Page 53 of You've Got The Love
“If anything happens, yeah.”
Her fingers curl slightly around mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The world outside is wet and cold and dangerous, but inside the van, her warmth seeps into me like a slow fire.
She drifts off, her breathing evening out, and I sit there in the quiet, heart still pounding. My mind runs in sharp loops—routes, escape plans, the next steps towardNordmarka—but my thumb brushes her knuckles without thinking.
For now, in this clearing, in this moment, we’re still here. Still together.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.
Chapter 30
Amber
After hours on the road, circling back to Copenhagen, the switch from van to houseboat feels surreal.
One minute we’re winding through the outskirts of Copenhagen in the safety of steel and tyres, the next we’re pulling up beside a low dock, where one of Bas’s old friends—silent and efficient—hands him a key and a knowing nod before disappearing without a word. No names. No questions.
The boat itself is small and worn, but sturdy. A little houseboat tucked between others along a quiet canal, as if it’s been waiting for us.
We board quickly, moving like shadows, and the engine hums to life beneath us.
The first thing I notice as we glide through the narrow canals of Copenhagen is the way the city breathes around us—soft ripples on the water, the low hum of boats tied toweathered docks, and the scent of rain-soaked wood and fresh salt air.
Bas pilots the small houseboat with practised ease, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. The city looks peaceful, almost serene, but I know better. We’re still running, still hunted.
I sit close beside him, watching his profile as he steers us toward the mooring spot he’s chosen. The weight of the silence between us is heavy, filled with all the things we haven’t said.
I’ve known about Abel since the beginning—the son Bas rarely speaks of but never hides. It’s a quiet ache in his life, one I’ve always respected. But meeting him? That’s still a future we haven’t dared to reach for.
“Amber.” Bas’s voice breaks through the quiet. “This place is small, but it’s safe. For now.”
I nod, tracing the chipped paint on the rail with my fingers. “It’s beautiful.”
He shrugs, eyes scanning the water. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s home for a few days.”
We moor the boat in a tucked-away canal lined with other houseboats—each one a story, a refuge, a secret.
As Bas jumps onto the dock and ties the ropes, I glance around and mutter, “Okay, why do we keep ending up on boats?”
He grins over his shoulder. “You’re just lucky like that, I guess.”
“It’s been awhile since the last one, and I still haven’t recovered,” I say, stepping carefully onto the deck. “I swear I keep expecting sharks.”
“In a Copenhagen canal?” he asks, amused.
“You don’t know what’s down there,” I counter, narrowing my eyes. “They migrate.”
Bas laughs as he climbs back into the cabin. “You’re serious.”
“I’m not saying it’s likely,” I say, brushing past him. “But I’m not taking any chances. I’ve seen movies.”
“You were fine in Amsterdam.”
“Barely. That barge was probably safer than this little bathtub.”
He raises a brow, playful. “So you’re saying I’ve downgraded?”
“I’m saying I’m not built for life on water. Sharks. Seaweed. Things with tentacles.” I shudder dramatically.
