Page 73 of Never After Us
Safe.
The word settles into a corner of me I’ve kept tucked away from everyone.
Time stops behaving normally.Seconds, minutes—they blur, lose their edges.My sobs taper off, but he doesn’t shift.He doesn’t loosen his arms.He doesn’t treat my hurt as a burden he needs to slip away from.
He just ...he remains close and lets me breathe through the storm, unafraid of how unraveled I am in his arms.
And what shakes me most is the quiet in me that begins to uncoil—the part that’s been locked tight for years—because a piece of me is starting to want this closeness too.
It stirs a depth in me I believed had vanished—a feeling I never expected to touch again, one that edges far too close to hope.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Alec
I don’t know what the hell happened last night.
It’s like my body was hijacked by the same idiot part of me that can’t say no to the sunbeam who moved in next door—and her kid, who interrogates me like I’m a suspect in a case no one told me I was part of.
So, of course, I stayed while she cried.
What was I supposed to do—walk out and pretend I didn’t hear her fall apart right there in my arms?
At some point, she drifted off against me.I didn’t even notice at first.Her fingers loosened on my shirt, her breath easing into this soft, uneven rhythm that hit somewhere I’ve avoided looking for years.I should’ve pulled away.I should’ve made space.Instead, I sat there like a damn statue because I didn’t want her to jolt awake, alone and scared.
I eased her onto the bed once I was sure she wouldn’t stir, pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, brushing her hair back without thinking.I lingered longer than anyone with a functioning brain would’ve.
And yeah—of course I wanted to kiss her goodnight.
Of course I wanted to sit beside her until morning just to make sure that all the memories that hurt her didn’t come back.
Thankfully I had enough common sense left to walk away before I did anything stupid.
After that, I moved around her apartment in complete autopilot—rinsed the dishes, shut the balcony door she always forgets about, checked the lock she never uses.I went to change into a dry shirt and then circled back to her place to check that everything was still fine.Then I told myself I’d head out once I made sure she was still asleep.
And I just ...couldn’t leave.
It wasn’t logic.It wasn’t restraint.It was this bone-deep pull to stay close enough that if she woke up needing anything—even a glass of water or a voice in the quiet—I’d be there before she had to ask.
By the time I collapsed on her couch, it felt like the night had swallowed hours that hadn’t existed five minutes earlier.
And yeah—obviously I ended up sleeping on that torture device, because my common sense isn’t completely fucking gone.
The couch, by the way, was designed by sadists.Whoever built it hates human spines.Pure medieval torture.I’m pretty sure I’ve developed sciatica overnight.Or a slipped disc.Possibly both.Every muscle in my back is staging a mutiny.But none of that is the worst part.
No, the worst part is the miniature version of Mara standing two inches from my face, staring at me with eyes too alert for this hour.
The moment I crack my eyes open, she gasps.
“Oh, good, you’re alive.”
I blink.“Barely.”
She tilts her head.“Why are you sleeping on the couch?Did you break your bed?Did Mom banish you?Did you do something wrong?Did you fight?Did you get sent to time-out?Cangrown-ups get sent to timeout?Did you snore too loudly?Do you snore?”
Each question hits me like rapid-fire pellets.
“This should be illegal,” I croak.
