Chapter 15 Definitely Not Giving In #3
“You stay in that dark room,” he continues, voice low, “back pressed to the wall, arms around yourself, convinced it’s safer that way. And yeah, maybe nothing can touch you there. But nothing can reach you there, either.”
The words paint themselves in my mind without my consent.
A dark room.
Concrete under my boots.
Walls close around me. No windows. No door I can see. Just cold, stale air and the hum of fluorescent lights that never quite turn all the way on.
And somewhere in front of me—just out of reach—Theo’s shape.
Standing in a doorway I didn’t notice at first, holding out a hand. Light spills around him—warm, golden, bright enough to hurt my eyes.
“You’ll stay exhausted.” His voice drops into a murmur, steady and certain. “You’ll stay cold. You’ll keep watching everyone else step out into the sun while you tell yourself you don’t need it. That you’re tougher than that. Stronger. That you were built for the dark.”
My fingers clutch his shirt.
“That’s what you’ve been doing.” He doesn’t soften it, but he doesn’t harden it either. “Surviving. And you’re incredible at it.” A quiet breath. “But surviving is not the same as living, Raine.”
My voice is barely there when I respond. “If I take your hand, if I step out of that room, and something happens to you…”
His hand comes up, cupping the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair.
“Then I got to be someone you loved.” The words land gentle and immovable. “Not just someone who stood across the room and watched you drown.”
My chest aches so bad I almost double over.
“I don’t want you hurt.”
“And I don’t want you alone.”
“People who get close to me get hurt.” I state, the truth tasting old. “That’s how this goes.”
“That’s how it’s gone.” He corrects it softly, giving me the grammar and the hope in the same breath. “Past tense. That doesn’t mean it has to keep going that way.”
“You can’t promise me that.”
“No.” He agrees without flinching. “I can’t promise that nothing bad will ever happen. I can’t promise Bash won’t try more shit. I can’t promise life won’t swing at us again.”
“Then what are you promising?” I choke.
He leans back enough to see my face, his hands cradling my jaw like I’m made of glass and steel at the same time.
“I’m promising,” he starts, voice low and steady, “that if shit goes sideways, you won’t be standing in it alone.
I’m promising to be there. To take hits when I can.
To block what I’m able to. To be your shield when you’ll let me.
To lift you when you’re done fighting. To remind you that you don’t have to carry every single thing by yourself. ”
His thumbs swipe under my eyes, catching the tears before they can fall again.
“I’m promising,” he finishes, quieter now, “that if you step out of that room, I’ll be right there with you in the sun. Not behind you. Not across from you. With you.”
The lump in my throat is too big to swallow.
My father’s song keeps playing around us, the lyrics slipping through the cracks of my armor. And I hate how much I want to believe him.
“I’m scared,” I admit, and it comes out smaller than I meant it to. “I’m so fucking scared, Theo.”
“I know.” Theo’s answer is quiet, anchored.
“And I’m not asking you not to be.” His gaze stays on mine, steady enough to hold me up.
“I’m just asking you not to let fear decide everything.
You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to need help.
You’re allowed to want more than just surviving the week. ”
My hands lift before I can overthink it, fingers wrapping around his wrists where he’s holding my face, like I’m making sure he’s real.
“I don’t want to do it alone anymore,” I whisper.
His eyes soften so much it almost hurts to look at him.
“You don’t have to.” The words come out gentle, certain. “We’re here. Jax. Elias. Me.” His voice drops a little lower, like he’s saving the last part just for me. “I’m here.”
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do. One second we’re just standing there, breathing each other’s air, and the next his mouth is brushing mine. Soft. Barely there.
My breath stutters as I close the space. His lips are warm, tentative at first, like he’s ready to pull back the second I flinch. I don’t. I step closer instead, fingers tightening around his wrists until he must feel every shake running through me.
The kiss deepens by inches, not miles. No teeth. No tongue. Just the press and slide of his mouth over mine, over and over, each pass a little surer than the last. Like he’s memorizing the shape of my lips and writing I’m here with every gentle touch.
Heat curls low in my stomach, but it’s not the frantic burn Jax lit in me. It’s slower, almost steadier. Like coals catching and holding instead of fireworks exploding and vanishing.
Theo pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his nose bumping mine once, soft. I can feel his smile in the air between us.
“Okay?” he asks, voice roughened around the edges.
I nod, eyes still closed. “Yeah.”
“You sure? Because I’m pretty sure my heart just tried to kick out of my chest.” He huffs a quiet laugh.
I snort, the sound half-choked. “Mine too.”
“Good.” His mouth curves, warm and a little relieved. “At least we match.”
He kisses me again, quick and sweet, the kind of press that feels final in the best way. Then he does it once more, just off to the side, brushing the corner of my mouth like he’s trying to keep me smiling without saying anything else.
When he finally pulls back, his hands slide from my face to my shoulders, lingering there like he’s not ready to let go completely.
I’m not sure I am, either.
The song on the radio fades into another, something louder, less careful, stretching the moment.
“You’re allowed to change your mind tomorrow. You’re allowed to freak out. To shove me away. To tell me to back off. I’ll listen.”
A flicker of panic jumps in my chest. “Are you… expecting me to do that?”
“A little.” He admits it without flinching, honest as always. “You’re you.”
I groan. “Rude.”
He smiles, then his expression sobers as his eyes search mine.
“But even if you push, even if you try to crawl back into that dark room, just know…” A breath, steadying.
“The door’s open now. You’ve seen the light.
And I’m not walking away from you just because you’re scared. I’ll be here. However you’ll have me.”
Warmth wraps around my ribs like a bandage.
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a girl with this much baggage,” I tell him.
“I’ve seen your baggage,” he says, like it’s nothing to him. “I like your baggage.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a sap.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t even try to deny it. “But I’m your sap.”
This time, when my heart flips, I don’t try to shut it down. I let it. Because for the first time in a long time, the idea of not doing this alone doesn’t sound like a threat.
It sounds like relief.