Page 49 of You've Got The Love
My chest twists. I reach across the space between our seats, resting my hand on his thigh. His muscles tense under my palm, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Bas… you’ve been that man for years. You just don’t see it.”
He lets out a humourless laugh. “Years. You mean the years I watched you from a distance, too broken to do anything about it. Years where my son was my whole world, and I didn’t think I had the right to want anything else.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes my throat tight. I trace little circles on his leg through the denim, and his breathing shifts, like he’s fighting himself.
“I’ve always wanted you,” I say quietly. “Even when I knew I couldn’t have you. Even when it hurt.”
His jaw flexes. “And now that you do have me?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. I keep wondering if this is just… adrenaline. Fear. If we’re clinging to each other because it’s easier than falling apart.”
He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, heavy but not empty. He’s thinking—I can see it in the way his thumb taps the steering wheel.
Finally, he says, “I don’t know either. I just know that I can’t stop wanting you. And that scares me more than the men chasing us.”
The words steal my breath. I look out the window, blinking hard, because if I keep staring at him, I might cry, and I can’t afford to fall apart.
The road curves through a little village, and the rain eases enough for me to notice the colour—the houses are red and yellow, roofs steep and black, flowers hanging in window boxes that look too bright against the grey sky. For a moment, it feels almost normal, like a road trip instead of a run for our lives.
The petrol station appears like a tiny island in the endless forest, its white walls glaring under the flat grey sky. A single row of pumps sits in front of a squat shop, and a bright yellow sign creaks in the wind. Out here, surrounded by miles of trees, it looks almost too bright, too exposed.
I hug Bastiaan’s hoodie tighter around myself as he pulls the van into the lot. My stomach twists as I scan the road behind us, half-expecting a bike or a car to come flying out of the trees. Nothing. Just the endless stretch of forest swallowing the road.
“Stay here,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument.
I lift my chin anyway. “I could help?—”
“No.” He cuts me off, sharp and certain, and my mouth snaps shut. But then his eyes soften just a fraction. “I need to make sure it’s clear first. Please.”
Something in the way he says please makes me nod.
I watch him step out into the cold daylight, tall and solid, scanning the lot before heading for the pump. He moves like he’s wired for danger, like even here—especially here—he can’t let his guard down. My chest aches watching him, knowing he’s carrying all of this weight on his shoulders… and that some of it is me.
The van feels too quiet without him. Too empty. My reflection in the side mirror looks pale and tired, eyes ringed in shadows. I trace a finger over the fraying cuff of his hoodie and imagine, for a second, that I’m somewhere else. At the beach with Bea. In my shop. Trimming roses and laughing with Jess.
I can’t stand the waiting.
The bell over the shop door jingles when I slip inside, and the warm air smells of coffee and sugar. Bastiaan’s head jerks toward me immediately, his frown deepening.
“You couldn’t wait?” he murmurs under his breath as I wander toward the fridge.
“I didn’t want to sit there alone,” I whisper back. My voice is smaller than I want it to be.
He doesn’t argue, just watches me with that unreadable expression as I grab A Diet Coke and—because I can’t help myself—a chocolate bar. Something normal. Something sweet in the middle of all this fear.
By the time I meet him at the counter, he’s already piled it with bottled water, apples, sandwiches, crisps, and a huge bag of nuts. I spot a small flashlight and a couple of rain ponchos tucked under the food, and I can almost see his mind working—always preparing for the worst.
The cashier doesn’t seem to care about us. He barely looks up from his magazine as Bastiaan pays in cash. I can feel my pulse in my throat anyway, like we’re seconds from being caught, like at any moment someone will step out of the trees and point and say:there they are.
The bell above the door chimes again.
I freeze.
A white SUV glides into the lot, tyres crunching over gravel. I can’t stop my body from tensing, can’t stop the surge of cold panic. Bastiaan subtly shifts, his hand resting near the bag of supplies, his eyes tracking the vehicle.
It rolls past the pumps, slows for a moment, and then continues back toward the road.
