Page 82 of Wicked and Claimed

“Like I said, tonight was just a lot.”

The break-in? The sex? Their honest, raw conversation? The news Charli had dumped on her?

Probably all of it.

“I understand. Just relax.”

Together, they sat in sharp silence, broken only by the occasional clink of mugs and their steady breathing. Nash wished she’d share her thoughts and feelings, but he had to be patient. At least she hadn’t shoved him out her door.

Long minutes later, she rested her head on his shoulder. He reveled in the softness of her skin, the way she fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. Being here with her almost felt like coming home after a long, arduous journey.

As Haisley finished her tea, Nash noticed her eyelids growing heavy. He took the mug from her hands and set it aside. “Tired?”

She stifled a yawn. “Exhausted.”

“Lie down.” He guided her deeper into the sheets and helped her settle her head on her pillow. “Get some sleep.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“Are you throwing me out?”

Haisley hesitated. “No.”

“Then I’m not budging. I’ll watch over you all night and make sure you rest,” he swore. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.” Maybe she’d be refreshed and ready to talk tomorrow.

With a drowsy little nod, she sighed and closed her eyes. Nash tucked the blankets around her, making sure she was cocooned in warmth.

Moments later, her breathing evened out. She might not appreciate this, but he padded to his pants and whipped out his phone, snapping a picture of her to remember this moment. Who knew if or when Haisley would ever be this soft and sweet with him again?

He brushed his lips across her temple, then straightened. “G’night.”

As he turned away, Haisley stirred and reached out, her hand finding his in the dim light. “Thank you.”

The vulnerability in her voice clenched his heart. “For what?”

Nash knew he shouldn’t push her to explain, but his every uncertainty about Haisley sat under the surface of his skin, rubbing him raw.

“For just…being here. For taking care of me.”

The moment he set his phone down and slid into bed, Haisley curled into him, her head pillowed on his chest. He melted into a fucking puddle. She might not want to admit it, but she didn’t merely want him. Tonight, she’d needed him. And Nash was so damn glad he’d been here for her.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. He stroked her back in long, soothing motions, feeling her relax further with each passing moment.

“There’s no place I’d rather be and no one I’d rather be with.”

As Haisley’s breathing evened out, Nash lay awake, savoring every second she let him hold her. He thought about her earlier words, about love being for the lucky few. He had to prove that it wasn’t about luck at all. It was about choice, commitment, and cherishing each other through the good times and bad.

He would choose her every single day until she believed that.

Nash allowed his mind to wander, imagining a future where moments like this weren’t rare or tinged with uncertainty. He pictured lazy Sunday mornings, cooking breakfast together in comfortable silence. Holidays spent with their friends, Haisley’s laughter ringing out as they exchanged gifts. Quiet nights curled up on the couch, her feet in his lap as they discussed their days. And children—their laughter, their tantrums, their joys and triumphs he and Haisley could share as their parents until they were grown and started families of their own. Then he wanted to share the golden, twilight years with her in quiet harmony: traveling, working crosswords, reflecting on their lives together.

He wanted the mundane and the extraordinary, the challenges and the in-betweens with her. Only her. He wanted to be the one she turned to when the world became too much, the shoulder she cried on, the arms that held her through every storm.

Nash tightened his embrace, burying his face in Haisley’s damp, fragrant hair. As he breathed her in, he made a silent vow. He would prove to Haisley that love wasn’t just for the lucky few. It was for them. All she needed to do was open her eyes and trust her heart.

And he’d be there, waiting patiently, for as long as it took.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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