Page 43 of Judge's Justice

Tears spill down my cheeks. "Warren—"

"So yeah. You're going to have a hard time trusting. And I'm going to have nightmares. And we're both going to fuck this up sometimes." His forehead presses against mine. "But maybe, maybe we can be fucked up together. Maybe we can be patient with each other. Work through it."

"You mean that?"

"Every word." His hand moves to the back of my neck, holding me close. "I know trust has to be earned. I know you can't just flip a switch and believe in me because I want you to. So, I'll earn it. Day by day. Choice by choice. I'll show you that I'm not him. That I won't hurt you like he did."

"And I'll be patient with your nightmares," I whisper. "I'll be there when you wake up. I won't run when things get hard."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

We sit there, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air. Both of us damaged. Both of us scared. Both of us choosing to try anyway.

"This is insane," I say. "We've known each other for two days. I don’t even know why they call you Judge."

"Because I’m the one who balances the scales, the one who’s always neutral, no matter the choice that we have to make."

"We're going to fuck this up."

"Probably."

"But we're doing it anyway?"

Warren pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are intense, certain, completely focused on mine.

"Yeah," he says. "We're doing it anyway."

I lean forward and kiss him. When I pull back, I'm smiling despite the tears still wet on my cheeks. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, let's try. Let's see what happens. Let's—" My voice breaks. "Let's be a family. Broken pieces and all."

Warren's entire face transforms. The smile that spreads across his features is bright enough to light the whole room.

"Broken pieces and all," he repeats.

Then the door opens.

"I hope you're decent because Grace ate all the chocolate and now she's bouncing off the walls and I can't… Oh fuck!"

Saint stands in the doorway, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. He's staring at us, at me still straddling Warren's lap, at our clothes scattered across the room, at the very obvious evidence of what we just did.

Then he spins around so fast he nearly trips.

"I'll… I'm going to… Grace is with Canvas… I'll just… Jesus Christ, Judge, you could have locked the door—"

The door slams shut behind him.

Warren and I stare at each other for one long moment.

Then we both start laughing. And it hurts his ribs, and tears are streaming down my face, and we probably just traumatized Saint for life.

But I don't care.

Because for the first time in years, I feel like everything's going to be okay.