Page 82 of You've Got The Love
By the time we reach the cabin, I’m still waiting for it. The headlights of two bikes cut through the trees, engines idling low. The Oslo chapter boys—watching our backs. I should feel safer with them here. Instead, I feel cornered.
The van stops. Dad is out first, striding to the cabin. Bas steps down from the back, then turns, holding his hand out to me. I take it. His grip is strong, warm, steady—nothing like the way he’s looking at me.
Inside, the fire is lit. The smell of pine and smoke fills the small room. I sit on the couch, twisting my hands together, hiding them in the long sleeves of Bas’s hoodie. Dadpaces. Bas leans against the wall near the window, his arms crossed, like if he doesn’t pin himself there, he’ll come to me.
“Dad,” I say quietly, “I’m not running away from my life because of this. I can’t just leave everything.”
“You almost didn’t make it back tonight,” Dad says. His voice is hard, but I can hear the tremor under it. “You think I’m gonna to stand by and watch you walk right back into harm’s way?”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You weretaken, Amber.” His voice spikes, then softens. “Do you get that? They put their hands on you. I can’t—” He stops himself, rakes a hand down his face. “You need space. Time. Somewhere you can heal away from harm’s way.”
I glance at Bas, and the look in his eyes nearly steals my breath. He’s staring at the floor, his hand flexing once at his side.
“Bas?”
He doesn’t look up. “He’s right.”
The words gut me.“What?”
“I couldn’t stop it.” His gaze lifts finally, and it’s like being caught in the wreckage of something beautiful. “I thought I could keep you safe. But tonight proved I can’t. If anything ever happened to you because of me…” He shakes his head.
My chest tightens until it’s hard to draw breath. “So you’re just letting me go?”
“I’m letting you live,” he says.
Dad steps closer. “Get your things, babygirl. You can come home with me. Rest. Let me look after you for a while.”
I want to tell him no. I want to tell Bas I’m not afraid, that I don’t care about what happened tonight because I’m here, we’re here, and that’s what matters. But the haunted look in Bas’s eyes stops me cold. He’s already halfway gone.
I nod, my throat tight, and go to the bedroom. My bag feels heavier than it should when I lift it. Every step toward the living room feels like a piece of me is being left behind.
Dad is by the door when I return, one hand on the handle, my coat already slung over his shoulder. Bas hasn’t moved from the window, but his palm is braced against the frame like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.
I stop in front of him, my pulse hammering in my throat. “Bas…”
His eyes lift to mine, and the look there guts me—want, sorrow, guilt, all tangled into something raw enough to strip me bare. I reach up and lay my palm against his chest, right over the steady, heavy thud of his heart, like I can hold on to it for just a second longer.
“I would have stayed,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I would have fought for us, no matter what.”
His jaw flexes, a muscle ticking hard. “And I would have broken you,” he says, each word like glass. “Not because I want to, but because I’m too broken to give you everything you deserve. You deserve the world, Amber… and all I’ve got togive are pieces.”
The sting of his words burns hot in my chest. I lean in before I can lose my courage, pressing my mouth to his. It’s soft, but desperate, tasting of salt—my tears or his, I don’t know. I want to pour every unspoken thing into that kiss, to make him feel how wrong he is.
But I pull back before I shatter in his arms.
Behind me, the door opens. Cold air rushes in, stinging my cheeks.
“Let’s go, babygirl,” Dad says, his voice low, steady.
I turn away before my resolve cracks. I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll never walk out that door.
The van is warmer this time, the heater humming low, but it doesn’t touch the cold lodged deep in my bones. Dad sits beside me, keeping me tucked under his arm like he used to when I was small and the world felt too big.
The hum of the tyres and the faint roar of the bikes behind us fill the silence, steady and relentless. I lean into my dad’s chest, the leather of his cut rough against my cheek, the scent of him familiar in a way that both soothes and unravels me. His arms close around me the way they always have—strong, unshakable, like nothing can touch me here.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice catching.
