Page 141 of Sage Haven
How fragile she was in that moment. How badly I wanted to pull her into me and never let anything hurt her again. Even though I already had.
“Sage,” I said her name low, soft, as if gentling her with sound alone would work.
Her eyes squeezed shut. Her breath stuttered against her ribs. And a single tear slid down her cheek like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there.
I reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers grazing her temple.
She flinched again.
I froze.
Felt the tremor in my hand and slowly pulled back.
I didn’t force it.
Didn’t force her.
Instead, I took a slow breath, letting the air between us settle.
Letting myself settle.
Inhaling the faintest trace of her scent—the one that always unspooled something dangerous in me.
Softness. Warmth. Sweetness I didn’t deserve.
“You don’t trust me,” I murmured.
A truth, not a question.
Her forehead pressed lightly to my chest, as if she wasn’t aware she was doing it. As if her body didn’t know how to stay away from mine.
“I was starting to.” Her voice was rasp, worn thin. “But I don’t know anymore.”
That hit harder than I expected.
I could’ve argued with her.
Could’ve defended myself.
But instead, I gave her what I hadn’t before—control.
“Ask your questions,” I said, as I kept my voice low. Kept it steady even though my pulse was thrumming inside me as I continued, “and then you can decide.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Just breathing. A shared space between heartbeats.
And then—her body trembled. Her breath released in a soft exhale.
A soundless surrender.
But she didn’t pull away.
She didn’t run.
Her forehead stayed where it was—pressed over my heartbeat, as if listening.
Her hands clutched the fabric of my shirt like she didn’t trust herself to stand on her own.
And I held her.
