Page 62 of Wraith

The silence stretches between us. She’s staring at me like I just spoke in a language she didn’t know I could speak. Then her expression softens into something that looks like gratitude and relief and maybe a little bit of wonder.

“Thank you for saying that,” she says quietly. “That means a lot.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” She reaches out and touches my hand, her fingers warm against mine. “I can tell.”

We sit there for a moment, hands touching, food forgotten, and I feel something shift in my chest. Something that’s been locked down for so long I forgot it was there.

Trust.

Real trust.

“You should rest more,” June says, squeezing my hand. “You’re still healing. I’ll take care of everything else today. If you need anything, just tell me and I’ll get it.”

“Okay.”

She blinks. “Really? You’re not going to argue?”

“No. I trust you.”

The smile that breaks across her face is so genuine, so full of happiness, that it makes my throat tight. She leans in and kisses my forehead, soft, then gathers up the empty food containers.

I watch her move around the room, humming that melody again, and I let myself relax back against the pillows. I know I can shut my eyes and rest because June is here, and she’s capable, and she’s taking care of everything.

She deserves better than what I gave her.

I yawn.

June glances over at me from where she’s throwing away the empty containers. “You okay? You need anything?”

Just as I drift away, the words come out before I can stop them.

Quiet.

Unexpected.

True.

“June, I think I love you.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

June

The words hang in the air like smoke after a gunshot.

I freeze with an empty takeout container in my hand. My brain does something that feels like a record scratch followed by a full system reboot.

Did he just say what I think he said?

Did Dylan Mercer — Wraith; the man who spent years treating me like a possession he could control and manipulate and fuck whenever the mood struck him — did he just tell me he loves me?

In a motel room that smells like coffee and bacon and industrial cleaner?

While he’s recovering from a knife wound and we’re both running from a motorcycle gang that wants us dead?

No.