Page 129 of The Vagabond

She shudders, eyes fluttering shut, breath catching as I pressmy mouth to the inside of her elbow, the hollow of her throat, the curve of her collarbone.

God, I want to swallow everything that’s hurt her. Every ounce of pain. Every memory. Every crack.

My hands tremble on her hips as I drop my forehead to her belly, breath breaking on a ragged exhale.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper against her skin, voice splintering. “God, Maxine… I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her fingers slide into my damp hair, soft and aching.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers.

But it doesn’t matter. The guilt is stitched into me. The way it always will be.

I rise slowly, mouth brushing up her sternum, her throat, along the sharp line of her jaw. And when her eyes meet mine — wide, raw, trusting — something inside me tears.

“I’ll kill every last one of them,” I breathe, voice low and savage. “If they ever come near you again, I will kill them one by one.”

She leans forward, pressing her forehead to mine, her trembling matching my own.

“You already saved me,” she whispers.

But she doesn’t understand. I’ll carry this like a wound, like a promise. Iwantto.

I kiss her then — slow, desperate, reverent — water streaming down our bodies, steam curling around us like a shroud. And for one long, shuddering moment, it feels like we’re safe. Safe inside the wreckage of each other.

We move from the shower in a haze, steam still clinging to our skin.

I wrap her in a thick towel, hands lingering on her shoulders, her back, her hips — I can’t help it. I can’t stop touching her. If I stop, if I let her slip away for even a second, I’ll lose my goddamn mind.

She sinks onto the bed, still trembling, towel clutched tight. Her skin hums under my hands. I kneel at the edge of the mattress, running a hand through my wet hair, breathing hard.

Then — her fingers wrap around my wrist. A soft, trembling pull.

I let out a shaky breath and sink down beside her, elbows on my knees, head dropping forward like the weight pressing down on me is finally too much.

For a long moment, we sit like that. Silent. Wrapped in damp towels, wrapped in all the things we can’t say out loud.

Finally, she whispers, “You should lie down.”

I turn my head, eyes finding hers — raw, open, stripped bare.

“I don’t want to close my eyes,” I murmur. “Not yet.”

She shifts closer, lays her head against my shoulder.

I feel the tension pull tight inside me — then, slowly, achingly, let go.

“You don’t have to stay awake to protect me, Saxon,” she murmurs.

God.

She doesn’t know. I can’tnot.

I let out a jagged breath, staring down at my hands.

“I have to,” I whisper, voice breaking. “Because the fear of waking and not finding you here guts me, Maxine.”

Her face tilts up, lips brushing the edge of my jaw, tasting salt, tasting exhaustion.

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