Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Savvy
“He’s gone.” Henry’s voice broke on the words. “James is...”
I didn’t let him finish. I pulled him inside, and he came willingly, like a ship finding a harbor in a storm. His body shook with silent sobs as I wrapped my arms around him. All my anger from the past hours—the unanswered calls, the fear of being ghosted again—melted away at the sight of his pain.
He buried his face in my neck, his tears hot against my skin. My fingers threaded through his hair, holding him closer as grief wracked his body. We stood like that for what seemed like hours until his breathing steadied.
When he lifted his head, his eyes were dark with need. The kiss started gentle—seeking comfort—but quickly blazed into something more desperate. His hands tangled in my hair as he backed me against the wall, pressing into me like he needed to feel anything other than loss.
“Savvy,” he breathed against my mouth. “I need...”
“I know,” I whispered, pulling him closer. “ I’m here.”
Our clothes fell away in desperate layers, hands seeking skin, needing to feel connected.
When he lifted me, I hooked my legs around his waist, gasping as he pressed me firmly against the wall. His lips ignited a fire down my neck, across my collarbone, lingering on every sensitive spot he hadn’t forgotten.
His mouth captured mine again, urgent and searching. The salt of his tears lingered on my lips, and his hands explored my body, a silent plea wrapped in desperation. Each touch held him together, pulling him back from the edge of his grief.
“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his lips brushing my skin. “So alive.” His voice broke, raw and unsteady, and I tugged him closer, wrapping myself around him like I could shield him from the depth of his pain.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. “I’m right here.”
He carried me to the bed, but instead of the urgent passion from before, his movements turned almost reverent. His hands and mouth mapped my body like he was memorizing every inch, every reaction. Like he needed proof that life continued, that love survived, that some things couldn’t be taken away.
“Savvy,” he breathed out my name like a prayer. “I need to feel you. Need to know this is real.”
I drew him down to me, cradling his face in my hands. His eyes were still bright with tears, but there was something else there too—a desperate hope. When I kissed him, soft and sure, he melted into me with a broken sound that was half sob, half moan.
He pressed against me, steady and sure. I pulled him closer, my body responding instinctively as his hands moved over my skin, drawing invisible patterns that soothed and ignited all at once. Each touch was a reminder, a return to something I’d almost forgotten. When we came together, the sound he made was raw, a broken exhale that carried the depth of his need.
“Look at me,” I whispered, and his eyes found mine. The vulnerability there took my breath away. All his walls were gone—no defenses, no masks—just Henry, raw and unguarded in every way that mattered.
You feel like hope,” he murmured, his movements slow and deliberate. “Like something I didn’t think I’d find again.” His forehead pressed to mine as we moved together, sharing breath, sharing heartbeats.
I held him tighter as his control slipped, as grief and desire tangled into something primal and necessary. His rhythm grew more urgent, more desperate, but his eyes never left mine. In them, I saw everything—loss and love, pain and hope, endings and beginnings.
“I’ve got you,” I promised again as he shuddered against me. “Let go, Henry. I’ll catch you.”
He buried his face in my neck as he shattered, my name tumbling from his lips, raw and aching. I followed right after, clinging to him as waves of pleasure blurred into the salt of fresh tears—his or mine. I couldn’t tell any more.
Afterward, he stayed wrapped around me, his head on my chest like he needed to hear my heartbeat. My fingers moved through his hair as his breathing slowly steadied.
“I should have called,” he whispered. “When it started happening, I should have?—
“Shh.” I pressed a kiss to his temple, my voice soft but steady. “Tell me about him. Tell me everything. Maybe it’ll help—remembering the good parts.”
He adjusted his position but kept his head over my heart, as though the steady rhythm was the only thing keeping him sane. “He kept asking for you near the end. Said he wanted to see you one last time”
His voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It happened so fast. I wanted to call you, but there wasn’t time. One minute he was there, and the next...” He buried his face against my chest, his breath hitching as the memory consumed him.
His words left me momentarily speechless, but I forced myself to ask, “What happened?”
“Brain bleed,” he said hoarsely. “The doctors said it was common with his condition, but God, Savvy. I wasn’t ready. One minute he was lucid, telling me about a folder, and the next...” His arms tightened around me like he was holding on for dear life.
I stroked his hair, feeling the wet warmth of his tears against my skin. “Tell me something good. A memory.”
His voice carried a touch of nostalgia. “He used to play chess with me every Sunday, even after he moved to Madison Center. He’d let me win sometimes, but only if I earned it. Said character wasn’t built on easy victories.”
“That sounds like James,” I murmured, my voice breaking.
“He never forgot about you,” he continued softly. “Had a first edition of Jane Eyre on his bedside table. Said it reminded him of you—a strong woman who wouldn’t let the world break her spirit.”
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. “He was the only one in your family who ever saw me.”
“No.” Henry pushed up on his elbow, his eyes finding mine in the dim light. “I saw you, but I wasn’t brave enough to fight for what I saw.”
“Henry—”
“He made me promise to do the right thing. I think he meant by you and this town and everything that means something.” His fingers traced my cheek. “I won’t fail him this time. I won’t fail you.”
I drew him back down to me, needing his warmth as memories and grief tangled together. “Did he suffer?”
“No.” Henry’s voice was rough against my shoulder. “He was making plans right until the end.”
“That’s who he was.” My fingers traced patterns on his back, feeling the strain in his muscles. “A quiet guardian.”
“My father showed up at the end.” His body went rigid. “Started talking about arrangements, about Mom’s inheritance, like James was just another asset to acquire.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him we were done. That James understood what actual power was—not control or money, but love. The things worth protecting.” He lifted his head, his eyes finding mine in the darkness. “I walked away from all of it. The inheritance, the empire, everything he thinks matters.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“For the first time in my life, I am.” His hand cupped my cheek. “James left me something better than money. He left me the truth about who I could be.”
The vulnerability in his voice made my heart ache. I pulled him closer, wrapping myself around him like I could shield him from the world’s sharp edges.
“When I saw your text,” he whispered, “you must have thought I was disappearing again... God, Savvy, I’m so sorry.”
“You came back,” I said. “That’s what matters.”
“I’ll always come back to you.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “You’re my home.”
“Tell me what you need,” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. “ Anything.”
“Just this.” His arm tightened around my waist. “Just you. Holding me, letting me hold you. Making me feel like the world isn’t ending.”
A car passed outside, headlights briefly painting shadows across my ceiling. In the quiet that followed, I could hear the distant sound of the Hudson, eternal and unchanging.
“I keep thinking about all the things I should have said to him,” Henry murmured. “I love him.”
“He knew.” I pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Trust me, Henry. He knew.”
“Did you know he used to slip books under my door when my father grounded me?” Amusement colored his voice. “Adventure stories, mostly. Said every prison needs an escape route.”
My heart clenched. “That sounds like James.”
“He did the same for my mother when she was young. It was their secret language—the books they shared. Each one carried a message.” His fingers traced idle patterns on my skin. “I think that’s why he loved you so much. You understood that language.”
Fresh tears slipped down my cheeks. “I loved him too.”
“I know.” He propped himself up to look at me. In the dim light, his eyes were dark pools of emotion. “Can I ... would it be okay if I stayed tonight? I don’t think I can face going home yet.”
“Of course.” I pulled him back down, tangling our bodies together. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”
He settled against me, his breath warm on my neck. For a while, we lay there, listening to the quiet sounds of the night—the distant train whistles, the rustle of autumn leaves, the steady rhythm of our hearts finding peace together.
“Your mom will worry,” I murmured, though I made no move to let him go.
“I texted her before I came here.” His voice was rough with exhaustion. “She understands. I think ... I think she always understood about us. Even when my father couldn’t.”
I ran my fingers along his spine, feeling the tightness slowly ease from his muscles. “What happens now?”
“Tomorrow, I’ll stop by James’s to grab that folder he mentioned, go through his things if needed.” His arm tightened around me. “But tonight, I just want to remember how to breathe.”
The vulnerability in his voice coursed through me. I pressed closer, trying to wrap him in all the comfort I could offer. His heartbeat steadied against mine, our breathing synchronizing in the darkness.
“You know what’s strange?” he whispered after a while. “I keep thinking about that chess set in his study. The one he taught me on. How the pieces are probably still set up from our last game.” His voice caught. “We never finished it.”
“Oh, Henry.” I kissed his temple, tasting salt.
“I don’t want to finish it,” he admitted. “As long as the game isn’t over, some part of him is still...”
When his voice trailed off, I held him tighter, feeling fresh tears dampen my skin. We lay like that until his breathing evened out, sleep claiming him. But I stayed awake, keeping watch over his dreams, protecting him the only way I could.
In the distance, a train whistle echoed—long and mournful, like a farewell. Or maybe a beginning. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.