Page 196 of Buried in Blood
His fingers curl into my hair.
“I love you,” he says.
I don’t flinch.
I just nod.
“I know.”
58
Reese
I watch her sleep.
It’s the only thing I know how to do right now.
The soft rise and fall of her chest is steady, rhythmic—proof that she’s still here. Still breathing. Still mine, if only for tonight.
She’s curled up in my bed, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other resting lightly on the gauze taped to her side. Her hospital bracelet is still on, hanging loosely against her wrist. I should cut it off. I will. But not yet. Not until I can fully believe she’s out for good. That she’s staying.
The house is silent, except for the sound of the fan spinning overhead and the occasional gust of wind pushing against the old windowpane. Everything else—the chaos, the pain, the years of rot, trailing behind both of us like ghosts—feels suspended. For once, the quiet doesn’t terrify me. It feels earned.
I move around the room quietly, picking up the fresh towels I laid out, adjusting the pillows she’s not even using, then finally returning to my chair beside the bed.
I sit.
And I watch.
She’s thinner than I remember. Pale too. Her lips are cracked, and her skin still has that strange hospital sterility to it, like she hasn’t quite re-entered the world. Her hair’s tangled against the pillow, and her lashes twitch every now and then like she’s dreaming.
God, she’s beautiful.
Not in that soft, delicate kind of way. No—Harmony is beautiful like a fucking blade. Sharp. Gleaming. Dangerous.
She’s the kind of girl people try to cage, try to tame. But the ones who get too close always end up bleeding.
And I never minded the blood.
Her body shifts slightly, and a low whimper escapes her throat. I’m on my feet before I even think about it, crouching beside her, brushing a hand gently through her hair.
“Shh,” I whisper. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Her eyes flutter open slowly. Those soft irises settle on mine, sleepy and confused, and then…
Recognition.
Relief.
“Reese,” she breathes, voice hoarse.
“Hey,” I murmur, smiling like I haven’t smiled in years. “Welcome back.”
She tries to sit up, wincing as the pain in her side reminds her she’s still healing. I help her, sliding an arm around her back, adjusting the pillows so she can rest without straining. Her body leans into mine without hesitation, and I feel her warmth settle into my bones like it belongs there.
“Did I sleep long?” she asks, throat scratchy.
“Few hours,” I say. “You needed it.”
