Page 69 of You've Got The Love
I rest my head against his shoulder, feel his breath moving through him. “You don’t have to fight it alone,” I tell him. “You can lean on me. I can take the weight.”
His arm tightens, and for a few moments, it feels like maybe we’ve pushed the shadows back. But then—footsteps crunch outside in the snow.
Bas is up before I can breathe, gun in hand, every muscle locked. “Stay close,” he says, low and sharp.
I follow, my pulse hammering so loud I’m sure whoever’s out there can hear it. We peer through the window. The trees stand tall and dark, snow drifting between them, nothing moving.
“They’re testing us,” he mutters. “Seeing if we’ll crack.”
“What do we do?” I ask, swallowing the taste of panic.
“We move.Now. There’s a cabin farther north, near the far edge of Nordmarka. It’s quiet. After that…” His jaw works. “After that, we’ll have to count on your dad and his club.”
The fire fades to embers, leaving the room in shadow. I close my eyes for a second, breathing in the scent of him—sandalwood, leather, and something I’d know anywhere—and let it anchor me.
The next morning, the road north stretches on in silence. Snow softens the edges of the world, but the tension in the van is all hard lines. Every so often, I glance at him, and he’s staring out at nothing, somewhere far away in his head.
I reach across the seat and take his hand. He doesn’t let go. “Tell me about Abel,”I say quietly.
His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “He’s my favourite person in the world. He tells the worst knock-knock jokes you’ve ever heard, then laughs at them so hard he can’t breathe. Doesn’t matter if they’re not funny—he makes me laugh every time.”
My lips lift, small but real. “He sounds amazing. You’ve done a good job raising him, Bas.”
“I didn’t do it alone. My sister, my parents—they’ve been there since day one.” His voice dips. “I miss him every day. I just want to be the kind of dad he’s proud of. And… the kind of man you’d be proud to have.”
“You already are,” I tell him. “More than enough.”
We fall quiet again, the snow wrapping us in a strange, fragile bubble.
When we finally reach the cabin, it’s small and plain, but the warmth hits me the second we step inside. There’s a note from Bas’s friend telling us to make ourselves at home. For the first time in days, I almost believe we’re safe.
We cook something simple, eat at the little wooden table. We laugh over a slow game of cards, and for a while, I forget the world outside exists. But later, when the fire dies and the night presses in, I see the weight settle back onto him.
He’s lying beside me, staring at the ceiling. I reach for his hand in the dark. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper. “But you have to want this. You have to want me.”
He turns to me, his fingertips tracing my cheek like I’m something breakable. “I want you,my God, I want you,” he says, voice raw. “I just… I’m terrified.”
I lean into him, my voice steady even if my heart isn’t. “Then we’ll face it. Together.”
Chapter 38
Amber
The snow falls heavily tonight. Thick flakes drift down and smother the forest, wrapping every branch and path in soft white. It should feel peaceful, but it’s the kind of peace that lies—the kind that masks teeth underneath. Inside the cabin, the fire’s glow barely reaches the corners, and the air has a weight to it, thick with fear and the dull ache of frustration.
Bas hasn’t really sat still all day. Not in a calm way, anyway. He’s been checking the windows, straightening the latch on the front door, fussing with the logs in the basket, even when they don’t need it. His eyes keep drifting to the glass like he’s waiting for the forest to spit something back at him.
“I hate this,” I say quietly, arms crossed over my chest, even though the fire burns hot. “I hate being stuck here, waiting for something to happen.”
He’s sat on the rug with his back to the couch, knees bent, staring into the fire like it’s holding answers. The tightness around his jaw is there again, the one I’ve learned means his thoughts are running faster than he’s letting on. He finally looks at me, but it’s brief, before his gaze pulls back toward the window.
“We can’t leave,” he says. “Not yet. If we move now, we could walk right into them.”
I bite down on the urge to argue. “But if they already know we’re here?—”
“Theymight,” he cuts in. “But we don’t make it easier for them.”
Before I can answer, the burner phone buzzes on the little table by the couch. The sound jolts through the quiet. My stomach flips as I grab it, and the number flashing on the screen makes my heart squeeze.
