Clear.”
Trigger tested the front door.
