Chapter 13

"You fucked up," Delaney says, her body six inches from mine, "but you can still fix it."

"I already have," I mutter, turning away from her, eyes on the rows of empty desks in the security complex.

"So all of that crap you fed me about stepping out of the shadows was bullshit?"

I freeze, shoving down the fucking guilt, and turn back, snapping out, "An explanation of my life and my decisions is above your pay grade."

She rocks back, inhales sharply, but I don't let the hurt skating across her expression soften my resolution.

"You have a detail," I tell her. "Get on it."

Delaney looks at me, her eyes heavy with disappointment, and then she shakes her head and walks away, saying, "So fucking typical."

Fucking finally.

I walk past the empty desks, shove into my office, and set about working myself into exhaustion, working until I get so fucking tired I can't safely drive over to Lauren's place and keep doing shit I shouldn't have started in the first place.

It's only, hours later that I know I'll be able to slip into peaceful oblivion—at least for a little while.

Because I have no doubt that my dreams will be filled with Lauren's gentle eyes and Matteo's crooked smile...

"Fuck," I hiss, rubbing a hand over my head, trying to remind myself why I'm here, why I think I can't do this, why I didn't stay and hug Lauren and Matteo tightly, acknowledging that this shit scared me, and did it deep, and?—

I can't.

It wells up in me again, and I lock my computer, shove back from my desk, stride over to my couch.

Not tired now.

But I'm going to force myself to sleep anyway, even if it's riddled with Lauren and Matteo, even if it doesn't come—likely—and I end up wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about them all fucking night?—

"Enough," I growl, flopping onto the couch and then immediately jumping back up to my feet when something jabs me in the back. "Christ," I mutter, reaching down, seeing the action figure?—

And knowing that I seriously—seriously—fucked up.

One step at a time.

One fucking step.

And instead, I'd spun around, leaped backward and...

I fucked up.

"Shit," I mutter, turning for my desk, intending to grab my keys, my phone, and drive back to Lauren's place and pound on the door, no matter that it's fucking late.

But just as my fingers grip my keys, the exterior perimeter sensor goes off.

"What the fuck?"

I jab at my keyboard, pull up the cameras, and see?—

Lauren is attempting to breach the exterior door, jabbing at the keypad, yanking at the handle, knocking on the door.

I hit a button to turn on the speakers?—

"You'd better open this damned door, Pascal!" she shouts. "Right fucking now. You don't get to walk back out of our lives and hide in the darkness just because you got scared!" She bangs again and I swear to fuck that I can actually hear it reverberating through the warehouse. "You—you—coward!"

The word is like acid to my ears, but it's not like I don't deserve it.

Running scared.

Running away.

Back into the shadows of my life.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

"You had better let me in and?—"

I hit the button to buzz open the door.

She freezes, and I watch her for just a moment longer on the cameras. She takes a breath and holds it for a second. Then she pulls open the door and disappears from view.

I'm already moving, pushing out of my office, walking by the rows and rows of empty desks.

Out into the hallway.

Through the door into the garage.

And...she's there.

Right there.

Her angry steps halt and she skids to a stop.

Then her chin comes up and she crosses her arms, glaring at me. "I can't believe?—"

I go to her, plunging one hand into her ponytail, knocking the tie loose, the other dropping to her waist, yanking her flush against me. "I'm sorry," I say before dropping my head and kissing her with every bit of what I feel for her.

And it's a fucking lot.

It's everything.

"I love you," I say, breaking away.

"Wh-what?" she sputters.

I cup her cheek. "I love you and I panicked and I'm sorry." I kiss her again. Break away again. "And it won't happen again, sweets. Not ever. I promise."

Her eyes are wide and her lips are swollen.

And her body has melted against mine.

But she's capable, as always, because she reaches up and cups my jaw, tilting my face down toward hers. "Thank you for apologizing," she whispers.

"I—"

A finger over my lips.

"I wasn't done," she says firmly.

I kiss the tip of it. "Okay, baby," I murmur. "Go on."

A pert look. "Thank you for apologizing."

I nod, but don't interrupt this time.

"But," she says, sliding that hand to my jaw, cupping it lightly, locking our gazes together. "I don't want you to be hard on yourself."

My brows lift, and it's much harder to not interrupt now.

"We're just starting," she says. "We're going to mess up. We're going to make mistakes and get mad or scared or need space." She drops her hand. "And that's okay."

"It's—"

She presses that finger to my mouth a second time.

"It's okay because"—she smiles—"You can run, baby. But you can't hide. Not from me. Not from what I feel for you. Not from our love."

"Fuck," I whisper.

Her hand drops to my chest, resting over my heart, probably feeling that it's pounding beneath my rib cage.

"I love you," I tell her.

She smiles. "I love you too."

Fuck, that feels...like every-fucking-thing.

And I have to draw her close, have to kiss her again.

She drops back onto her heels. "You're moving in."

Not a question. An order.

And one I don't mind acquiescing to.

"I'm moving in," I whisper, taking her hand. "Now." I freeze as something occurs to me. "Where's Matteo?"

"At Brit's."

Of course she wouldn't leave him alone.

"We'll pick him up on the way home," I say, giving an order of my own.

Warmth in her eyes, in the way she holds tightly to my hand. "Sounds good, baby." She tilts her chin toward the hallway. "After we get your stuff."

"Right." I draw her back through the halls and into my office then pick up my bag from where it's shoved into the corner.

"That's all?" she asks as I snag my keys, shove my phone into my pocket, and start drawing her back out.

I shrug. "I travel light."

She squeezes my hand. "Well, we're going to change that."

I can see it now—a house full of kids, a garage overflowing with boxes, a minivan packed with suitcases and backpacks, a cooler and all manner of kid gear.

Extracurriculars and homework. Getting up at dawn on Saturday for a soccer game.

Sleepless nights and broken bones and animated movies constantly on TV.

It should be a nightmare.

But instead...it's beautiful, golden sunlight.