Page 81 of This Reckless Home

She won't look at me. Hasn't really looked at me in days.

Not since that first night when I said I needed time.

And suddenly I get it.

This distance I asked for — to process, to think — she's still hearing it as rejection.

She mentioned her father once. How he was never there. How he'd promise to show up and then... didn't. Over and over until she stopped asking.

"I need someone who stays," she'd said. "Someone who won't leave when things get hard."

And I asked for space.

She heard: I'm leaving.

Tension radiates through my jaw as my teeth grind together. “I’m not him, Flower.”

She stills, her eyes finally drifting up to mine.

“When I say I need time, I mean time. Not that I'm gone. Not that I'm deciding if you're worth it.”

My hands cup her face. Dark skin against light. It’s the first warmth I’ve felt in almost a week.

“You're worth it, Blossom. Even when shit's complicated. Even when I'm working through hard things. Even when you fuck up. You're worth it.”

The sob that breaks from her is relief and grief all at once.

I pull her close, my arms wrapping round her like Nox’s did that night in the back of the car. She’s breathing hard against me, and my chest feels both tight and loose all at once.

She’s finally back in my arms, but the Liam money still sits wrong. I am not resolved. This is not resolved. But I’m also staying. All of it is true. All of it sits within me as I hold her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur against her hair, my heart beating so fast I wonder if it’ll come right through my chest. “You hear me, Flower? I'm staying.”

“Even though⁠—”

“Even though.” My arms tighten. “What you did, this thing with Liam—it's always gonna sit a little wrong with me. I’m not sure it can ever be something that is resolved.”

“I know.” She lets out a small breath. “I think I need to talk to James.”

“Yeah.”

This thing may never be fixed, may always be complicated and jarring.

But I love her.

I love her.

I might not be ready to tell her just yet, not like I was before. But I know that I do. That a life spent without her doesn’t feel right.

And that wound inside me, the one that was pouring blood on Friday night in the car? The flow slows, ever so slightly. Not healed, no where near that yet. But enough to tell me that maybe this is the right path. That everything is still unresolved, but this? This I know to be true.

Her in my arms, soft against me.

Her past actions still sit wrong, like a picture that won’t straighten no matter how much you try. They probably always will. But she’s mine. I am hers and I’m staying.

And all these things can exist at once. Be true, and painful and joyous all in the same breath.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN