Chapter 20-Micah
I can't stop looking at her.
She lies there with her eyes closed, her breathing slow and peaceful, the corners of her mouth tipped into the smallest smile.
For one terrifying second, my heart stops.
“Sloane?”
No answer.
I brush a damp strand of hair away from her forehead.
Then she lets out the softest little sigh.
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly give out.
Christ.
Looks like I wore her out.
I chuckle quietly, shaking my head.
“You scared the hell out of me, Princess.”
Carefully, I make sure she's comfortable, reaching for my discarded shirt to gently clean away the evidence of our intimacy before it gets sticky. Then I toss it into the growing pile of laundry I intend to pick up in the morning.
Nothing about the moment feels rushed.
Or awkward.
It feels right.
Domestic.
Natural.
Like taking care of her is the most instinctive thing I've ever done.
Maybe it is.
I slip one arm beneath her knees and another around her back.
She barely stirs as I lift her.
A sleepy little sigh escapes her lips, and without even thinking about it, she curls closer, resting her cheek over my heart.
Like she belongs there.
Like she was always meant to.
My chest tightens.
Christ.
I think about what she said earlier.
I'm too heavy.
The memory makes me frown.
This world is so fucked up.
We spend all this time telling women they're too much.
Too curvy.
Too loud.
Too emotional.
Too heavy.
Too something.
It's bullshit.
For fuck's sake, I've carried wounded soldiers—men twice her size.
I've hauled rucksacks loaded with enough gear to break a lesser man.
I've lifted generators, ammunition crates, server racks, and enough equipment to build command centers in the middle of nowhere.
None of it ever felt like this.
None of it ever mattered like this.
Because none of those things were alive.
None of them smiled at me the way Sloane does.
None of them looked at me like I was worth trusting.
She isn't too heavy.
She's perfect.
Fucking precious.
And that's one hell of a difference.
I carry her down the hallway toward my bedroom, every light in the cabin casting warm pools of amber across the log walls.
The place suddenly feels different.
Not because anything's changed.
Because she changed it.
I've lived here for months.
Worked here.
Slept here.
It was just a cabin when I started.
Functional.
Quiet.
A place to recharge between deliveries and security contracts.
But tonight?
It feels like a home for the first time.
Or the home it could be.
If she'll let it.
If she says yes.
I pause in the doorway of the bedroom for just a second.
Moonlight spills across the quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
Her quilt now if she'll have it.
If she’ll really have me.
The thought sneaks up on me, quiet but undeniable.
Yeah, I want this to be ours now.
All of it—the cabin, the ranch, our lives.
Ours.
I don't know if it's too soon to think that.
Probably.
Hell, definitely.
But I can't stop myself.
Somewhere between changing the filters in her van and kicking down the back door of The Watering Hole, I quit imagining a future that didn't have Sloane in it.
I don't expect it to be easy.
Life doesn't work that way.
I've seen too much.
Lost too much.
Yeah, I know the world is messy.
Cruel.
Unfair.
People lie.
People leave.
Bad things happen to good people.
I can't change any of that.
I can't promise her she'll never have another bad day.
I can't promise she'll never cry again.
But I can promise this.
I'll spend every day I've got trying to make her world a little softer.
A little safer.
A little happier.
I'll fix what I can.
Carry what she can't.
Stand between her and whatever darkness comes knocking.
Not because she needs saving.
Because she deserves someone who shows up.
Every single time.
I ease her onto the mattress as though she's made of spun glass.
She nestles instinctively into the pillows, her fingers brushing mine before settling against the blanket.
I don't move right away.
I just stand there looking at her.
Still amazed she's here.
Still amazed she chose me.
I hope...
Fuck, I really do hope she'll let me spend the rest of my life proving she made the right choice.
The bedroom is dark except for the moonlight spilling through the windows.
She makes a small noise then settles, and I’m struck by how pretty she is.
God.
She's really beautiful.
The events of the evening replay through my mind.
The phone call.
The bar.
The men.
The fight.
If I'd been five minutes later.
I slam that door in my head before it can open any farther.
But when I think about what could’ve happened to her tonight—what that scar-faced motherfucker tried to take from her, from me—I want to howl like a fucking beast.
But that didn’t happen.
She's here.
Safe.
Breathing.
Alive.
And I mean to keep her that way.
I stand there longer than I should, simply watching her sleep.
She is all that matters.
She is everything.
And I might not be a good man, but I am her man.
Usually about this time of night my fingers would be itching to work, but not tonight.
Tonight, my body, heart, and mind know this is more important.
She is more important.
I pull the blankets back and slide in beside her, careful not to disturb her.
The mattress dips.
Her eyes flutter open almost immediately.
Sleepy brown eyes find mine.
Then she smiles.
Not a big smile.
One meant just for me—and I cherish it.
My chest aches for this beautiful woman.
“Hey,” she whispers.
“Hey.”
She scoots a little closer without seeming to realize she's doing it.
“You okay?”
“I should be asking you that.”
A tiny laugh escapes her.
“I think...”
She yawns.
“I think you fucked me stupid, Micah Fiero.”
I bark out a laugh. Goddamn, she is irresistible.
I never know what the heck is gonna come out of her pretty mouth, and I can’t wait to find out.
“That right?”
“Maybe,” she says, and giggles. Then, more seriously, “I'm finally starting to believe tonight's over.”
I pull her closer to me and wrap my arms around her soft, warm body.
“It is, Princess. I've got you.”
She studies my face for a long moment.
Like she's committing it to memory.
Then something occurs to her.
Her expression shifts.
“We didn't use protection.”
The words hang between us.
Not accusing.
Simply factual.
“I know.”
I nod slowly.
“I'm clean. I get tested regularly.”
She smiles faintly.
“I figured.”
There's a quiet confidence in the way she says it that catches me off guard.
“I just wanted you to know...”
She reaches for my hand beneath the blankets.
“I have an IUD.”
I nod once.
“Okay.”
She watches my reaction.
Waiting.
Almost nervous.
As though she expects judgment.
There isn't any.
Only gratitude that she trusted me enough to tell me.
What I don't tell her...
What I will never tell her...
Is that I already knew.
Months ago, when I convinced myself I was only making sure she was safe, I'd crossed lines I shouldn't have.
I'd traced pieces of her life that weren't mine to see.
Medical records.
Emergency contacts.
Information that had little to do with protecting her and more to do with my curiosity about her.
I told myself it was risk assessment.
Preparation.
Professional habit.
The truth?
It had become personal long before I admitted it.
Too personal.
But she doesn't need to carry that tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Some things belong to my guilt alone.
“You thinking awfully hard over there,” she murmurs.
I blink.
“Hmm?”
She smiles sleepily.
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one where your eyebrows do that thing.”
I laugh quietly.
“I have a thing?”
“Oh, you definitely have a thing.”
She reaches up and smooths the space between my brows with the tip of one finger.
“There.”
“Better?”
“Much.”
Silence settles around us again.
Comfortable this time.
Not empty.
Full.
She laces her fingers through mine.
“I don't regret tonight.”
The confession is so quiet I almost miss it.
I turn my head toward her.
“I don't either.”
“I was worried I would.”
“You don't have to worry, Princess. You’re not doing any of this alone anymore.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“Micah?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel like I still got to choose.”
Her words hit me harder than anything else she's said.
All evening I'd been thinking about protecting her body. She'd been thinking about protecting her agency.
Hopefully, I helped with that.
I lift our joined hands and press a kiss against her knuckles. Then I tuck her into my side and wrap her up in my arms once more.
Her breath warms my skin, and her sweet sunshine scent fills my senses.
Christ. I am so crazy about her.
Does she even know?
Can she tell?
“You'll always get to choose, Princess. I just hope you’ll choose me,” I whisper and kiss her temple.
“I do.”
She closes her eyes again.
Still smiling.
Within minutes, her breathing evens out.
Sleep claims her completely.
I stay awake a little longer.
Listening.
Watching.
Making sure the alarms are armed.
The cameras are active.
Every door is locked.
Only then do I finally let my own eyes close.
And for the first time in a really long time, I fall asleep soundly.