Page 44 of Unhinged Obsession

Slowly, Elijah drops to one knee in front of me and anyone else who happens to be close enough to witness this. “I told you before I’d beg you for a lot of things, little dove. This is one of them. I want to know, for real—not because you have to, will you do me the greatest honor of allowing me to be your husband?”

I don’t want to cry, but I’m already tearing up to the point I know if I answer him, they’re going to spill over, and I won’t be coherent. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck, lunging my entire body into his. I try to get out the words, “Of course I will,” but I’m not entirely sure how much he heard or if the words all just melted together.

“I love you, I always have, and I need you to know that no matter where we are or what we’re doing, I will drop everything just for you,” he says, pulling me back a little so that he can look into my eyes as he speaks. “I wanted this to be spontaneous, so you understand that you’re my priority no matter what.” I sniffle, lunging back at him and hugging him tightly. He laughs, standing up with me in his arms, hugging me with so much emotion I can barely stand it.

“It’s an honor to be your wife,” I tell him softly, because I want him to know that I consider our marriage valid, even under the circumstances it came about.

Elijah lets me slide to my feet after what is probably an uncomfortable amount of time for the people around us.

"You know," he says, lifting our hands slightly between us, "now you hold my hand because you want to, not because you're trying to keep me from killing someone."

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. I tip my head back to look up at him, unable to hide my smile. "Maybe a little of both now."

His smile is so beautiful that it steals every coherent thought from my head.

He doesn't let go of my hand. Instead, he gives it a gentle tug until I stumble the last step separating us, laughing as I collide lightly with his chest. Before I can tease him for nearly making me trip over my own feet, his free hand comes up to cradle my face, his palm warm against my cheek.

He’s looking at me like I'm the only thing he'll ever need. And I know that’s true for me, too. Elijah is all I’ll ever truly need in this life, and I’m so thankful to have him. After everything that happened with The Society, we’ve cut ties with my parents. Elijah’s situation is a little trickier because of his brothers, but because they have the information on their dad, essentially using it as collateral, they seem pretty confident that he’ll stay in line.

Elijah’s eyes drift slowly across my face, lingering for a heartbeat on my mouth before meeting my gaze again, and the smile tugging at the corners of his lips softens into something so full of affection it almost hurts to look at.

"What?" I whisper, but he shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

"I still can't believe I get to do this,” he finally says.

My heart melts, but I need to keep my composure before I throw my arms around him and beg him to take me back to our room. "You've always gotten to do this," I tease softly.

"No." His smile turns almost boyish as he brushes another strand of hair behind my ear. "I've always wanted to."

He leans down until his forehead rests lightly against mine, the movement slow and deliberate, like he’s giving me every possible chance to step back if I need to. His breath mingles with mine in the small space between us, and I can feel the faintest hesitation in him—like even now, after everything, he’s still careful with me in a way that makes my chest ache. But I don’t move.

When his lips finally meet mine, the kiss is slow and unhurried, filled with all the tenderness we never had time for while we were fighting to survive. He kisses me like he's memorizing me all over again, one hand still tangled with mine while the other cups my face so carefully that it's almost reverent. I melt into him without thinking about St. Augustine’s rule about PDA. The Society doesn’t matter anymore either; they can watch their little cameras or follow our lives, but they can’t touch us. I rise onto my toes to meet Elijah halfway for the sweetest kiss as his thumb strokes lazily across my cheek.

What we share isn’t desperate in the same way anymore, and it isn’t stolen in the way it once had to be, hidden in fragments of time we were never sure we’d get to keep. No one is hunting us now, no one is waiting around the corner to tear us apart the moment we let our guard down, and for the first time in a long time, loving Elijah Moretti doesn’t feel like something I have to brace myself for or survive through clenched teeth and held breath. It doesn’t feel like danger or loss or borrowed time anymore. It just feels steady, real, and impossibly safe, like something I was always meant to find my way back to without even knowing I was lost. It just feels like coming home.

Elijah smiles against my lips, and I already know exactly what he's about to do before he does it.

He's going to kiss me again.

I can see it in the way his eyes soften as they open, in the tiny shake of his head that says he's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that I'm really here. It's in the way his thumb traces another absentminded stroke across my cheek like he can't quite convince himself to stop touching me. My heart flutters so hard it almost hurts as he leans back in, closing the small space between us with that same gentleness that somehow makes every kiss feel even more intimate than the last.

We don't actually get to sink into the kiss the way I would like. The doors to the hockey arena burst open so violently that they slam against the stone wall with a loud crack, startling both of us apart just enough to look over at the commotion.

"I'm not doing it!" a man bellows as he storms out of the building wearing black and white referee stripes. "Absolutely fucking not! I was told I would never have to officiate another Castlebrook game after the last incident!"

Elijah’s coach follows him through the doors, looking equal parts exasperated and exhausted, another man close behind whose face I don't recognize. The referee yanks his whistle over his head with one frustrated motion before throwing it onto the sidewalk hard enough that it bounces twice across the concrete.

"These are terrible working conditions. You all should be sued!" he continues, throwing both hands into the air. "I'm not risking my life for a college hockey game!"

I blink up at Elijah, and he catches the confusion on my face immediately. I can tell that he’s really amused by whatever is happening.

"That's Coach Kavanaugh," he says, nodding toward the man following Coach Remington. "Castlebrook's coach."

"Oh,” I nod, like that’s cleared everything up, but it hasn’t. Elijah looks like he’s about to say something else, but he gets distracted by the referee who is literally in the street, still pacing.

"I don't care what you pay me! Find somebody else! I'm not getting assaulted because one of your players has separation anxiety." I look back up at Elijah, waiting for an explanation, only to find him silently laughing.

No sound comes out. His shoulders are shaking, his chest rising and falling while he presses his lips together in a completely unsuccessful attempt to pretend he isn’t thoroughly enjoying this.