Page 110 of Jayson
And fuck, if that doesn’t nearly break me.
I could say a thousand things. I could tell her she’s the only thing that makes this nightmare worth crawling through. That I’d burn the world for her and light a cigarette in its wake. That if anyone ever comes for her again, I’ll leave them scattered in more pieces than there are stars in the sky.
But none of that feels big enough. So I kiss her. Slow. Deep. Like a promise made in blood and regret and the quiet belief that maybe—just maybe—we get to survive this.
When we part, her forehead rests against mine. Her breathing steadies. And then she curls into me, head on my chest, journal still clutched in her hands like a lifeline.
Outside, wind rattles the windows. But inside? The storm finally settles.
And for the first time since I watched my sister die screaming in my arms, the future doesn’t taste like iron and rage.
It tastes like pine. Clean and crisp. Like warmth. Like the salt of a woman who won’t break, no matter how many men have tried.
I wrap both arms around her, pulling her in tight, fitting herbody to mine like we’ve done this a thousand times in another life—one where there were no guns, no ghosts, no graves between us. Her weight is delicate but solid, grounding me in a way nothing else ever has. Not revenge. Not power. Not even blood.
Just her.
And something deep inside me—the part that never healed right, the part that still bleeds in silence—starts to knit itself back together. Not cleanly. Not perfectly. But enough.
Her cheek rests against my chest, her breath warming the skin just above my heart. I press my lips to her temple, letting them linger, feeling her pulse flutter beneath fragile bone.
She’s here. She’s alive. And she’s mine, even if she doesn’t know what that means yet.
My hand slides up her back, tracing the subtle ridge of her spine beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. She shivers, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she shifts closer, one leg sliding between mine, like she wants to crawl inside my ribcage and stay there. Like I’m the only safe place left.
“Are you cold?” I murmur.
“No,” she whispers. “Just… empty.”
I tighten my hold, press another kiss to her hair. “Then take what you need.”
She lifts her face, slow and hesitant, eyes searching mine like she’s terrified I’ll vanish if she blinks. Her fingers come up to brush my jaw, tracing the line of stubble there, the scar near my mouth. She studies me like I’m some rare, dangerous thing she hasn’t quite decided to keep yet—but can’t let go of either.
“I’m here. With you. And it doesn’t feel real.”
I cup the side of her face, let my thumb drag gently across her bottom lip. “It is.”
“But for how long?” she asks.
My throat tightens. I don’t lie to her.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’ll fight for every minute.”
She leans in then, slow and aching, and our mouths meet in the softest kiss we’ve ever shared. There’s no heat behind it. No urgency. Just need. Just truth. Just the quiet collision of two people who’ve been scraped raw and are still choosing each other anyway.
When she pulls back, her eyes glisten. She curls back into my chest, one hand resting over my heart like she’s trying to memorize the rhythm of it. Her breathing evens out, lashes lowering. The journal slips from her grip and I catch it before it falls. I set it aside gently.
Outside, the wind howls. Somewhere far off, a siren cries into the dark.
But in here? In here, the storm is quiet.
And for the first time in years, I let my guard fall. I let someone in. I let the good hurt settle deep in my bones and root itself there.
Tomorrow, we burn what’s left of Maddox. But tonight? Tonight, I hold her like she’s the only prayer this blood-soaked world has left. And maybe—just maybe—I believe in it.
43
KANYAN
