Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“You’re not careful enough,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes, but she leans into me just slightly, like she always does.
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.”
“Or maybe,” she says, turning her head just enough to look at me, “you just like having an excuse to hover.”
My mouth curves.
“Maybe.”
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile she’s not as good at hiding as she thinks she is.
“Unbelievable,” she mutters.
“And you married me anyway.”
“That decision is still under review.”
My hand tightens just slightly at her waist, not enough to stop her, just enough to remind her.
“Yeah?” I murmur.
She tilts her chin up, meeting my gaze. “Yeah.”
The lie sits there between us.
It always does.
She doesn’t go anywhere.
Never has.
Never will.
I glance back at the kids just in time to see Eli haul himself up onto a higher branch while Jace follows, stubborn as hell and just as reckless.
“They’re going to fall again,” I say.
“Probably,” she agrees.
“You’re not worried.”
She shifts her weight, her hand sliding absently over her stomach, slow and familiar. “They’re strong. They’ll figure it out.”
“They’ll break something.”
“They’re yours,” she says, glancing at me. “They’ll survive it.”
I huff out a breath, but I don’t argue.
Because she’s right.
Because this…all of this…is something we built out of nothing but instinct and stubbornness and a refusal to walk away from each other.
I watch them for another second, making sure they’re steady, making sure the branch will hold this time.
Then my gaze shifts back to her.
It always does.
She’s watching them with that same look she gets when she forgets everything else. Soft, but not weak. Strong in a way that doesn’t need to prove itself anymore.
Ten years.
Ten years since she showed up on my land with fear in her eyes and fire in her spine.
Ten years since she asked me for protection.
I thought that’s all it was.
A job.
A responsibility.
Something I could control.
I didn’t expect her to change everything.
Didn’t expect to find something in her that made me…different.
Better.
I slide my hand a little higher, my palm flattening over her stomach, feeling the slow shift beneath it.
She stills.
“Did you feel that?” she asks, her voice softer now.
“Yeah.”
The word comes out quiet.
Certain.
It always does with her.
She turns her head, looking up at me, and there’s something in her expression that still hits just as hard as it did the first time I saw it.
Trust.
Not blind.
Not easy.
Earned.
“You’re staring,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“You going to stop?”
“No.”
Her mouth curves, that same almost-smile she’s always had.
“You’re still obsessed with me.”
“Always.”
The word settles between us, steady and unshakable.
She exhales softly, leaning into me just a little more, her shoulder brushing my chest.
“I didn’t expect this,” she says.
“What.”
“This,” she repeats, gesturing slightly with her free hand toward the kids, the woods, the cabin just beyond the trees. “Any of it.”
I tilt my head, watching her.
“What did you expect.”
She laughs quietly. “Honestly? I expected to survive. Maybe leave. Maybe start over somewhere else.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” she says, her gaze flicking back to me. “I didn’t.”
I don’t ask why.
I know.
“You stayed,” I say.
“Yeah.”
Her hand slides up from her stomach to my chest, resting there, right over my heart.
“I stayed,” she repeats.
I reach up, covering her hand with mine, holding it there.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I tell her.
It’s not a question.
It never has been.
She looks at me like she used to, like she’s deciding whether to fight it.
She doesn’t.
“Not a chance,” she says.
Good.
I glance back at the kids again, watching as they finally make it to the top branch, both of them shouting like they just conquered something.
They did.
Then I look back at her.
At the woman who walked into my life and refused to be anything less than exactly who she was.
At the woman who made me realize that protecting someone isn’t about control.
It’s about choosing them.
Every time.
There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for her.
Not one.
“You came to me because you needed protection,” I say.
Her brows knit slightly. “You’re getting sentimental. That’s dangerous.”
“Yeah.”
She watches me, waiting.
I don’t look away.
“I didn’t realize,” I continue, my voice quieter now, “that I was the one who needed something.”
Her expression shifts.
Softens.
“What,” she asks.
I shake my head once.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Of course it does.
I reach up, brushing my fingers along her jaw, letting them rest there for a second.
“I found it anyway,” I say.
Her breath catches just slightly.
“In you.”
The words hang there, simple and heavy and true.
She doesn’t joke this time.
Doesn’t deflect.
She just looks at me like she understands exactly what I mean.
“Careful,” she murmurs. “You’re starting to sound like you love me.”
I almost smile.
“Yeah.”
I lean in, closing the space between us, pressing my mouth to hers in a slow, steady kiss that has nothing rushed in it, nothing uncertain.
Just certainty.
Just us.