Page 118 of Vows of Ruin

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t even hesitate. He steps over the hammock and sinks into it with surprising grace, the fabric barely shifting under his weight. He glances up at me, smug. “That was much easier.”

I laugh and hand him one of the shakes before climbing in beside him. The hammock sways when I get in, but he stabilizes it with a gentle hand on my hip. I settle against him, our legs brushing, our shoulders tucked together like puzzle pieces that always fit together.

I take a sip of my shake, eyes fluttering closed. “Peanut butter fudge,” I breathe. “My favorite.”

He takes a sip of his own, pride warming his expression. “I know. And I think I finally got them to taste like the ones from that hole-in-the-wall place we found just outside of town.”

I groan in satisfaction. “Those were delicious. These are almost identical.”

The breeze rustles the leaves above us, dappling sunlight across his face. He looks… relaxed. Peaceful in a way he rarely allows himself to be. We fall quiet, sipping our milkshakes. No war. No plans. No blood or fear or maps to decode. Just us. Just this. Being together without needing to fill the silence.

The hammock sways softly beneath us, my head tucked against Liam’s shoulder, his fingers still tracing idle patterns across the back of my hand. For a long moment, it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that feels rare, precious, almost stolen.

But his breathing shifts. Not heavier. Not tense. Just thoughtful. I know him well enough to recognize when something is sitting heavy on his chest. I tilt my head up toward him. “Okay,” I murmur. “Tell me.”

He glances down, pretending not to understand. “Tell you what?”

“What’s on your mind?” I bump my knees into his. “Because you’re doing that silent brooding thing. The one that usually ends with you trying to take on everything alone.”

His mouth lifts in a small, tired smile. “You read me too well.”

“I try,” I whisper.

He exhales slowly, long and steady, his hand slipping from mine to rest over my heart. “It terrifies me,” he says quietly.

My breath catches. “What does?”

“You.” His voice is raw, unpolished. “The way I love you. The way I need you.” His thumb brushes my collarbone. “The way losing you would be the end of me.”

My chest tightens, not with fear, but with something deeper, something whole.

I shift, turning in the hammock so I can face him, and press my forehead against his.

“Liam,” I whisper, “You’re not going to lose me.”

His eyes close for a moment, like those words physically hit him. He lifts a hand to cradle my cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath my eye.

“You say that like I haven’t already come close,” he murmurs. “Like, I don’t see it every time I close my eyes. When Max was taken. The crash. The pain. The nightmares…”

I place my hand over his, grounding him. “Look at me.”

He does, and the world narrows to the two of us. “You love hard,” I say softly. “And you fear hard. You won’t lose me, Liam. You never will.”

His jaw works, emotion tight and unguarded. I cup his face with both hands, pulling him closer until our noses brush. “I love you,” I breathe. “So much it scares me, too. So much I don’t know where I end and you begin anymore.”

His breath trembles. And then he kisses me. Not the hungry, feral kind we share after battle. Not the desperate, claiming kind from last night. This one is slow. Deep. Almost reverent. A confession in the shape of a kiss. It knocks something loose inside me. Something tender and fierce all at once.

The hammock sways too much beneath us, making the moment feel fragile. Temporary. So I pull back, breathless, and whisper, “Come here.” As I step out of the hammock, he follows.

The grass is warm and fragrant beneath my back, crushed wildflowers releasing their sweet scent as Liam lowers me down, his body a sheltering weight above mine. Sunlight filters through the leaves in golden shards, painting his skin in shifting light and shadow, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing left in his world worth saving.

His mouth finds mine again, slower this time, deliberate. A low sound rumbles in his chest when I part my lips for him, when my tongue slides against his. It’s need, want, and everything we’ve never needed words for. His hand slips beneath the hem of my shirt, palm gliding up my ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of my breast with devastating patience.

My back arches without permission, pressing myself into his touch, and he smiles against my mouth, like he knows exactly what that single stroke is doing to me. “Liam,” I breathe, it’s half plea, half prayer.

His mouth finds my throat again, open kisses that make me shiver. He slips my shirt over my head, his follows. Skin meets skin, and he exhales like a man who’s been holding his breath for years.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my collarbone, lips trailing lower. When he closes his mouth over my breast, I arch with a soft cry. “Liam—”