James

The worst of the sobs eventually fade, leaving me hollow and shaking in her arms. My forehead still rests against hers, our breaths brushing—uneven at first, then slowly finding the same rhythm. She keeps her fingers threaded through my hair, like she knows her touch is the only thing keeping me tethered.

I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump wedged in my throat, but it doesn’t move. My hands tighten gently at her waist, just enough to remind myself she’s still here. Still with me. Even after everything she just witnessed.

Something in my chest shifts at that. And suddenly… I want to tell her.

“I keep seeing him,” I whisper, my voice rough and scraped raw. “Tyler. Not the way he is now. I keep seeing him as a kid.”

Her fingers pause in my hair, just for a second, then resume—slow, patient, grounding.

I drag in a trembling breath.

“I remember the day my mom brought him home from the hospital. I was only four, but…” My voice falters, and I pause, forcing it steady again. “But I knew. Even then. I knew he was mine to protect.”

A breathless, humorless laugh slips out.

“Four years old, and I already knew our mom wasn’t going to do it right. That if anyone was gonna look out for him, it had to be me.” I shake my head, blinking against the burn gathering behind my eyes. “I remember feeling… relieved. Like I wasn’t gonna be alone anymore. Like I finally had someone. An ally. And it was gonna be him and me against the world.”

Her thumb strokes my cheek, slow and grounding.

“It was stupid,” I murmur. “He was a baby. I was barely out of being one myself. But it never went away. That instinct. That… sense of responsibility.”

A shudder works its way through my chest.

“Growing up fucking sucked,” I say quietly. “We were four years apart, which feels huge when you’re so young. And even worse when you’re growing up in a world full of danger, full of people with no conscience and bad intentions.” My throat tightens again. “I spent so much time being angry at him back then. Angry because he was so innocent. Because he didn’t see the world the way I did. Because I couldn’t get him to toughen up or understand the kind of shit that was out there.”

Her fingers slip from my hair to the back of my neck, warm and encouraging.

“But at the same time, I tried so damn hard to shield him from all of it. I wanted him to have… hope. A childhood. A chance to see the world as something other than a threat.”

I swallow hard, voice thickening.

“I didn’t want him to share in my worries. Even though I spent years resenting how everything fell on me.” My chest aches as the truth presses in. “And I loved that kid so fucking much that when I lost him—when the system took him from me—I almost gave up. Every single day, I wanted to. Because even at fourteen years old, I couldn’t imagine a life without him. Without him, there was no point. No purpose. No reason to keep fighting.”

My breath hitches.

“Until that first phone call,” I whisper. “Hearing his voice for the first time in nearly a month. Hearing him begging for me to come for him. Hearing him say he wanted to be with me.”

The words scrape raw through my chest, exposed in a way I’ve never allowed anyone else to see.

“That’s when I knew my job wasn’t done. It took four years, but the minute I turned eighteen, with Ben’s help, I got him out. Brought him home. Built us a life. And ever since then, it’s been the same thing. Just me and him. Me taking care of him. Me keeping him safe. Helping him heal. Raising him to be a better man than I’ll ever be, so he can live the kind of life I’ll never get to have.”

The tears come back—hot, humiliating, and steeped in guilt.

“He’s not built for what’s happening to him.” My voice fractures. “And I’m not there. I should be with him. I should be out there searching. I should’ve—” My breath splinters. “God, I should’ve protected him better.”

Her hand leaves my cheek only long enough to cradle the side of my neck, guiding me gently until my forehead rests against her shoulder. Her breath brushes past my ear, warm and steady—a lifeline I cling to without shame.

“James, you have to believe that he’ll be okay… because he learned how to survive from you.”

I clench my jaw, shaking my head, but she doesn’t let me pull away.

“He idolized you,” she continues softly. “Everything he knows about strength. About protecting himself. About holding on when things are hard, he learned that from watching you.”

Her hand sweeps along the back of my head, and like a starving man, I lean into her, my body taking what it needs before my mind can stop me.

“He knows you’re coming for him,” she whispers. “That you’ll find him. That you won’t stop until he’s safe.” She pulls back just enough for me to see her eyes—shining, breaking, loving me. Loving my brother too.

“And that belief—your love—is what’s keeping him going right now. Even if he’s scared. Even if he’s hurt. He knows you won’t give up on him.”

My chest caves around the words.

Because God, I want to believe her.

I want to believe her so badly it hurts.

“Thank you,” I murmur at last, my voice stripped bare. The words feel too small for everything she’s just given me, but right now, they’re all I’ve got.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do.” I kiss her forehead, slow and reverent. “Come here.”

I draw her closer, guiding her down onto the bed with me until her head rests against my chest. I breathe her in, anchoring myself in the weight of her, the warmth of her body, the steady proof that she’s here. That I’m not alone.

I pull back just enough to look at her. And when our eyes meet, the shame I thought I’d already bled dry surges back to life.

My jaw tightens.

“There’s something else I need to say,” I tell her quietly, my throat working around the words. “Something I can’t let slide.”

Her brows knit, concern flickering across her face, and it only makes my chest ache more.

“I keep seeing it,” I admit. “The way you flinched. The way your body reacted when I raised my voice.” My breath shakes. “I did that. I put that fear into you.”

She opens her mouth, already shaking her head. “James, it’s okay. It wasn’t—”

“No.” The word comes out firmer than I intend, but I don’t soften it. I refuse to. Because I need her to understand. 

I cup her face gently, forcing her to really hear the meaning behind my words. “Don’t do that. Don’t you ever say that. What I did was not okay.”

Her lips part, uncertainty flickering across her face.

“I don’t want you excusing it. I don’t want you thinking for even a second that kind of behavior is something you just have to accept—especially from me.”

My voice cracks, but I don’t stop.

“I yelled at you. I scared you. And I don’t care how much fear or grief or rage was running through me—I had no right. No right to ever speak to you that way.”

Tears shine in her eyes, but she doesn’t look away.

“I’ve got to do better.” I shake my head once, the truth settling heavy in my chest. “No. I will do better.” 

Her breath stutters.

I lean closer, my forehead resting against hers, my voice dropping to something raw and reverent.

“I love you,” I whisper. “So much I can’t fathom a single second of letting you believe you deserve any of my shit.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb, owning every ounce of the pain I put there.

“You don’t,” I tell her softly. “You deserve more. You deserve better.”

I draw in a slow breath, grounding myself before I say what matters most.

“So demand it, Annelly. Demand it from me. Demand respect. Demand safety.” My voice breaks. “Demand everything you need, everything I’ve promised you, and I’ll dig deep to give it all to you.”

Her lips tremble.

“Okay,” she whispers. “I will.”

Her words hit harder than I expect. Relief floods my chest so fast it nearly steals my breath.

Because it’s one thing to hold myself accountable. It’s another to know she’ll never again feel like she has to swallow her fear—or her needs—to protect me.

I hate that I even need that reassurance.

But this is me. 

The monster. 

The protector. 

Two sides of the same coin, both just as suffocating. Both just as relentless and dangerous to the people I love. 

Fact is, I’ve never been normal. I don’t know how to love softly or gently. Which is why she needs to know it’s her right to stop me. To call me out. To put me in my place and demand more. 

I pull her back into me, pressing my lips to the crown of her head, breathing her in like I need the reminder that she’s real. That she’s still here. That she’s still mine.

And as I hold her, a fragile truth settles deep in my bones. 

Love might not be enough to save us from what’s coming. But it might be enough to keep me standing. To keep me fighting. To keep me whole when everything else threatens to tear me apart.

And then there’s that small spark of hope now simmering inside me. Hope that feels just as dangerous as the love I feel for her.

And still… with her in my arms, I realize I want it all.

Hope that we’ll find Tyler. 

Hope for a future where we’re all together again. 

Hope for a life that only ever existed in the dreams I taught myself to ignore.

With her, I want to take that leap. 

Even if it means risking everything I’ve spent a lifetime fighting for.

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