Page 87 of When Love Found Us
Her body is soft against mine, her breath warm where it skims my collarbone. I feel every small shift, every hesitant release of tension. She hasn’t pulled away yet, and I don’t fucking dare move, don’t risk breaking whatever fragile thing is holding us together right now.
This isn’t just about keeping her here.
I need her to want to stay.
Her fingers twitch against my back, just slightly, like she’s testing the pull of this—of me, of us. My grip tightens just enough for her to know I’m here, that I’m not going anywhere. If she lets me, I’ll be the ground beneath her, the thing that stays firm when the world tilts.
After a long moment, she exhales, the sound uneven, catching just before she speaks. “I don’t know how to do this.”
My throat tightens. “Do what?”
She hesitates, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, barely there, like she’s testing the reality of this—of me, maybe even us. “Not be afraid of being with someone else. Trust. Not run.”
Fuck.
She says it like she thinks I have the answer as if I can help her.
Like I know how to do any of those things.
I don’t.
I learned at a young age how to build walls so high no one bothers to climb them. How to keep people at a distance until they stop trying. How to pretend that solitude is a choice, not a habit I never learned to break.
But this? Letting her in—letting myself want to be let in—feels like stepping off the edge of something big. A huge cliff where I can just die, and I’m unsure if I’ll crash or if she’ll be there, catching me before I fall too far.
I’m afraid, too.
Afraid of wanting more than what I know how to hold.
Afraid of needing her.
Afraid of the possibility that she’ll leave anyway.
And yet . . . I want her to stay.
I want her to choose me.
The contradiction burns through me, raw like white fire that could kill us both, but I don’t let go.
I close my eyes for a second, memorizing the way she feels against me, how right it is even when nothing else is. “We can figure it out together.”
She tilts her head slightly, her forehead pressing against my chest like she’s hiding. Or maybe like she’s trying to believe me.
“You think it’ll be easy?”
I let out a quiet breath, my fingers tracing slow circles against the small of her back. “No. It’ll be hard. Too fucking hard. But I want to learn how to stay. How to stop being afraid of loving someone . . . and letting them love me.”
If love is meant to be something we fight for, something we bleed for, then maybe—just maybe—she’s the battle worth losing everything for.
Maybe that’s not what I should say. She doesn’t have the luxury of time, of ease, of making this choice on her terms. Winston’s coming, and no matter how much I want to keep her safe in a crystal box, that reality isn’t changing.
She doesn’t need that reminder. Not now. Right now, she just needs to know she’s not alone.
“But we have to focus on the now.”
She snorts. “The now sucks, and what if he wins?”
I tilt my head down, my lips brushing against the top of hers before I can think better of it. “You’re not doing any of this alone. I’m with you, and he’ll have to kill me before he takes you.”
