“I should’ve?—”
I cut in, “You survived.”
Her body goes still before relaxing into mine.
“That’s what you did. You survived. You got out. You built a practice that helps people reach their goals and dreams.”
She keeps waiting for me to look at her differently like she’s damaged. Fragile. Too complicated to keep.
But all I can think is how impossible it would feel to lose her now that she finally trusts me.
She raises her chin and her lids threaten to let the tears fall. “That doesn’t erase what happened.”
“No,” I admit. “But it doesn’t define you either.”
Annika breaks. It’s not loudor dramatic.
Tears slide down her face like she’s been holding them back for years.
Cupping her delicate jawline, I press my lips to hers. Then I drag my lips to her cheek, her temple and back down. Kissing her tears away.
“I promise… I’ll protect you.”
And this time, her body responds like she believes me, even if she doesn’t use words as she drops to her knees.
TWENTY
ANNIKA
I lie on my side, facing him. The early morning light slips through the curtains and stretches across Parker’s shoulder, making his light golden skin glow even more. His skin is warm and his muscular arms hold me tight in his sleep and this still doesn’t feel real.
The world feels quieter here. Not silent, just softer and safer. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones.
Even though he’s asleep, his fingers trace my arm, just letting me know he’s here.
Last night the edges blurred, not like last time where it felt like we were crossing ethical boundaries. This time I feel chosen. I’m not a mind reader but I’m not sure either of us understands what’s happening between us.
I know this because I understand how the brain responds to situations.
What I do know is that neither of us walked away. Instead, we stepped into each other. Listened. Comforted.
Parker lets out a dreamy sigh and his eyes flutteropen. He brushes his thumb over my wrist, over the place where my pulse dances a little too fast.
“I’m glad you stayed,” he whispers.
“Me too.”
He snuggles closer. “I’m glad you told me.”
“I wish I hadn’t. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”
“When I look at you I see a perfect ten. From every angle. Inside and out,” he says, his voice unwavering and without judgment.
That alone makes something inside my chest loosen.
“I didn’t tell you everything,” I say echoing my words from last night.
His fingers rest against my skin for a moment, then resume their path, grounding me to the present.