Page 99 of The Ache That Stayed

“Roxanne.”

That’s not his voice. It’s different.

Lower. Closer.

I jerked awake. At first—there was only darkness.

Then grey eyes. Familiar. Real.

“Look at me.”

His voice was rough. Grounding in a way the dream never was.

My vision shifted, slowly pulling into focus. His face came into view first—close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin.

Then everything else followed. His large, warm hand was at my neck. Not tight. Just there. Anchoring me. His other arm was wrapped around my waist, pulling me into him—solid, unyielding.

“Breathe,” he said again.

And I did.

In. Out. In. Out.

My chest stuttered at first—uneven, shallow, but he didn’t let go. It rose and fell with his.

“Again,” he murmured with that deep voice that wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

I followed. Because it was easier than thinking. Easier than remembering. I breathed in again.

Smoke. Leather. Musk.

Him.

Not that sharp, chemical scent that burned the back of my throat. My body trembled. A full-body shiver I couldn’t stop.

His fingers tightened slightly at my neck—flexing, not to restrain, but to steady.

“That’s it,” he said, quieter now. “Stay with me.”

His thumb began to move in small, slow circles.

Round and round. And the panic inside me started to loosen. Not all at once, but piece by piece. Breath by breath.

The weight in my chest began to lift. The pressure eased, and the noise faded.

I blinked again, focused. He was still there. Still holding me. Still keeping me tethered.

His hand was still at my neck. Arm still around me, holding me like he wasn’t sure if I’d disappear again.

And somehow, for the first time that night, the dark didn’t feel like something I had to hide inside. Because I wasn’t alone in it.

I was fully here.

With him.

CHAPTER 26

Santino