Page 96 of Emmy's Ride

My fingers dug into my arms as I squeezed tighter, trying to hold myself together.

“Emmy.”

Austin’s voice was gentle, but I didn’t look up.

The bed dipped as he sat beside me. His warmth bled into me, but I recoiled, drawing my knees tighter to my body.

“Talk to me,” he said.

I shook my head. I couldn’t.

He let out a slow exhale, and for a moment, I thought he might let it go. But then his fingers curled under my chin, forcing me to look at him.

His eyes weren’t filled with disgust like I expected. They weren’t filled with pity either. Just pure, unwavering love. Love I didn’t deserve.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured. “And you’re wrong.”

I swallowed painfully, my throat burning. “You don’t know.”

“I do,” he countered. “You think what happened in that room changes who you are. That it makes you dirty, weak, broken.” He shook his head. “But you’re none of those things, Emmy. You survived.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, a tear slipping free. “I?—”

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a request, and I did as he said.

“I love you.” The words were steel, unbreakable. “I don’t give a damn what happened in that room. You are mine. And nothing will change that.”

My lip trembled. “I killed him.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“He—I…”

He cut me off, his fingers tightening against my jaw. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

I broke. A sob ripped from my throat, and Austin caught me, pulling me into his arms. I clung to him, burying my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of leather, smoke, and home. Finally home.

His arms locked around me, strong and steady, holding me together when I couldn’t do it myself.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered into my hair. “You never will be.”

I wasn’t sure how long we sat like that. Minutes. Hours. Time didn’t matter.

But eventually, the tears slowed. The shaking stopped. And when I pulled back, Austin wiped the dampness from my cheeks, his touch infinitely tender.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It wasn’t about claiming or taking. It was soft, reverent—an unspoken promise.

I melted into him, letting him chase away the ghosts, the shame, the doubt.

For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than fear. I felt Austin.

“Talk to me, baby; tell me everything. These shoulders are strong, and I can help you carry the pain.”

And I did. I started talking.

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