Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Some of the tension drains out of her.
“Good,” she breathes.
I pull my hand back, studying her face.
“Do you want to be alone?” I ask, even though the thought of leaving her makes my chest seize.
“No,” she says immediately, then seems surprised by her own answer.
“Good,” I murmur.
Because I’m not going anywhere.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Twenty-One
Holley
I wake to sunlight on my face.
Warm. Soft. Clean.
For a disorienting second, I don’t know where I am. The room is unfamiliar—dark walls, the faint smell of leather and motor oil, a worn dresser, boots lined neatly near the door.
Then the weight of an arm draped over my waist pulls me back to reality.
Tony.
His breath brushes the back of my neck, steady and grounding. His chest rises and falls against my spine in a slow rhythm that calms something deep inside me.
We slept like this all night.
I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember his arms around me, his quiet voice telling me I was safe, the hum of the compound outside like a protective lullaby. But the rest is blank. My mind must have shut down, exhausted.
Carefully—slowly—I turn just enough to look at him.
He’s still asleep.
And he looks younger, somehow. Or maybe vulnerable. His brows aren’t pulled tight like usual, and without the tension he wears when he’s awake, he looks softer. More human. Less like the force of nature the world sees.
My throat tightens.
I almost lost him.
He almost lost me.
And that truth sits heavy on the pillow between us.
His eyes open suddenly—sharp, alert, focused. He takes in the room, then me, and relaxes visibly.
“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gravelly.
I swallow. “Hi.”
He brushes hair from my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “How’re you feeling?”
“Sore,” I admit. “But alive.”
“Good,” he says, leaning in to press the faintest kiss to my forehead. “Stay that way. Makes my life easier.”
I let out a soft breath that might be a laugh. “Bossy.”
“You like me bossy.”
He’s not wrong.
The room falls into a quiet that isn’t uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things pressing against the silence.
Eventually, I push up onto my elbows.
“Tony,” I say.
He stiffens slightly. “Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“That never ends well for me,” he mutters, but there’s no real annoyance behind it.
I take a breath. “I don’t want to get married again.”
He goes still.
Completely, absolutely still.
Then, after a moment:
“I figured.”
“You did?”
He nods. “You flinch every time someone mentions commitment like it’s a cage snapping shut. I’ve seen that look before. Had it myself once or twice.”
I turn fully to face him. “You don’t… want marriage either?”
His eyes harden for a moment—not angry, just certain.
“No,” he says. “Not now. Not ever again.”
Something eases inside me. A knot I didn’t know I’d been carrying.
“Good,” I breathe.
One of his brows lifts. “Good?”
“I thought you might be expecting more. Or hoping for more.”
He snorts. “Sweetheart, if I’d wanted marriage I wouldn’t have told you right up front I don’t do monogamy.”
“Yeah, well… things have changed.”
His gaze sharpens. “What things?”
“You.”
“Me.”
We stare at each other for a long beat.
“Say it,” he says quietly. “Whatever’s rolling around in that pretty head making you look like you’re about to bolt.”
I take a deep breath.
“Tony… I don’t know if I want to live with you.”
His face doesn’t fall. Doesn’t shutter. Doesn’t shift the way I expect. He just watches me steadily.
“I don’t know if I want to live alone either,” I continue. “I just… don’t want to be apart from you.”
His jaw flexes. “You don’t have to be.”
“But I don’t want to lose my independence. I don’t want to move into someone else’s world and disappear in it. I want… both. Space and closeness. Freedom and safety. I don’t even know if that’s possible.”
Tony sits up, resting against the headboard. His expression shifts—not softer, exactly, but clearer. Decisive.
“I never asked you to move in,” he says. “I brought you here because you were in danger. When you weren’t, you were still welcome, but that’s not the same thing as expecting you to share my life.”
“But I—”
“Holley.” He catches my hand, thumb brushing my palm. “I don’t want you to disappear. I don’t want you dependent on me. I don’t want you trapped in my world. I want you choosing to be in it.”
My chest aches.
“And if part of you choosing me means having your own home, your own income, your own damn door you shut when you need space? Good. Do that.”
My eyes sting. “You mean that?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “I won’t build the kind of cage you just escaped.”
I look down at our joined hands.
“I don’t want to go back to the mountains,” I whisper. “honestly, I don’t feel safe there anymore.”
“Then don’t live there,” he says. “Keep it. Rent it out. Income stream. Or keep it as an escape. Hell, sell it and buy something closer. Whatever you need.”
“But,” I hesitate. “The job. The dental office is a mess.”