Page 29 of Saved By The King's Gamma

“You tried to…end your life?” I ask, barely able to get the words out. The thought of gentle, caring Gannon wanting to die is too much for me to grasp.

Gannon nods, his expression pained as he stares down at our intertwined hands. “I was in a dark place,” he admits softly. “I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and not like the person staring back at you,” He leans down, pressing his head against mine. “Just as I know the feeling of not wanting to wake anymore. Looking for anything to erase the agony you are in.”

For a moment, we stand there in silence, lost in our own thoughts and memories. Then, Gannon’s hand moves from my face to cup my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over the scar again behind my ear.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” he says, gazing into my eyes with such intensity that it takes my breath away.

“I’m glad you are, too,” I reply honestly.

With a small smile, Gannon leans down and presses his lips to mine in a tender kiss. It’s not passionate or heated; instead, it’s filled with a sense of comfort and understanding. Gannon knows what it’s like to carry heavy burdens and pain; he knows what it’s like to feel broken inside.

“More than my life,” Gannon murmurs. “That is what you and Azalea say?” he whispers. I swallow and nod.

“More than my life, Abbie, you are worth so much more than mine. You hold on, and I will for you, I have for you.”

“Azalea told you?” I ask him, suddenly feeling dirty.

“No, the king did. Azalea wouldn’t betray you. She explained how you both shared similar scars and the meaning behind the words you speak with each other. Not what the butcher did, but I got the picture. Doyle confessed when I found him.”

“You met him?” I ask, feeling bile rise in the back of my throat at the mention.

“Yes, and we killed him for what he did. Mrs. Daley, too. He will never come after you again. I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

“You killed him?” I ask. I am surprised at how little I feel about that information. He had confessed to murdering someone, but I feel nothing.

“He hurt you, so I made him hurt, too,” Gannon tells me, and I nod, biting my lip. What do you say to someone who confesses to killing for you? I should be worried he would, yet I felt nothing. Not sadness, not relief, just nothing.

“I wish I could heal you,” he repeats, and my eyes dart to him, his eyes roaming over my torn flesh before moving to the marks on my neck.

“Kade never deserved you. I hate that his marks lay on your beautiful neck.” I touch them, and they feel bruised. The movement makes me wince.

“You will let me remove his mark from you one day; I can be patient, Abbie,” Gannon says, and my brows furrow at his words.

“You can remove them?”

Gannon chuckles darkly. “Yes, when I mark you and when you agree to let me be yours,” he says, and I step back. I’m not sure I want anyone to have that sort of control over me again, not after what Kade did.

“Shh, not now. When you’re ready. I will wait. For now, having you back is enough for me,” he says, stepping closer. His arm goes behind me, and the water cuts off.

“What if I am never ready?” I ask, wondering if he would walk away.

I’m not sure if I can be with anyone, though I used to want to be with Gannon. I still do; I’m just not sure how that will be possible now. So much has changed. I have changed, and I know it isn’t for the better.

“I’m immortal, Abbie. I have all the time in the world to wait for you,” he says before turning and grabbing the towel hanging on the hook. He wraps it around me, pulling me closer. His lips press to my forehead.

“You’re worth waiting for,” he murmurs, and I sigh, closing my eyes and just enjoying his closeness. For a moment, it feels as though the world outside doesn’t exist—just his arms, his warmth, and the promise of something I thought I could never have again: safety.

Gannon pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning my face as if he’s memorizing every detail. His hands are gentle but firm as he helps me step out of the shower, wrapping me securely in the towel. Water drips from my hair, trailing down my battered skin, but he doesn’t flinch at the sight of me. Instead, his movements are careful, deliberate, as though he’s afraid I might shatter under his touch.

“Let me,” he says softly, his voice low and soothing, as he takes another towel from the hook and starts patting my hair dry. I stand still, letting him care for me because, truthfully, I don’t have the strength to resist. I watch him work, his jaw tight as he concentrates, his hands surprisingly deft for someone so large.

Once my hair is mostly dry, Gannon takes the clothes I brought and kneels to help me into them. I hesitate for a moment, but his steady gaze reassures me. He’s not doing this out of pity—he’s doing it because he cares. And for some reason, that realization makes the knot in my chest loosen ever so slightly.

“I can do it,” I whisper, trying to take the shirt from his hands, but he shakes his head, his lips tilting in a small, almost amused smile.

“Just let me take care of you, Abbie,” he says, helping me ease my arms into the sleeves, careful not to tug at the stitches lining my skin.

Once I’m dressed, he steps back, giving me space, though his eyes never leave mine. He grabs the towel to dry himself quickly, then pulls on some loose-fitting pants, that he must have mindlinked to have brought here—not that I heard anyone come in—but then again Liam you never hear so it might have been him.

---