Page 79 of Fate, Interrupted

He studies me.

“I’m not confused. I’m choosing it. Right now. With complete disclosure that my crazy, dysfunctional family has me acting kind of kooky. I’m choosing it, anyway.”

His composure drops, and what’s underneath is honest—the wolf looking for the truth beneath the words.

He finds it. It’s there.

His forehead drops to mine.

“Norah,” he says, and the word has everything in it.

“I know,” I say. “Be here with me.”

The wolf goes completely, absolutely still.

He pulls back slowly.

Not far. Just enough. His hands stay where they are—one at my jaw, one at my waist, looking at me in the low light of the bedroom with an expression that’s not an apology and isn’t a question.

He tips his forehead to mine, and we stay there for a moment, both of us breathing, the charged air of the last few minutes giving way to simple closeness.

He scoots me up to the headboard with him, and we fall back against the pillows in a tangle that is slightly graceless, and he tucks me against his side. My head rests on his chest, his arm around me, as the ceiling fan moves lazily above us.

His hand moves slowly up and down my arm, raising the fine hair with every stroke.

I’m so relaxed, I’m almost unable to move. He’s everywhere, the warmth of him, the weight of his hand, the steady sound of his breathing. My pulse hasn’t entirely returned to normal and neither has his.

“That was a lot,” I say finally, meaning Claire and the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Silas says.

“I know she loves me. But what she said…” My words trail off.

“I know.”

His hand stills on my arm for a moment, then resumes. I trace an absent pattern on his bare chest, running my fingers through the dark hairs, still wet with our combined sweat. The room is silent except for the two of us not needing to fill the silence.

“I’m not running,” I say.

“I know.”

“I only wanted…”

I stop and start again. “I wanted to be here with you. That’s the whole truth.”

His arm tightens around me slightly.

“I know,” he says again, and somehow it lands differently each time.

I prop myself up on one elbow and look at him. He looks back. His face is warm and present and not going anywhere. When I reach out and push his hair back from his forehead, he catches my palm and brings it to his mouth. His warm breath, his soft lips pressed against the sensitive skin of my palm, sending shivers up my spine.

I stare at the ceiling for a while.

“I know why she did it. Not the reason she gave herself,” I say. “The real one. She watched my mother love someone that cost her everything. For the last thirty years, Aunt Claire has believed that was the only possible outcome.” I pause. “She actually thought she was protecting me.”

He nods gently.

“She’s not wrong that it’s complicated,” I say. “She’s wrong that complicated means impossible.”