Chapter 31 #2
Kael runs both hands through his hair, mutters something vicious in Irish, and then exhales hard.
“Fine,” he says. “You and me are gonna talk outside before I decide where I’m buryin’ you.” He jerks his head toward the hall. “Brady, you too. I want a full account of how this clusterfuck went down.”
Jack sighs. “Language,” he says absently, then nods. “Yeah. All right.”
They head for the door. Bran looks back at me, eyes catching mine.
“I’ll be right outside,” he says softly. “You hear anything you don’t like, you push that button and I’m comin’ back in.”
“I hear anything I don’t like, I’m unplugging myself and walking out,” I say.
He smiles, quick and crooked.
“That too,” he says.
Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind them.
The room feels suddenly too quiet, all beep and hum and the soft whoosh of the vent. I stare at the ceiling, my own words echoing in my skull.
Falling in love with me.
Oh.
Oh.
I knew it on some level. In the way my stomach dropped when I saw him bleeding in the snow. In the way my chest loosened when he said he wasn’t going anywhere. In the way the idea of leaving Lucy Falls felt like pulling my own roots out.
But saying it aloud, in front of Kael, in a hospital gown, attached to a machine?
That’s just…peak me. That wasn’t for me to say, but also… I kind of want to curl into a ball and maybe never stop smiling. Because it’s true. And I love him. I need to tell him that.
Voices murmur in the hall.
I can’t make out every word, but I hear tones—Kael’s low rumble, Jack’s steady cadence, Bran’s quiet responses.
Then Kael says, louder: “What exactly is this with my cousin, Bran?”
I hold my breath. There’s a pause. When Bran answers, his voice is steady.
“It’s not a fling,” he says. “It’s not a job. It’s…her. I love her, Kael. I’m not walkin’ away from that.”
My eyes sting. Kael swears softly.
“You sure you know what that means?” he asks. “’Cause we don’t fecking do halfway. I’ll put you in concrete.”
“I’m very familiar with what your family does,” Bran says dryly. “And yeah. I know. I’m not sayin’ it because it sounds nice. I’m sayin’ it because it’s the truest thing I’ve got.”
Jack says something I can’t catch.
Kael responds with an exaggerated sigh.
“All right,” he mutters. “Fine. You love her. You saved her. You piss me off. That’s three strikes, and I still haven’t shot you.” A beat. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
“What do you mean?” Bran asks.
“You plannin’ on just…hangin’ around my cousin’s bed until Thurston gets bored, and we all pretend this never happened?” Kael says. “Or are you gonna make it official?”
I slap a hand over my face.
Of course.
Of course we’re fucking going there.
“Kael,” Bran says slowly. “I don’t think a ring solves—”
“A ring doesn’t solve shit,” Kael cuts in. “But it says somethin’. To her. To me. To anybody else who thinks she’s fair game. You wanna love her? Fine. Then step up and say it like a man who’s stayin’.”
My heart does a weird lurch-twist-flip. There’s a long pause.
“Do you have a ring in your pocket right now?” Kael presses.
“No,” Bran says, exasperated. “Jesus. I didn’t exactly get a chance to go shopping, between Santa duty and tackling your cousin in an alley.”
I huff a wet laugh into my palm.
“Then you improvise,” Kael says. “You’re good at that, aren’t you?”
Another silence. When Bran speaks again, his voice is softer.
“I was always gonna ask,” he says. “Just not like this. Not with drugs in her system and you glaring at me.”
“Life’s messy,” Kael says. “Ask anyway.”
Footsteps shift. A hand closes on the doorknob, and the door opens.
Bran steps in first, eyes going immediately to me like he has a magnet under his ribs.
Kael follows, arms folded, expression somewhere between annoyed and resigned. Jack lingers in the doorway, clearly unwilling to miss the show.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Have a nice chat?” I ask.
“Define nice,” Bran mutters.
Kael clears his throat. “Tallulah,” he says. “I owe you an apology for stormin’ in here like a lunatic.”
I blink.
“Did you hit your head on the way down the hall?” I ask.
He almost smiles.
“I am still extremely unhappy,” he says. “And if this man hurts you, I will end him in ways that keep me up nights.” He jerks his chin at Bran. “But I am…choosin’ to trust your judgment.”
My throat gets tight.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He nods. “And I am leavin’ before I say somethin’ sentimental.” He points two fingers at Bran’s chest. “Make it official, Kelly. Preferably without traumatizin’ my cousin further.”
Then he’s gone, brushing past Jack with a murmur about coffee. Jack gives me a little salute and follows.
The door closes, leaving me and Bran and the soft beeping of the machines.
He stands there for a second, hat hair and hospital lighting and bruised shoulder, looking oddly…nervous.
“Did you hear that?” he asks.
“Which part?” I say. “The yelling? The threats? The part where you said you love me, or the part where Kael told you to propose without a ring?”
His ears go pink.
“So…all of it,” he says.
“Pretty much,” I say.
He scrubs a hand over his face.
“Right,” he says. “Well. That’s…saves me some breath, I guess.”
I watch him, my heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the monitor.
He steps closer to the bed.
Pulls the chair up so he’s right there, level with me.
Takes my hand again, careful, like it’s still breakable.
“For the record,” he says quietly, eyes on mine, “he didn’t talk me into anythin’ I wasn’t already planning to do. I’ve been in love with you for longer than I’ve had the guts to admit. To myself, never mind out loud.”
Emotion slams into me.
“You have?” I whisper.
“Aye,” he says. “Since before the snow. Since before Cotton’s. Since the first time you argued with me and made me feel like somebody had finally seen past all the bullshit and still wanted to stand there.”
My eyes spill over.
He lifts our joined hands and presses his lips to my knuckles.
“I love you, Twiggy Gentry,” he says. “Not because you’re tough, or clever, or any of the things he tried to twist into somethin’ ugly.
I love you because you’re you. Because you kept choosin’ to stand back up.
Because you make this place feel like somethin’ I want to belong to instead of just pass through. ”
My throat is a fist.
“And yeah,” he adds, a shaky smile ghosting his mouth, “I want what comes with that. I want mornings with your coffee. I want to trip over your shoes by my front door. I want to know that if somebody asks you who your idiot is, you’ll point at me.”
I laugh, watery.
“And if somebody asks you who your idiot is?” I ask.
“I’ll point at you,” he says without missing a beat. “We’ll be idiots together.”
Warmth floods me, chasing some of the chill.
“So,” he says, inhaling like he’s about to jump off something high. “I’m not on one knee, and I don’t have a ring, and you’re in a hospital gown instead of somethin’ nice. But I’m askin’ anyway, because I don’t want there to be any doubt in your head or anybody else’s.”
He tightens his grip on my hand.
“Stay with me,” he says simply. “Here. In Lucy Falls. Or in Philly if you want. In whatever house we find that has enough room for your books and my bad decisions. Marry me when you’re ready, if you want it to be that.
Or don’t. I’m not askin’ for a date or a dress.
I’m askin’ for you. To be mine, and for me to be yours, in a way no one else gets to define. ”
My heart cracks open. Terror and joy and disbelief all crash together.
“Bran,” I say, voice shaking. “I—I want that,” I say. “All of it. The coffee. The shoes. The…idiocy.” I swallow. “You.”
His shoulders drop like he’s just set down a load he’s been carrying for miles. “So…” he prompts, eyes too bright. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” I say. “Obviously yes. Have you met me?”
His laugh is half-choked. He leans in and kisses me, soft, careful of the wires.
The monitor blips a little faster. I don’t care. When he pulls back, I rest my forehead against his.
“I love you too, you know,” I murmur. “In case that wasn’t clear from the part where I yelled at a mob boss in a hospital gown.”
“It was strongly implied,” he says.
We breathe together for a minute. The world outside this room is still a mess.
Henry Thurston is still out there, somewhere, licking his wounds and sharpening his teeth.
Later, there will be more maps, more patrol schedules, more hard conversations about what it means to live with a shadow like Henry’s on the edge of town.
But right now, in this narrow bed with Bran’s hand wrapped around mine and my heart finally admitting what it’s known for weeks, I let myself have this.
Not as bait.
Not as decoration.
But as a girl who got chased and decided to stop running away and start choosing what she runs toward.
“I guess this means you live here now,” I say softly. “With me.”
He smiles, slow and sure. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
“Kael’s going to be insufferable about this at Christmas,” I add.
“He already is,” Bran says. “We’ll survive.”
I close my eyes, letting the beeping fade into the background, letting the weight of his love and mine settle into something that feels a lot like home.
Henry can keep running. We’ll be here when he circles back.
And next time, he’s not the only one writing the ending.