Page 63 of Requiem
We break apart just enough to see each other properly. His forehead rests against mine for half a second, both of us breathing fast and feeling more alive than ever.
“That better not be your mom,” he mutters.
“It is.”
He closes his eyes like he’s struggling to hold it together. The only time I ever see Jude lose himself is when he's worshipping me.
We stand, and for a second, he keeps me pinned between him and the tree. Finally, he exhales, drops his hands reluctantly, and picks up the guitar from the grass like nothing happened at all.
But his fingers brush mine when he stands back. A silent promise that we’ll finish what we started later.
“I should help her with groceries,” he says, already walking backward like he doesn’t want to leave but knows he has to.
“You’re so kind,” I call after him.
He grins over his shoulder. “Later,” he says. “Be ready, baby.”
And then he’s gone around the side of the house to meet my mom, leaving me with a heart so full, it could burst into fragments of light. Sure, we’re two crazy kids in love. But I’ve never been so sure about something in my life.
No one could ever be Jude.
~*~
I swallow hard, tears threatening to spill over at the memory. That version of him isn’t gone. It can’t be.
My gaze sharpens as I look back at the screen, not just with grief or memory, but with the clinical knowledge of pattern recognition and response tracking. His nervous system is recalibrating. Every tremor, every flinch, every moment where heisn’tfighting me is a step forward, no matter how small it looks. And if we can do this right...
Then we can bring him back.
I push myself up from the couch, my movements quiet as I approach the monitors a little closer, studying him. Somewhere beneath the fear and the grief and the memory of everything that’s been taken from him...there is still something left to fight for. Something worth burning the world down to protect. My hands curl into fists at my sides as clarity strikes.
I’m not losing him.
And I will fucking kill anyone before they hurt him again.
I move toward the stairs, already planning my next move, already stepping deeper into this new version of myself that doesn’t flinch at what has to be done.
Because the woman I used to be? She loved him.
But the woman I’m becoming? She’ll fight like hell for him, even if she loses parts of herself along the way.
Chapter seventeen
MICAH PRESCOTT
When I open my eyes, Heather is curled against me again. This beautiful creature that chose me, of all people. I press a kiss to her shoulder.
She hums softly, suddenly scooting her ass back against my already-hard cock.
Ughhh.
“Chill, blondie,” I groan.
She does it again with another cute sound, and my fingers tighten on her hip.
I sigh, shifting carefully, and she lets out a small protest when I move. “I heard Adela cursing earlier,” I murmur.
That gets a sleepy laugh out of her. “She’salwayscursing,” she says, voice thick with sleep.
