Page 178 of Only Be Mine

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Okay.”

His shoulders relaxed, relief visible now. He stepped closer, careful, and this time I didn’t step away when his hand settled at my waist.

Behind us, Seth cleared his throat softly. “I’m gonna head out.”

I turned. “Thank you.”

He met my eyes, something unspoken passing between us. “Call me if you need me.”

Chapter 65

Cate

Present

Trevor kept his hands on me like he was afraid I might vanish.

Not tight or rough. Just… constant. A palm at my lower back as he guided me into the house. Fingers brushing my hip as he closed the door behind us. A quiet pressure that said stay here without ever using the words.

I told myself it was normal.

I told myself I’d wanted this, wanted him, for years.

But my body felt different than it had yesterday. Less foggy. Less willing to float.

Trevor turned the lock.

The click echoed through the entryway like punctuation.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time, like he needed to reassure me, to make it real. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I shouldn’t have reached for your phone.”

I slipped my jacket off slowly. “You didn’t just reach for my phone.”

His eyes held mine, steady and intense. “You’re right.”

That was the thing about Trevor. He was a master of evasion, only conceding what was strategically necessary - never arguing a point that would expose him to criticism.

“I panicked,” he said. “When Marshal started talking like you weren’t safe. When he tried to get you to leave the house like you were… I don’t know. A witness he needed to move.”

I didn’t correct him.

I hung my jacket in the closet, then turned back. “Were you scared for me?”

His answer came quickly. “Of course I was.”

I walked into the living room, not because I wanted to sit, but because I needed space between us to think. The couch looked perfect - pillows aligned, the throw blanket folded into a clean rectangle. The room always looked like a magazine spread.

Like no one lived here unless Trevor approved of the mess.

Trevor followed.

Not directly behind me. Not looming. Just… there.

He stopped at the edge of the rug, hands sliding into his pockets, and for a moment he looked like the man I’d married. The man who planned vacations and remembered my coffee order and kissed my forehead before work.

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t breathe in your own house,” he said quietly.

My own house.