Page 195 of Buried in Blood
Reese flinches.
“I know why,” I add before he can speak. “You had a deal with Dante. You wanted to get me out. You needed time.”
“I also needed to make it right,” he says. “And I did. He’s gone, Harmony. He can’t touch you again.”
I squeeze his hand.
“But the memories still can,” I say.
“I’ll help you fight them,” he promises.
“Even if I’m never whole?”
“You’re already more than that.”
Ismile faintly and close my eyes.
* * *
The next morning, the air smells like bacon and rain.
I shuffle into the kitchen, wrapped in one of Reese’s shirts, oversized and worn. He’s at the stove, flipping eggs. When he turns and sees me, his entire face softens.
“You slept twelve hours.”
“I could sleep twelve more.”
“You don’t have to do anything today,” he says. “Just heal.”
I walk over and steal a piece of bacon from the plate.
“I was thinking,” I say between bites, “about what comes next.”
Reese raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t want marriage,” I say. “Or kids. Or some white-picket-fence fantasy. I just want… peace. Days like this. Safety. You. I meant it all in the hospital. I just want you.”
His breath catches. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to give you.”
I reach for his hand.
“Then give me today,” I say. “Just this.”
“I’ll give you every today I’ve got left.”
We eat together at the table, the storm tapping at the windows like a lullaby. Reese tells me about a tree in the backyard that used to drop apples the size of my fist. I tell him about a dream I had where he painted my name across the sky.
We don’t talk about Damien.
Not yet.
Some wounds are better whispered about in the dark, when the world can’t hear them break.
When I stand to rinse my plate, Reese pulls me into a hug. Not rushed. Not lustful.
Just… quiet.
My head rests on his chest.
