30. Raven

Chapter 30

Raven

I shifted on the plush couch, drawing my legs beneath me.

"Never imagined I'd end up here," I murmured, my eyes not meeting his. "From a cramped two-bedroom I shared with my sister to... all this." I gestured vaguely at the expanse around us.

Jerome's gaze was steady, a calm anchor. "You've come a long way, Raven. You should be proud."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm still that girl, you know? Scrambling for every opportunity, afraid it'll all slip through my fingers."

"Strength isn't the absence of fear," Jerome said. "It's moving forward in spite of it."

My lips curved into a half-smile. "Sounds like something out of your military manuals."

"Maybe," he conceded with a hint of a smile tugging at his own lips. "But it's also true."

The silence that fell between us wasn't awkward—it was thoughtful, laden with unspoken understanding. I studied Jerome's hands—strong, capable hands that had held weapons and now promised protection. Without thinking, I reached out, brushing against the back of his hand before settling into his palm.

Jerome's hand enveloped mine with ease, a gentle squeeze delivering a silent message of solidarity. His touch ignited a warmth that spiraled from my hand up to my chest.

"Thank you," I whispered, finally lifting my gaze to meet his. "For being here. For listening."

"Always."

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever truly let go of that fear," I confessed. "Does it ever get easier?"

"Trust is earned, one day at a time," Jerome said, his thumb caressing the back of my hand in slow, soothing strokes. "And you're not alone anymore."

"Guess we're both works in progress, huh?"

"Seems so."

We were two people, each with our own set of scars, finding solace in the presence of the other.

My breath hitched as I ventured into the shadowed corners of my mind, the places I'd sealed off even from myself. "I never thought I'd be someone's target, you know? The letters, the photos—it's like I can feel his eyes on me, even when I'm alone."

The vulnerability made me uneasy, yet there was solace in sharing my fears with someone who didn't just listen, but understood the gravity of them.

Jerome leaned in. "I've spent years building walls, keeping people out. It's second nature," he admitted. "But those walls... they don't just keep others out; they trap you inside."

His confession hung in the air between us, a silent testament to the battle scars etched into the depths of his soul. I saw the effort it took for him to peel back the layers of his own armor, revealing the man behind the soldier.

"Being strong all the time is exhausting."

"Strength isn't about not feeling fear or pain. It's about facing them head-on, knowing they won't define you."

I let out a slow breath, my heart a steady drumbeat against the chaos of my thoughts. Here, in the quiet sanctity of my house, with the night sky a canvas of darkness outside the window, I leaned on Jerome, to share the burden that had become too heavy to bear alone.

"Letting someone in... it might be the bravest thing we can do."

"Thank you," I said.

Jerome's lips quirked into a half-smile. "I should be thanking you. It's not every day I meet someone who understands."

I chuckled. "Well, I must say, your armor could use a little shine."

"Hey now," he teased back, the corner of his eye crinkling. "Are you offering to polish it for me?"

"Maybe, but only if you promise to protect me from spiders. Those are non-negotiable."

"Spiders?" Jerome feigned shock. "You face down stalkers without blinking but cower at eight-legged creatures?"

"Everyone has their kryptonite. And don't pretend you're not afraid of anything."

"Guilty," he admitted, leaning back against the couch cushions. "I have an irrational fear of karaoke."

"Karaoke? A big, tough guy like you?"

"Laugh all you want, but there's nothing more terrifying than singing 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' in front of strangers."

"Okay, I'll handle the spiders if you take karaoke duty."

"Deal."