Page 10 of Malice

“I’ve felt it too,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “For just as long.”

His eyes widen, disbelief clear as day. “You have?”

I nod, my hand rising to meet his on my cheek. “That’s why I always avoided being alone with you. It scared me, how much I wanted you.”

A rough sound tears from his throat as he leans his forehead against mine. The contact roots me to the spot, warmth spreading from that single point of touch.

“I’m not asking for anything right now,” he murmurs. “You need time to heal. I get that.”

But the way his fingers gently cradle the back of my neck tells me he’s fighting the urge to pull me closer.

“What if I don’t want to wait?” The question surprises us both.

His eyes search mine for any doubt or hesitation. “Trixie, you’ve been through something traumatic. I don’t want to take advantage.”

“You’re not.” I slide my hand to his chest, feeling his heart thumping beneath my palm. “This isn’t about what happened. It’s about right now. About feeling something real, something I choose for myself.”

A muscle tics in his cheek, conflict churning in his expression. “When you’re ready, I want to take you on a real date. No pressure, no expectations. Just us, getting to know each other.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. “Like what?”

“Like dinner at Antonio’s, that Italian place you love, maybe a movie at that indie theater downtown? Whatever you want.”

The normalcy of it, the sheer simplicity of dinner and a movie, reminds me that life keeps going beyond the thing that tried to swallow me whole.

“I’d like that,” I whisper, leaning into his touch.

“When you’re ready,” he repeats, promising himself as much as me.

I close my eyes, feeling safe at this moment, with this man who’s quietly loved me for years. My shoulders relax, my jaw unclenches, and for once, I don’t feel the need to keep an eye on the door.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, his voice uncertain despite his strong arms.

I nod, words failing me. Gently, as if handling something precious, he wraps his arms around me. I fit perfectly against his chest, my head nestled under his chin. His heartbeat thuds solidly beneath my ear, a rhythm I want to memorize.

For the first time since I woke up in that car, I feel something other than fear. Something warm and hopeful unfurls in my chest, fragile but persistent. His hand moves in slow circles on my back, soothing rather than demanding.

“We can take all the time you need,” he whispers against my hair.

I cling to him, absorbing his strength, his warmth, and his promise of more than mere survival. Morning light streams through the windows, casting golden patterns on the floor, illuminating the dust motes that dance between us.

Outside, the world keeps turning. But here, in Carter’s arms, I’ve found a moment of perfect stillness, an anchor in the current that’s been dragging me under since that night in the courtyard.

“I want to remember what it feels like to be me,” I whisper against his chest. “The person before all this.”

His arms tighten a bit. “That woman’s still there. I see her every time you smile.”

The words break through a wall inside me. Tears spill freely now, not from fear but from something more complicated, gratitude, perhaps, or the overwhelming realization that I’m not alone.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

And for the first time since that night, I believe him.

Chapter 2

Trixie

He waited. I went through the motions in Dr. Maren’s counseling sessions, sitting in a beige room on a couch that was too soft, picking apart the word “disempowered” until it tasted like ash. It was too clinical, too clean, too far from the fear that had actually dragged me there.