Page 46 of Knotting else Matters

“You’re not nothing.” His voice was a quiet, fierce whisper, and I felt his gaze finally shift, felt the weight of it settle on me. “You’re everything.”

I swallowed, a fresh tear slipping down my cheek, my fingers tightening around his.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against my cheek, the rough, comforting scent of him surrounding me. “I know you’re wild. I know you’re chaos. I know you’ve lived more, fought harder, felt deeper than most of them ever will. I know you don’t bow, don’t break, even when the world tries to crush you.”

A faint, broken laugh slipped from me. “You make me sound so… strong.”

“You are.” His forehead pressed gently against the side of my head, his voice a low, rough whisper. “You are, Olivia. And if you need me to keep reminding you, I will.”

I leaned into his touch, the soft, solid warmth of him, and let the tears come, silent and slow, my fingers clinging to his as though he were the only thing holding me together. And maybe, right now, he was.

CHAPTER 12

Adrian

Last night, when we pulled up to the hotel, she didn’t even look at me. Her fingers fumbled with the door handle, and before I could say anything, she mumbled something about needing space and disappeared into the lobby, the glass doors whispering shut behind her.

I let her go. Forced myself to let her go. To give her the distance she so clearly needed. But it didn’t matter. Not when the damn bond—this broken, fragile, half-formed thing I’d recklessly forced on her—still pulsed between us, an uninvited whisper of her pain curling through my chest like smoke.

She didn’t sleep. Not at first. I felt her twisting in her bed, the sharp, jagged ache of her hurt bleeding through the bond like poison. I didn’t know if she was sobbing or screaming into a pillow, but the ache was there—raw and desperate, clawing at me, refusing to let me rest.

I wanted to take it away. Would’ve given anything to steal that pain, to wrap her in my arms and shield her from everything—the world, her mother’s venomous words, the twisted expectations of this perfect, polished pack. But she needed space.

So I stayed in my own room, pacing the floor, my fists clenched, my chest tight with a restless, helpless fury. Midnight dragged on, the minutes crawling by, and then finally—finally—I felt the faint, quiet lull of her exhaustion, the way her twisted, tangled emotions softened, stilled. Sleep claimed her around one in the morning, and only then did the tension in my chest loosen, the cold, bitter knot fading just enough for me to breathe.

I hated this. Hated feeling her like this—spying on her through the bond I had no right to force. But I couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t close it off. I needed to know she was okay.

And as the first pale ray of morning sun pierced the gray horizon, I was already in the hotel lobby, leaning against the sleek, polished wall, my arms crossed, my jaw tight.

The glass doors whispered open, and there she was. Black jeans, a faded Metallica shirt, her black hair pulled back into a tight, severe ponytail. The dark circles beneath her eyes were faint, but I saw them. I saw the tightness in her shoulders, the way her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag.

“You’re late,” I told her, glancing at my watch, letting the faintest hint of amusement slip into my voice.

She shot me a glare, the fierce, wild light in her green eyes already flickering to life. “It’s six a.m. There is no such thing as ‘late’ at this ungodly hour.”

“Six a.m. means six a.m.,” I replied, straightening, already moving toward the door. “Time waits for no one, not even chaos.”

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, but there was a faint, begrudging smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Good. That’s what I needed. I could work with that.

“Coffee?” I asked, pushing open the glass door and letting the crisp, early morning air wash over us.

“Obviously. If you think I’m driving anywhere without caffeine, you’re insane.”

“I’m driving.”

“Even better.” She sighed, brushing past me, her head held high, but I saw the way her shoulders stayed just a little too stiff, the way her fingers flexed against the strap of her bag—like she was holding herself together with sheer willpower.

And I couldn’t help the faint, dark smile that tugged at my lips. Because despite everything—despite the pain, the anger, the twisted ache still lingering in the bond—she was here. Ready to fight the world again. Ready to burn it all down if she had to.

My sweet chaos.

And gods help me, I was never letting her go.

The sun was already a fierce, blinding glare overhead by the time we hit the open road. The heat shimmered off the asphalt in hazy, twisted waves, turning the rolling fields on either side into a sweltering, golden blur. The pickup’s air conditioning struggled against the August heat, blowing a weak, lukewarm breeze that barely kept the cabin tolerable.

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