Chapter Eight #2
I drew him in, held his head against my shoulder, and for a long time we just sat, the sound of the river filtering through the new window, the smell of pine and fresh wood everywhere.
My hands never stopped moving: tracing the shell of his ear, the nape of his neck, the inked skin of his wrist. Proof he was real. Proof he was mine.
When his breathing slowed, I said, “There’s a way to make it so she can’t ever touch you, you know. Legal, in black and white.”
He stiffened, pulled back just enough to search my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said, forcing the words past the iron lump in my throat, “we can go to the courthouse tomorrow. Apply for the license. Get married three days after that. Doesn’t have to be fancy—just me, you, and the judge.
Then Ma can have her damn wedding when the house is finished.
But nobody can say you’re not mine. Not after that. ”
He stared at me, frozen. Then his mouth worked, but nothing came out.
I smiled, rough and probably a little stupid. “You in or you want to keep waiting for the other shoe?”
He let out a single, shell-shocked laugh, and his whole body went soft. He buried his face in my chest again, voice muffled but clear enough. “Do you really want to marry me?”
I lifted both wrists, the leather band on one, his name inked on the other. “I always have,” I said. “We’re just making it legal.”
He looked up, grinning like he couldn’t help it, and his eyes were bright again. “I think you might be the biggest sap alive,” he whispered.
“Only for you,” I said.
He kissed me, hard and messy, and when we broke apart, the world felt like it’d righted itself by a degree or two. Outside, I could hear Knox and Bo shuffling around, pretending not to listen, pretending the rest of the world wasn’t on fire.
I held Levi tighter, memorizing the feel of him in my arms, and promised myself I’d never let anything pry him loose, not for a second.
Tomorrow, we’d start the paperwork. Tonight, we’d just be us, safe in the house we were building from scratch.
And if the ghosts came calling, they’d have to get through me first.
We stayed there a long time, Levi wrapped around me like he might drown if he let go.
His pulse thudded under my palm, and every few minutes I checked the tattoo, just to make sure the black hadn’t faded or rubbed away.
When he finally let up, he didn’t pull far—just enough to wedge his chin onto my shoulder and look around the empty room.
“It’s weird,” he said, voice soft and raspy, “but this is the first place I ever felt safe. Even if it’s not done.”
I squeezed his waist, feeling the jut of bone and the strength hidden under it. “It’s ours,” I said, and meant it.
He blinked a few times, then twisted in my arms so he could scan the bones of the house.
Sunlight sliced through the open studs, making lattices on the floor, and the air was full of wood-smoke and the faint musk of sweat from the morning crew.
He nodded at the stretch of plywood where the window seat would go.
“You want to try it?” he said, half a smile on his face.
I didn’t say no, even though my knees bitched as I sat down. He curled up beside me, folding his long legs until his feet rested just over the ledge. We faced the creek, the water glinting through bare beams and a tangle of wild rose.
“If you could see it finished,” he said, “what color would the walls be?”
I thought for a second. “Something warm. Gold, maybe. Not that gray shit you see on HGTV.”
He grinned. “And the shelves?”
“Full of your books and whatever you want to show off,” I said. “Maybe a fossil or two. Something weird.”
He let out a laugh that was more relief than amusement, and tucked his head against my arm. I rested my hand on his thigh, just above the tattoo, and let myself imagine it: the walls, the books, the couch we’d fight over who got to nap on.
The sound of boots scraping on the porch signaled the return of civilization. Bo popped his head in, saw us, and made a show of averting his eyes. “You two good?” he asked, but the worry still hung around the edges.
Levi nodded, shy but proud. “Better than good.”
Bo nodded, then ducked out without another word.
We didn’t move right away. The crew finished their lunch, the smell of fried chicken and sugar cookies wafting in every time someone opened the door. I watched the light change on Levi’s face as the afternoon rolled on, each angle catching a different shade of blue in his eyes.
He reached over, lacing his fingers with mine, and tapped the leather bracelet. “You ever think about how wild this is?” he asked. “A year ago, I was living in someone’s spare room and you were just the scary dude who never smiled.”
“I smiled,” I protested, even though we both knew it was a lie.
He grinned. “Not like you do now.”
I brushed a thumb across his cheek, rough enough to make him squint. “You gave me something to smile about,” I said, then looked away, embarrassed at the honesty of it.
We sat together, watching the creek and the slow drift of clouds overhead. The inside of the house was cool and dark, but every sound and scent belonged to us now. It was a place nobody else could touch, not even the ghosts of his past.
Eventually, he dozed off, head slumped against my shoulder, breath even and soft. I held still, memorizing the weight of him, the way he fit against me. Outside, someone fired up the air compressor and the whole frame vibrated, but Levi didn’t wake.
I let myself hope, for once, that it would be enough. That the paperwork and the porch swing and the pie in the kitchen would be enough to keep him here. That maybe the scars we brought into this place could be welded together, stronger at the seam.
I pressed a kiss to his hair, and whispered, “You’re not going anywhere, Sunshine. Not without me.”
He stirred, eyelids flickering, and smiled without opening his eyes.
Tomorrow, we’d start the rest of it. But for today, we just sat in the heart of the house, two people with nothing to hide and everything to build. And if the world wanted to take another shot at us, it’d have to go through both of us.