James

I take the stairs two at a time, not because I’m in a rush, but because if I stop moving, I’ll start thinking. And thinking—that’s what got me into trouble in the first place.

The hallway is quiet when I reach the top. 

Zeb’s exactly where I figured he’d be, posted outside the bedroom, arms crossed, gaze alert, posture casual in that calculated way of his. But I know him too well to miss the tension humming underneath. He gives me a nod as I approach, followed by a firm clap on my shoulder as he steps aside and heads off. Probably to track Ben down, now that I’m back.

I pause outside the door, hand on the knob, breathing through the nerves clenching in my chest like a fist. I don’t know what I’m walking into. Don’t know if I’ve wrecked whatever fragile trust Annelly was starting to offer me. 

But I need to see her. 

Even if only for a second, just to know she’s okay.

I ease the door open. She doesn’t hear me at first. Her head is bowed, shoulders hunched like the weight of everything has finally settled there. 

And maybe it has. 

Probably because of me.

She’s packing in silence. Her movements slow. Deliberate. Like folding each item just right gives her some illusion of control. Something solid to hold on to in the middle of all this looming uncertainty. 

There’s a duffel on the bed beside her, half-zipped. She tucks something inside with trembling hands, then pauses, knuckles going white as she grips the edge of the bag.

Her hair’s pulled into a loose braid. The same one I pushed aside when I kissed her. Now soft wisps have fallen free, framing her beautiful face in a way that makes my chest ache.

My hands did that. My mouth. That moment—reckless, messy, too much—that momentary slip of control that stole my breath…

That was me. 

I should hate how much I love knowing I’m the reason her hair looks that way, but I don’t. 

Not even a little.

No surprise there, I guess. 

What does gut me is how red her eyes are. How glassy. Like she’s cried herself dry and has nothing left. 

My throat tightens.

“Annelly,” I say softly.

She startles, straightens fast, swiping at her face to clear what’s left of the tears before she looks up at me. She forces a smile, bright and brittle. The kind meant to protect her, not to reassure me.

“Hey,” she says lightly, like nothing’s wrong.

But I know better.

Without a word, I cross the room. Her smile falters, wavers, then drops completely when I reach out and gently wrap my fingers around her arm, turning her to face me.

At first, she stiffens under the touch, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to lean on me. But I am done with that. Done with making her feel like she’s in this alone. Done pushing her away in some misguided attempt to save us from the one thing we’re helpless to fight—this pull between us that only hurts more the longer we resist it.

So I bring her in close. 

Her body is small against mine. Delicate in ways I never could’ve imagined. But fuck if it doesn’t feel like she’s always belonged here. Her scent wraps around me like a balm, soft and familiar, soothing the dark restlessness still clawing at my insides.

At first, she stands rigid. Arms pinned at her sides. Back tense, like she’s trying to honor the boundaries I stupidly drew between us. 

I hate it. 

But I don’t let her go. 

Not this time. 

Instead, I pull her in tighter, press a soft kiss to the top of her head, and lower my chin gently against her hair.

That’s when it happens.

She exhales this tiny, broken sound and collapses against me. Her body sinks into mine, arms wrapping around me, as her fingers clutch the back of my shirt like she’s afraid something might happen if she lets go. Her forehead presses to my chest, and then she starts to shake.

And just like that, she breaks without sound. 

I close my eyes, locking down the warmth pooling there. God, I hate seeing her like this. Trembling. Breaking. Holding it all in between shallow gasps and silent tears. 

I don’t know what else to do, so I just hold her. Steadying her with my body. Anchoring her with the slow drag of my palm across her back. Offering what little comfort I can in a language I barely understand, but that with her feels like one I’ve spoken my whole damn life. 

Because the truth is, I’ve never held a woman like this before. Not once. And still, somehow, this feels like the only thing I’ve ever done right. Like maybe this—her—is what I was made for. To be the calm in her storm. 

Her tears soak through the fabric of my shirt, hot and quiet, and I let her take whatever strength she needs from me. Because I have it now, only because, in letting me take care of her like this, she’s giving it back to me. Without even knowing it.

And right now, the only thing that matters is making sure she knows she’s not alone. Not in this. Not ever again, if I can help it. 

Because I’m here. 

I rest my chin lightly on top of her head and breathe her in. Jasmine and vanilla. Soft and warm. Just like her. 

My arms stay locked around her while my hand moves slowly up and down her back—steady, gentle—tracing the shape of her spine like muscle memory. The way I’ve done it a thousand times in my head, never really believing I’d get to do it in real life. 

I don’t speak. Don’t move. Just hold her in place, the way she’s unknowingly been holding me since the moment we met.

Eventually, she settles. Her breath evens out, and after a long, heavy exhale, she shifts just enough to lift her head and look up at me. 

Her eyes are glassy. Lashes damp. Cheeks blotchy from crying. And fuck… even like this, she’s fucking stunning.

“Sorry,” she whispers, swiping at her face with the back of her hand. “God, I didn’t mean to fall apart on you like that.”

I catch her wrist before she can turn away again, then brush my thumb gently over the tear track on her cheek with my other hand.

“Don’t,” I murmur. “Don’t ever apologize for feeling. You never have to hide from me, snowflake. Not now. Not ever.”

She gives me a long look, quiet and searching. Her hands settle on my chest, soft and hesitant, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. Because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly as it should be. 

“Is everything okay with you and Ben?” she asks softly.

The question isn’t loaded, but it still hits something deep in me. 

That she cares this much—about me–after everything… it doesn’t sit right. Like maybe she’s got me all wrong. Like one day soon, she’s going to look at me and realize I’m not worth it. That I never was. Never will be. And I’ll have to watch it hit her face—that flicker of disappointment—when I don’t measure up to what she expected. To what she needs. 

It scares the fuck out of me.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck as I take a half step back—not to create distance, just to get my head straight. So I can find the words.

“Define okay,” I mutter, trying for a small smile. It doesn’t quite land. I drag a hand over my hair and nod toward the bed. “Can we… sit?”

She nods, and I keep her hand in mine as we both lower ourselves to the edge of the mattress. My knee brushes hers as I shift slightly toward her, and I’m relieved when she doesn’t move away. 

That alone gives me the courage to start talking.

“I admit—I lost my head.” The words come out thick and heavy, but I don’t look away. “I couldn’t breathe—thinking about everything. About taking you somewhere I didn’t choose. Somewhere I couldn’t control. And I hated it.” I glance down, jaw tight, then force myself to let the rest of it out. “Plus, I was angry. Because after promising to protect you... I let you down. I shouldn’t have lost it like that.”

I pause. Swallow hard.

“I yelled at Ben. Snapped at him like some damn rookie, but in true Ben fashion, he called me out for spiraling. Said I was planting fear in you instead of protecting you, which is my job.”

I glance up, just in time to catch a flicker of compassion in her eyes. 

“And he was right. He set my ass straight before I could embarrass myself further. Which… I appreciated.”

Her lips twitch. 

Almost a smile.

“God, it was humbling,” I add with a dry laugh. “The man basically turned into a therapist and drill sergeant all at once—right before my eyes. And he stayed so damn calm through all of it—it was borderline terrifying.” 

That wins me a genuine smile. 

Small, but definitely there. 

Though it quickly fades when I go quiet again.

“I hate that you had to see me like that,” I say softly. “In the office. After the flower delivery, before they showed up. Crying. On my knees. So fucking weak when for you… I should’ve been strong.”

Her other hand moves—soft and sure—gathering mine between both of hers.

“You were never weak,” she says, voice steady, despite the tears still clinging to her lashes. She offers me a faint smile as she adds, “You were just real.”

I shake my head, jaw tight as shame creeps in again. My eyes start to burn, and when I try to look away, she doesn’t let me.

She cups the side of my face, her touch warm and grounding, as she echoes the words I said to her.

 “You don’t have to hide from me, James,” she whispers. “Not now. Not ever.”

It shouldn’t undo me the way it does—to hear her say that.

But it does.

Because I’ve spent a lifetime hiding who I am from everyone. From my own brother. Even from myself. 

And I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear those words… until she gave them back to me like a vow.

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