Chapter Sixty-Three
Asher
Everything is quiet and still. Even the music from the living room has settled into the rhythm of sleep.
As relaxed as Raine’s body is, there’s a single crease between her brows. I brush my thumb along it—not to wake her, but to memorize the shape of it. Of her.
Her leg is pressed to mine. Her hair spills across my shoulder. If I try hard enough, I can carry her warmth with me through whatever comes next.
I match my breathing to hers. In. Out. Slow and steady. Relaxed. Soft. Gentle.
This could be the last time I wake up beside her, and I refuse to rush it.
Carefully, I ease her arm from my waist. She shifts, makes a small sound in her sleep, and I freeze until she settles again. Until her fingers curl loosely over the sheet instead of searching for me.
“I’m still here,” I whisper, leaning closer so I can press a featherlight kiss over her heart. “I’ll always be right here.”
I pull on a pair of pajama pants and pad out to the living room. Raine’s notebook is still on the coffee table, and I flip to a blank page.
How can I put everything I feel in a letter? But if I don’t try, there’s so much Raine will never know, and I can’t let her think any of this was her fault.
Raine,
You were right. I can’t promise you I’ll come back. I can plan. I can fight. But there are too many variables out of my control.
I do know one thing. I have never wanted to stay anywhere as much as I want to stay with you.
You built a life that assumed you’d always leave. I built one that assumed I didn’t deserve to stay. You told yourself you were too much. I told myself I wasn’t enough. That having a purpose beat having a home.
You shattered that delusion the first time you said my name.
You made me want something that doesn’t fit in a go bag. That can’t be burned the second it’s inconvenient.
If I don’t make it back to you, I need you to build that life we talked about.
Help people who need it. Take on clients who matter. Buy a coffee mug that reminds you of me, and fill your life with things that don’t disappear when the mission ends.
You’re not a woman who shrinks from a challenge. You survive.
If I come back—and I’ll fight like hell to make sure I do—we’ll build that life together. We’ll argue about paint colors and whose desk faces the window and whether we need business cards.
We’ll take clients who think they’re beyond saving and prove them wrong. We’ll be together long enough that our scars fade into stories rather than warnings.
And if the worst happens, then know this. I will never regret choosing you. Not even if it ends badly. Especially not if it ends badly.
You’re the only choice I’ve ever made that didn’t require a calculation.
Take up space. Don’t apologize for who you are. Live like I’m coming back.
I love you.
Asher
The words blur with my tears. I let them fall, feel them cool on my cheeks, and try not to think about her reading my letter all alone.
Carefully, I tear the page from the notebook and fold it in half, write her name on the outside. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.
When I’m sure I can face her again, I return to the bedroom, open the safe in the back of the closet, and set the paper on top of the small, black pouch with her new ID and enough cash to get her anywhere she wants to go.
Raine is still curled on her side, frowning in her sleep. I slide back under the covers, and pull her gently against me. Her hand settles over my heart.
I close my eyes, and hold her like morning is still a lifetime away.