Chapter Eight #2
I blinked at the machine, not sure how to process it.
The last time I’d seen my own laptop, it was in two pieces and bleeding out its battery onto the carpet.
This one was new, sleek, with keys that shone like they’d been dipped in bronze.
I ran my fingers over the lid, feeling the smoothness, and for a second I just wanted to cry.
Instead, I asked, “Are you sure this is for me?”
Burke snorted, but gently. “I don’t look like a computer science major, do I?”
I grinned, even as my throat tightened up. “I mean… you’re more the type to break things than build them.”
He sat next to me on the couch, close enough that our knees almost touched. “I’m a fixer, too,” he said, voice softer than usual. “But Carter did all the real work. You shouldn’t have to put your life on hold because of what he did.”
The “he” was obvious. I tried not to think about Dennis, or what he’d taken, or the way he’d always found a way to reach into the future and snap it in half. Instead, I stared at the glowing screen and tried to remember my passwords.
Burke leaned over, typed in the guest account—“It’s set up as ‘OmegaBoss’ until you change it”—and gave me a sideways glance that made my cheeks go warm.
I was already logged into my email, my class portals, even my dumb social feeds.
The photo of my old cat, the one I’d had to give up when Dennis got allergic to her, was the desktop wallpaper.
I blinked. “You even got my stuff off the old hard drive?”
He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Carter’s the best. He says nothing’s really deleted, not if you know what you’re doing. I made him promise not to look at your memes.”
I laughed, the sound rusty and raw. “He’s going to regret that.”
Burke grinned, and for a minute we just sat there, the blue light of the screen painting both our faces. He smelled like soap and coffee and something wild I couldn’t name.
I let my eyes close, just for a second, breathing it in until my heart slowed to something closer to normal.
When I opened them again, he was still looking at me. Not staring, but… watching, in the way people do when they actually care what happens next.
He said, “You okay?”
I nodded, then shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
Burke didn’t try to solve it, or make a joke, or even tell me it would be okay. He just reached over, his hand landing on my knee, and squeezed once. “You don’t have to know. We’ll figure it out.”
I believed him.
I set the laptop aside, not trusting myself to keep my shit together if I looked at it any longer. I felt his hand on my leg, warm and solid, and I didn’t pull away. Not this time.
He stayed next to me, letting the quiet stretch. Eventually, I turned my head so our faces were almost level, and whispered, “Why are you doing all this?”
This time, he didn’t answer right away. He stared at the ceiling, then at his own hands, then at the wall behind me, like the answer was painted there but he was afraid to say it out loud.
When he finally looked at me, all the usual sarcasm was gone. Just honest, open Burke, letting me see all the way down.
The world held its breath.
Burke didn’t look away, even though the air between us felt so charged I half-expected the couch to catch fire. He rubbed his palms on his thighs, then let them fall, helpless.
“Because I think I’m falling for you,” he said, barely above a whisper.
For a long second, the only sound was my own heartbeat, suddenly everywhere at once.
My whole body flushed hot and then cold and then hot again, and I wondered if maybe I’d misheard him.
But he didn’t take it back. He didn’t laugh.
He just sat there, green eyes wide open, waiting for me to run or explode or both.
He took a breath, and his voice broke a little. “And because everyone deserves a chance to be safe. Even if you don’t think you do.”
The words slipped into the cracks Dennis had left in me, settling somewhere deeper than even the worst bruises. I felt all the parts of myself that had been hollow and trembling finally come to rest, even as tears burned at the corners of my eyes.
I stared at his hands, not sure what I was supposed to do now that someone had finally said it out loud. I wanted to crawl inside the moment and live there, safe and small and never needing to fight again.
Instead, I reached for him.
My hand found his on the couch. I laced our fingers together, letting the weight of his palm anchor me. The skin there was rough, callused in all the places you’d expect, but warm and gentle when it curled around mine.
“I don’t know what to say,” I managed, voice thin and watery.
“You don’t have to say anything.” His thumb moved in little circles, soothing and steady. “Just… let yourself be here, okay?”
I nodded, because words were a lost cause. The weight of his confession—the rawness of it—settled over me like a quilt, warm and heavy and impossible to shake off.
We sat there, hands locked, the world outside moving on without us.
The living room filled with the gold of early morning, the kind that makes even dust motes look holy.
The new laptop was still open on the coffee table, humming quietly, a reminder that my life was actually restarting from zero right in front of me.
Eventually, I turned so we were facing, knees brushing. I tilted my head, letting our foreheads touch. It was clumsy, awkward, and perfect.
“Thank you,” I whispered. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all I had.
He laughed, the sound shaking a little. “You’re welcome, Danny.”
His other hand came up, tracing the edge of my cheekbone, careful not to touch the bruised spots. His thumb brushed away a tear I didn’t know was there.
When he kissed me, it was soft and slow, nothing like the hunger I’d always associated with alphas. Just a gentle press of lips, a question, and the promise that it was safe to answer. I leaned in, letting the pain in my ribs fade behind the need to feel him, to taste something that didn’t hurt.
His breath was warm, a little shaky. He tasted like coffee and hope and the impossible.
He pulled back, just enough to look me in the eye. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Day by day.”
I nodded again, and this time I smiled, bruised lip and all. Because for the first time, I knew he meant it. For the first time, I believed that maybe—just maybe—I deserved it.
He squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.
And in that moment, I knew I wasn’t alone anymore.
Not now.
Not ever.