Chapter Twenty Two #2
“We’re all scared, Harper. We don’t know what’s happening or why we’re being targeted.
Until we know who’s pulling the strings, I can’t protect you.
And I can’t let him get away with it.” His voice is barely a scrape of sound, and he presses his nose to the top of my head like he’s trying to ground himself against my scalp.
Addy hovers by the arm of the sofa, one hand half-lifted as if she’s not sure whether to intervene or back away slowly.
Rhys keeps his arms clenched so hard that his biceps tremble. I swallow thickly and fist his shirt.
“Rhys. You know I accept you for who you are,” I breathe, managing to push a tiny space between us. “But how can you condemn a man who was blackmailed into hurting others, when you used to do it for fun?”
The quiet around us closes in, time standing still at the sound of my cracked voice.
Addy makes the smart choice and silently slips towards the door as Rhys’ head raises to look at me.
His left eye twitches, his pupils blown wide as indecision writhes behind them.
The tightness of his lips punctuates the pink scar where his lip ring used to be.
He looks like a man standing in front of a burning house, torn between running inside and dragging me away from the flames.
“It was never fun. It was… necessary,” Rhys frowns as if he doesn’t quite believe that anymore.
That lie he’s lived by is no longer true.
I tilt my head, a pinch of sympathy in my cheek.
I can’t tell how long we stand there, but I don’t try to retract.
I stand in Rhys’ arms, weathering the storm taking place behind his features.
At times, his grip on my back tightens, then it shudders.
His throat flexes as he swallows, like he can’t decide whether to be furious at me or break down entirely.
Finally, he clears his throat and shakes his head.
“People don’t change.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Lifting my hand between us, I cup Rhys’ jaw and angle his head down so our noses are touching. I want my eyes to be all he can see.
“How can you stand here, holding me, protecting me, and still say that?” Rhys flinches, literally flinches, as the words strike him.
I hold my breath, wondering if this is the moment where he finally sees himself the way I see him.
Where he starts to accept he’s not the monster he’s always believed.
His hands slide from my back to my waist, his breath shaky against my lips.
“Your bleeding heart is my weakness.” His thumbs stroke in shaky circles, like he’s trying to soothe himself more than me. “But that doesn’t erase what he did to you.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive him,” I say softly.
“I’m asking you to understand that we’re all products of those who have crafted us.
I’m asking you not to fight me while I try to get him a second chance.
” Still holding his jaw, Rhys’ skin is hot beneath my palm, the muscles twitching as if he’s fighting himself.
His eyes flick to mine, back down to my mouth, then away in a restless, conflicted spiral.
Eventually, he drops his forehead against mine and gives a tiny nod.
“Okay, Babygirl,” his breath stutters. “You win as usual.” I open my mouth and close it again.
Relationships aren’t about winning and losing, or putting me on a pedestal where I always get my way, and Rhys kneels at my feet.
It should be an equal partnership, but something tells me he’s reached his limit for revelations this morning.
Luckily, there’s a scuffle in the doorway to distract us.
I peek sideways to see Addy has reappeared, her hands gripping Clayton’s forearm as she drags him into the room.
Upon seeing that Rhys hasn’t trashed the room or torn me to shreds, Addy audibly exhales.
Clay looks between us all, confused with blurry eyes and ruffled hair that suggests he was napping.
He blinks like he’s rebooting, then rubs a hand over his face with a groan.
“So much for giving her space,” he mutters. Rhys lifts his middle finger in Clay’s direction without even looking at him. Peeling away from Rhys, I share a look with Addy about pigheaded men, but slide my hand in his to keep him close anyway.
“Hey, isn’t there a snooker table down the hall?
” I ask, instantly breaking the tension.
Addy’s face lights up, and she claps her hands, already buzzing with victory.
I wince, and she promptly stops, signing a quick sorry before disappearing into the hallway.
Clay follows after her, although he doesn’t have the same skip in his step.
I start to follow, tugging Rhys’ hand gently, but he doesn’t move.
His fingers tighten around mine, halting me just three steps from the doorway.
When I turn back, his expression is so far removed from what I expected to see.
Vulnerability is painted across his features, his eyes softened and unbearably raw.
The breath in my throat catches without even knowing what I’m seeing.
“Harper,” he murmurs, and the way he says my name makes my heart stutter. His own chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm, as if he’s trying to steady something inside himself. “There’s, uh…something I want to say, but I don’t really know how,” he swallows hard.
Lifting our joined hands, he releases mine to turn it palm-up, his brows knitting together in concentration as he folds my third and fourth fingers down, leaving my index, pinky, and thumb extended.
“I think this is the sign for it.” His cheeks flush faintly, his fingers trembling as they hold mine with such sincerity, my chest cracks open.
Something warm and earnest rips straight through my ribs.
For a second, I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
The sheer shock of what I’m seeing from the man who keeps every emotion barricaded behind his incredibly high walls nearly knocks me to my knees.
He loves me. And he tried to communicate it to me in a language special to my heart. And he loves me. Holy shit.
A sound escapes me, stuck somewhere between a laugh and a sob, as I launch forward to fling my arms around his shoulders.
He catches me instantly, hands clamping around my waist with a desperate kind of reverence, fingers curling in as though he’s terrified I might disappear if he loosens his grip.
I press my mouth to his in a rush of need and disbelief, kissing him with everything that’s been building in my chest. Every hope, every fear, every moment I thought he’d never let me in, it’s palpable between the clashing of our lips.
Rhys answers with a low, guttural groan that vibrates straight through me, a sound that says he’s done fighting this, done fighting us. For the first time, he isn’t holding himself back. He’s finally let himself want this as much as I do. He’s finally accepted love into his hardened heart.
His arms cinch tighter, lifting me just enough that my toes leave the floor, pulling me flush against the heat of him.
He pours himself into the kiss like he’s starving, baring his soul to me in a way I never thought he would.
When I finally break away for air, our chests heave in time with one another.
“I love you too,” I whisper against his lips. Rhys’ exhale shivers through both of us, and he presses one more soft kiss to my mouth before resting his forehead against mine.
“Come on,” he murmurs, voice rough with too many feelings he’s still learning how to handle. “Before they break something expensive.” A giggle escapes me, and as we step into the hallway together, the air suddenly feels different, lighter in the way that only a woman who is loved can understand.
A bubble of uncontainable laughter slips out of me, and as we step into the hallway side by side, something subtle shifts in the air. The kind of shift that settles in my body, bolstering me in a way that only being chosen, loved, and cherished can.