Page 188 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
Her eyes lift to mine, and there’s a flicker of surprise there, something that tells me she felt the shift immediately.
Then I kiss her.
Not gentle in the way I’ve been.
Not distant.
Not restrained.
It’s controlled, but it’s deliberate, it’s present, it’s the kind of kiss that reminds her of what we are instead of what she’s been turned into these last few days.
She reacts instantly.
Her body leans into mine without hesitation, her hand lifting like she needs to hold onto something solid, something real, and the way she exhales against me, soft and unguarded, that’s what breaks something in my chest.
Because that’s not relief.
That’s her finding something she’s been missing. That’s her recognizing something that should never have been taken from her in the first place.
And we’re the ones who took it.
I don’t pull away immediately.
I let it linger just enough to settle, just enough for her to feel it fully, before I ease back slightly, my hand still holding her face, my thumb brushing lightly over her cheek in a way that’s slower now, steadier.
“Hey,” I murmur.
Her eyes stay on mine, soft, open, present in a way that feels closer to the woman we know than anything we’ve seen since we brought her home.
For a moment, she’s just her again. Not something we’re managing. Not something we’re protecting. Not something fragile.
Just… her.
And it hurts, realizing how much of that we’ve been holding back. I step back before I can overcorrect, before I can push too far in the other direction, because this isn’t about swinging between extremes.
This is about finding balance.
Jackson is watching now.
Not with tension directed at me, not with anything territorial, but with that same underlying strain that’s been sitting in him all day, that hasn’t eased since we left her.
He’s not grounded.
He’s holding on.
And Elijah, I don’t need to look to know what he’s doing.
He hasn’t moved. Phone in his hand, his attention split. Half of him here. Half of him somewhere else entirely.
Security.
Movement.
Threat.
Control.
I glance at him anyway. He’s watching her. Constantly.
