Read TWISTED PROMISES (Twisted Path Book 2) :: Chapter 15

Shane

The door clicks shut behind me, and I stop cold.

For five days, I’ve replayed this moment in my head—stepping back into the only space that’s ever felt like home. Now that I’m here, it hits me so hard I can barely breathe.

The soft glow of the Christmas tree bathes the room in a wash of color, dreamlike in its warmth. Her scent lingers in the air—berries and vanilla—curling around me like an embrace. My gaze darts around the room, hungry, desperate. The couch is empty. So is the kitchen. My chest squeezes tighter and tighter until… there. A sliver of light seeps from beneath the bathroom door. The hum of the shower nearly buckles my knees.

She’s there.

Right there. Just a wall between us.

“About time the help showed up.”

The voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, and I finally see him. Nick. He stands in the living room, half-bent over a duffel bag. He straightens slowly, eyes dragging over me, then lingering on the emblem stitched across the maintenance jacket I’m still wearing. A crooked grin pulls at his mouth, eyes sparking like it’s the funniest damn thing he’s seen all week.

“Sink’s been leaking for days.”

A rough, startled laugh bursts out of me. It sounds foreign in my ears, but it’s real. The first honest-to-God laugh I’ve managed in days.

In two strides, we’re locked in a hug that’s anything but polite. It’s not gentle. Not performative. It’s blood-deep. Bone-deep. The kind of embrace born from survival. Two men bound not by blood, but by the scars left behind by families who treat us like pawns instead of people. Brothers who’ve crawled through the trenches of high society side by side—starving, always, for something real.

Nick thumps my back once, solid and grounding. My throat burns with relief and gratitude, because in a world of masks and lies, he’s the closest thing to family I’ve ever had.

And for the first time in five days, the pressure holding me under water eases.

Because I’m home—with my chosen family.

He pulls back first, gripping my shoulders like he’s taking stock. The grin fades. His eyes narrow, serious now.

“You look like hell.”

I huff out a dry laugh, shaking my head. Because it’s been hell. Five days of nothing but staged smiles, suffocating public appearances beside a girl I’m starting to hate, and the gnawing ache of living without the one I love. But I’m not spilling that poison now. Not here. Not with the only thing that matters standing just feet away behind that door.

So I deflect. “How’s she doing?”

His expression shifts to something softer. Pride flickers in his eyes in a way that tells me leaving him here to watch over her was the right call.

“She’s stronger than she knows. Tough as nails. You’d be proud, man. I know I am.” His voice catches on the exhale. “Getting the chance to know her—to be a brother again—it’s been the best damn thing to come out of this whole mess.”

My throat burns. I glance away, press my tongue to my teeth, trying to hold it together. I know how hard it’s been for him these past few years, with Charles always pulling the strings, pitting his kids against each other like chess pieces. A game he ramped up tenfold after Nick refused to give up Miranda.

“Thank you. For looking out for her. For being here when I couldn’t be.”

Nick shrugs, but his eyes give him away. “Wish I could stay longer. But you two… you need this time.” He zips the duffel bag closed. “I’ll be at Connor’s for the rest of winter break. Still close enough to check in, especially for her. I’ve got a feeling she’s gonna need me, with everything that’s coming.”

The weight of his words settles heavy between us—part promise, part warning. But instead of bristling like I might’ve once, it settles something inside me. Because he’s right. With what’s coming, she’s going to need him. And knowing he’ll be there, that he’s in her corner when I can’t be, soothes a part of me I didn’t realize was still screaming.

He slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder, then pauses at the door that leads to the garage. “Don’t want to spoil your reunion. Tell her I said goodbye. Make sure she knows I’m not far. Just a phone call away.”

And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows is deafening. My heartbeat fills it, pounding wild and uneven in my ears.

I tug off the cap and jacket, hanging them on the coat rack by the front door. My chest feels wired with electricity, every nerve ending alive and sparking as I pace the floor. My palms are slick, so I wipe them on my jeans, but it doesn’t help. My hands won’t stop trembling. Even the weight of the ring box in my pocket feels unbearable, like it’s burning through the denim, branding me with everything I need to say but don’t know how to yet.

Then it happens.
The shower cuts off. Pipes groan in protest, the sound booming in the suffocating quiet of her apartment. Water drips in sharp ticks, each one like a countdown pounding against my ribs. The shower curtain scrapes back. Bare feet shift on the tile. The soft thud of movement muffled by the door.

I freeze mid-step. My lungs seize.

God, I want to storm in there. Rip the door from its hinges. Drag her into my arms and bury myself in the proof she’s still mine—that I haven’t lost her. Every cell in me screams for it. Just one second of contact to end this torture.

But I don’t.

Because after everything… after five days of damn near silence, of her picturing me beside Amanda, I don’t even know if she’d want me in there. Not yet.

I have no right.

Not until I know for sure that we’re okay.

So I force myself to wait.

Heart pounding. Sweat crawling down my spine. My chest aches as I hold a breath that burns in my lungs.

The silence stretches.

A lifetime packed into seconds.

And then—

The bathroom door opens with a soft click, steam curling out like ghostly tendrils of suspense.

And there she is.

My Becca.

She steps into view in a loose sweatshirt and sleep shorts, damp strands of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. For a second, she doesn’t even register me. Her gaze sweeps the room absently, like she’s still in her head, still in that quiet place we all retreat to when the world gets too loud.

Then her eyes find mine.

She stops cold.

The towel in her hand slips through her fingers and hits the floor. Disbelief flashes across her face, raw and sharp, followed by something so fragile it wrecks me.

Her lip trembles.

Her chest hitches like she doesn’t trust what she’s seeing.

My throat burns. My vision blurs.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

Three words. Barely a whisper. The only ones I can manage.

Her mouth opens like she wants to speak, but nothing comes out. Just a soundless breath that dies in her throat. Her eyes shimmer, lashes fluttering under the weight of unshed tears.

And then the dam breaks.

She crumples.

Tears spill hot and fast. Her shoulders shake with the force of it.

The sight undoes me.

I don’t think. I just move. In a heartbeat, I’m across the room, wrapping her in my arms, hauling her against me. And the second her body collides with mine, oxygen floods my lungs.

Finally.

Finally, I can breathe again.

She clings to me like she’s drowning, fists twisted in my sweatshirt with all the desperation I’ve felt clawing at me for days. Her sobs shake through both of us, muffled against my chest, dampening the fabric.

But I don’t care.

Not even a little.

Like the starved man that I am, I bury my face in her damp hair and inhale. Sweet. Fresh. Unmistakably her. The scent hits me like salvation, and my whole body aches with it.

The weight of her pressed to me.

The hitch of her breath against my ribs.

The erratic stutter of her heartbeat syncing with mine.

Every detail sears into me, permanent, like a brand I’ll never let fade.

My lips brush her temple, her hair, her cheek. And the words spill out between kisses, soft and as certain as a vow.

“I’ve got you.”

“I’m here, pretty girl.”

“I’m here.”

She only cries harder. The sound rips me open, so I shift, sliding one arm around her waist and lifting her against my chest, her feet off the floor. She’s clutching something in her fist—her laundry, wrinkled and damp. I gently pry it from her grip, tossing it to the floor without a second thought.

None of that matters.

Not now.

Not when she’s breaking in my arms, and I’m finally here to catch the pieces.

Every fragile ounce of her clings to me as I carry her through the apartment that smells like her shampoo, her lotion, and the little pocket of paradise we’ve slowly carved out together.

I kick off my boots by the bed and lower us down, never letting go. She curls into me instantly, burying herself in my chest like she’s trying to disappear inside me.

And maybe she is.

Because that’s all I want too. To fuse her into me so completely, nothing and no one can ever separate us again.

I wrap her tighter. One hand splayed over her back, the other cradling the back of her head. My lips find her forehead. Her temple. The damp strands of her hair. The tear-streaked curve of her cheek.

Each kiss is a vow.

Each whisper threaded between them, a lifeline.

“I’ve got you.”

“I’m here.”

“I love you.”

“Only you.”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. The silence between us speaks in a language all its own.

The way her breath trembles against my chest.

The way her fists knot into my shirt like I’m the only solid thing in her world.

And I know exactly how that feels.

Because for me, that’s exactly what she is.

My solid ground.