“Maybe,” I said quietly. My hand slid up into his hair, holding him there for a moment. “But I haven’t felt hollow in a while, Rabbit.”
His expression softened.
“Not since you.”
Archie stared at me for a second like he didn’t know what to do with that much honesty all at once. Then his face crumpled around the edges in the sweetest fucking way.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice rough. “You can’t just say things like that when I’m already in love with you.”
Something warm pulled through my chest.
I kissed him before I could ruin the moment by speaking.
When we finally pulled apart, Archie’s eyes dropped briefly before lifting back to mine again. “Do you think…” He swallowed once. “Do you think she could help me look for Abel?”
My heart turned over.
“Baby.” I cupped the back of his neck. “I already sent her his photo.”
“You—you did?”
“The day you told me about him. I passed along everything you gave me. If there’s even a chance he was pulled into that network, we’ll find out.”
Bottom lip wobbling, he let out a sob before throwing himself into me hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. We tipped backward into the mess of papers and photographs.
Arms tight around his body, I squeezed him while he buried himself against my chest.
“I love you!” He wailed.
“I love you too, baby.”
“What about the note?” His voice was muffled in my shirt. “Are you going to kill them too?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t just go around killing people who piss me off. Besides, I’m fairly certain I know who sent it.”
Palms against my chest, he lifted himself just enough to look me in the eyes. “Who?”
“Dean Randolph.”
20
ARCHIE
What. The. Fuck?
I didn’t move.
Not because I couldn’t, but because my body hadn’t decided what to do yet. It was waiting for my brain to catch up.
Good fucking luck.
The words Henry confessed didn’t just sit between us—they slid under my rib cage and stayed there, curling tight around my heart like something that was always meant to live there. That kind of thing didn't fade once it found a place to stay.
Maybe it should've scared me.
It didn’t.
Because if that was the weight he’d been carrying all this time—if that was the shape of the thing that had carved him into who he was—then I didn’t want him holding it alone anymore.