Page 205 of Joker

The rough confession. The one that doesn’t need polished words because it lands harder exactly the way it is. I close my eyes for one second because I don’t know how to survive hearing something like that and still stay upright.

When I open them again, he’s still right there. Still mine. Still terrifying. Still gentle in all the places that matter.

“I love you,” I say.

I know we said it already. I don’t care.

I need him to hear it again before he walks out of this room and into whatever comes next.

His hand tightens at the back of my neck. “I know.”

Then, because he’s him and because he apparently wants to kill me before Cal ever gets the chance, he adds in that rough, low voice that always sounds like gravel and danger and home all at once. “And I love you enough to bury every motherfucker between here and hell if that’s what it takes to get back to you.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Wet. Shaky. Completely wrecked.

His mouth brushes mine. Not a full kiss. Just enough to brand the moment into my skin.

“Stay in this room unless Mac or Emma drags you out,” he murmurs.

“That’s romantic.”

“It’s practical.”

“It’s hot when you’re bossy.”

His mouth twitches again. “There’s my girl.”

That one settles somewhere deep and permanent.

My girl. Not possession. Not ownership. Belonging.

The good kind. The kind I didn’t know I’d ever get to have. Then he kisses my forehead once, hard enough to feel like a promise, and steps back.

And just like that, the room changes again. Not because he’s leaving me. Because we both know what comes next.

He glances once toward the bed where Lexi is still asleep, soft and safe and completely unaware that the men she’s startedto trust are about to go make sure the monster in her life never gets close enough to cast a shadow over her again.

Then he looks back at me. “Lock the door.”

“I will.”

“Keep your phone on.”

“I will.”

“If anything feels wrong—”

“I know.”

He holds my gaze one last second. Then he nods. And turns toward the door. I watch him go. Not because I’m afraid he won’t come back.

Because I need to see the shape of him walking away and know, with everything in me, that this is the last time I will ever watch the man I love go to war because of something I’m still running from. Because I’m not running anymore.

That’s the shift. That’s the thing.

I’m still in this room. Still behind the lock. Still physically removed from the confrontation itself because Joker would sooner set himself on fire than let Cal get within arm’s reach of me ever again.