His forehead rests against mine.
“Amelia.”
The way he says my name makes my eyes open.
He looks wrecked.
Not weak.
Wrecked in the way a man looks when he has decided the truth is worth bleeding for.
“I love you,” he says.
The words hit like a road flare in the dark.
My breath catches.
He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. Doesn’t grab for an answer. Doesn’t make the words into another thing I have to carry before I’m ready.
He only stays there, thumb at my cheek, eyes steady and terrified in a way Derby probably thinks he is hiding.
“Ain’t asking you to say it back over pancakes,” he says, voice rougher. “Ain’t asking you to do anything with it. Just needed you to know what’s already riding with you.”
The tears spill before I can stop them.
The match I have been carrying inside me catches.
Not burning down my choice.
Lighting the road around it.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
His face changes.
We kiss. This kiss isn’t goodbye. Not fear. Not a fake show for a bar full of gossip. Not a desperate night before leaving. It’s a promise. A claim waiting for consent. A road held open.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine again.
“I can wait,” he says.
“Can you?”
“No.”
I laugh.
His mouth curves. “But I will.”
My heart aches so sweetly I almost can’t stand it.
The world is still messy.
Still dark.
Still outlaw.
But Derby’s hand is in mine.