Page 109 of Obsession
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” I look down at my hands, at the faint crescent on my finger where Sol’s ring dug in. “I thought it would feel better.”
Oisín’s hand moves toward mine. I turn my palm up, letting him choose the contact as his fingers slide over mine. “Maybe it will later,” he says. “Maybe not feeling good is the point.”
I huff a breath that almost becomes a laugh. “That sounds like something Harlan would say right before telling me I’m bleeding through a shirt.”
“You usually are.”
“Traitor.”
His mouth softens. “Husband.”
I lift his hand and look at the ring on his finger that I all but shoved onto his hand weeks ago. He wore it through pain. Through Canon’s chair. Through Varina’s betrayal. Through every moment I didn’t have the words and every moment he had to decide whether my violence was enough to trust. My thumb moves over the metal once, then over the knuckle beneath it.
“I want you,” I push out, my voice barely above a whisper, the confession surprising even me.
Oisín’s breath catches, as he waits for me to finish the thought.
“I want you but I want you to choose this,” I tell him, keeping my eyes on our hands because if I look at his face too soon, I might retreat into something easier. “Not because I dragged you out of that meeting when I first met you as a Rogue. Not because I put my name beside yours and made it official before anyone could talk sense into either club. Not because you sleep in my bed or wear my cut or because I can put a hand on your neck and make the whole room understand what happens if they get stupid. I wanted all of that before I understood the difference.”
His fingers tighten slightly around mine.
I make myself continue. “You chose me when you didn’t have to. You chose Obsidian when blood gave you every reason to look away. You stood at my table and told me no when I was ready to do exactly what my father would have done and call it leadership. I don’t know how to hold that without turning it into something I can own. I’m trying.”
Oisín looks at me now, bruised face open and guarded at the same time.
“And if I have to let you go,” I say, though the words taste like metal on my tongue, “then I will.”
His expression changes so fast I almost reach for him. His brows draw together, his grip on my hand tightening with more strength than he’s had all week.
“Have you learned nothing?” he asks.
I blink at him, thoroughly confused.
“I’m not trying to leave, Saint.”
“You said—”
“I said you had to prove you were different from your father. I didn’t say I was looking for a door.” His voice shakes with mild frustration as he shifts toward me. “I’m not trying to find a way out. I’m trying to get you to tell me I’m more than a prop, more than peace, more than something useful you brought home because it pissed off the Rogues and made your head quiet.”
“You are.”
“Then say it.” His eyes glaze over with tears, and the sight of that does more damage than any blade Canon put in me. “I want you so badly it hurts. I fell for you before it was safe or right or even made sense, and I know how stupid that sounds because half of this started as strategy and the other half started in a room where neither of us knew each other’s names. But I’m here. I’m still here. I just wanted that from you too.”
There’s so much in his expression, hurt, need, exhaustion, and the stubborn, terrifying courage of a man who has already survived the worst of what wanting can cost and is still asking anyway. He isn’t demanding pretty words. He isn’t asking me to become someone else all at once. He’s sitting beside me asking me to stop making him guess whether the ground under us is real.
“I didn’t know what it was,” I whisper. “At first. I knew I wanted you under my hands. I knew the room got quieter when you were close. I knew I slept better with you beside me, which pissed me off because needing a person for sleep sounds like a disease. I knew I hated every minute you pulled away, and I told myself it was because you’d stopped giving me something I’d gotten used to.”
Oisín’s thumb moves once over the side of my hand.
“I didn’t know why I needed you,” I force out, needing Oisín to see all of me. It’s the only way this will work. “I didn’t know what to call it when you started mattering in places I didn’t let anyone matter. Maybe that made it hurt more when you pulled away. Maybe it made me meaner because I thought if I could turn it into anger, I wouldn’t have to look at anything softer underneath.”
I force myself to lift my head and stare at the man I’ve wanted longer than I’ve let myself believe. Oisín is watching me like every word matters. Like he’ll remember them later and turn them over in his hands, checking for sharp edges.
“I think I’m in love with you,” I finally say.
For once, nothing in me tries to take them back. Oisín chuckles, reaching up to caress my cheek. “We’re kind of working backwards a little,” he teases, his words coming out a little breathy.
