Page 19 of Let it Burn
I grab the gauze and disinfectant with fumbling fingers, the familiar routine grounding me. “This is going to sting.”
He smiles through the pain. “You’re bossy when you’re worried.”
“Shut up,” I murmur, pressing the gauze to the wound. He hisses softly, but doesn’t pull away. “You should’ve let the cops handle it.”
“Couldn’t,” he says simply. “Not with him near you.”
I glance up, throat tight. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I should’ve waited. I shouldn’t have come alone—”
“Lena.” His voice is low, firm. “Don’t do that. This wasn’t your fault. He had no right to do what he did.”
“But you got hurt. You’re bleeding—”
“I’d bleed a thousand times if it meant keeping you safe.” That does it.
Something in me shatters—quietly, beautifully. My heart cracks open like it’s been waiting for this, forhim. I press my palm to his chest, right over the fierce, steady beat of his heart, like I need to feel it, like I need toknowit’s real. He’s real.
“I don’t know how to say this the right way,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I meet his eyes. “But these past few days with you… Zeke, it’s like I’ve been underwater my whole life and I’m finally breathing again.”
His gaze softens, and the way he looks at me—like I’ve just handed him the sun—is enough to bring the tears right to the surface.
He leans in, brushing his nose against mine, his breath warm and ragged. “Say it,” he murmurs, and I don’t have to ask what he means.
I swallow hard, my fingers curling into his shirt like I need to anchor myself to him. “I love you,” I breathe, the words barely a whisper but holding the weight of everything I’ve kept locked away.
He exhales like he’s been punched in the chest, like the air’s been knocked out of him by something sacred. “You have no idea,” he whispers, voice rough with emotion, “how much I’ve been waiting to say this to you. Lena… I love you so damn much it hurts.”
Then his lips find mine—and it’s deep and tender, like he’s been starving for this. Like I’m the answer to every question he’s ever had. His hands frame my face with aching care, thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t know had fallen. He kisses me like he’s grounding himself, like I’m the calm after every storm he’s ever weathered. And in that moment, I know—I’m his, and he’s mine. Completely and irrevocably. And we can finally live our lives without looking over our shoulder.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath uneven. “If I don’t stop now, I’m going to kiss you until sunrise,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “And something tells me you need real rest more than you need me worshipping you against this clinic wall.”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, caught somewhere between joy and leftover fear. I nod through the tears that won’t stop spilling down my cheeks. “I think we should go home.”
His smile is all soft edges and quiet promises. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 8
Zeke
A few months later
It’s been months since that night behind the clinic, but I remember every second of it. Every scream. Every breath she took after I knew she was safe. Every time she looked at me like I was her entire world. And now, she’s up there, standing in front of a packed hall at the firehouse, her palms shaking slightly as she clutches the mic.
God, she’s so damn beautiful. And brave. And mine.
The town’s hosting a women’s safety event as part of our new community outreach program, and Lena’s tonight’s closing speaker. I had no idea if she’d say yes when they asked, but she did. She said yes for every woman who’s ever looked over her shoulder while walking to her car, for every girl who’s silenced her instincts just to be polite, for every person who’s ever felt powerless and alone. Jack, the bastard, is locked up for good, thanks to her testimony, and her friends and her mom are back in her life. But she’s decided to stay in Silvertown Hollow, stay and use her story to help others.
She clears her throat, eyes scanning the crowd. They land on me. I give her a nod. Not big or flashy, like I need to prove to everyone that she belongs to me. Just a steady, quiet I’m here baby.
And she starts.
"I used to think survival meant running. That strength meant keeping everything locked up and never letting anyone in." Her voice is soft, but it carries. No one moves. No one breathes. "But I learned something. I learned that strength can look like asking for help. That bravery sometimes wears turnout gear. And that love... real love... doesn’t ask you to be less of yourself. It helps you remember who you were before fear took over."
I grip the armrests of my seat. Because she’s not just telling her story. She’s telling mine, too. Ours.
"I was stalked. Harassed. Hurt. I filed restraining orders that never got enforced. I moved towns, changed my number, erased my life twice just to breathe." She pauses. Her hand trembles a little. My fingers twitch with the urge to run up there and take it. "And still, he found me. Again. And again. Until one night, he didn’t just find me. He grabbed me. Dragged me against a wall. Put a knife to my throat. And I thought… this is it. This is how my story ends."
