Chapter Thirty-six Amethyst
He’s been gone longer than usual.
Twenty-two minutes to town. He should’ve been back by now.
I check the tracker on my phone again.
Still moving.
Still in town.
Still alive.
Still mine to worry about.
The panic loosens its grip a fraction.
He’s fine. I force myself to breathe through it. No spiraling. No blood. No sirens. No imagining his truck wrapped around a tree on some empty road. He can handle himself better than anyone I know.
Still-
I hate when he leaves.
The shower is still hot when I step under it. Steam curls around me, thick and heavy. I tilt my head back and let the water pound against my shoulders. My ribs ache less today. Tender, but healing. I wash quickly. Efficiently. Get clean. Get out.
The cabin is quiet when come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Peaceful in a way that still feels unfamiliar.
I move through the bedroom gathering clothes from the floor. His shirt from yesterday. My jeans. Underwear tangled in the sheets.
I dump everything into the washer, pour in the detergent, start the cycle. The machine hums to life.
Steady. Rhythmic. Grounded.
My phone rings. I grab before the second vibration. His name flashes across the screen and some tight knot in chest loosens.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry it’s taken so long,” he says.
His voice is controlled. Too controlled.
“I found some cameras and I-” he cuts himself off.
A pause stretches between us. Intentional. Like he almost said something he shouldn’t. I lean against the counter.
“And you what?”
Silence.
Then:
“Nothing. I’m heading back now.”
Something’s off.
Not dangerous.
Not bad.
Just… hidden.
I move through the cabin checking the perimeter again. Not because it needs checking. But because I need something to do.
The forest outside is still. No movement between the trees. No sound except wind pushing through branches. Nothing wrong. Still, I look twice. Like I’m expecting something go wrong out here.
I grab wood from the pile beside the cabin. One armful then another.
My ribs ache with every lift, sharp enough to notice, dull enough to ignore. The nights are still cold this far into spring.
Once the sun drops, the temperature follows fast. We’ll need the fire tonight. I stack the wood neatly along the porch wall.
I make another trip. Then another.
By the time I’m done, the pile is high enough to last several nights. Enough to keep us warm without needing to step outside after dark. Enough to keep him from deciding he needs to chop more.
I head back inside and lock the door behind me.
The breakfast dishes are still in the sink. I fill it with steaming water, add soap, start scrubbing.
Wash.
Rinse.
Dry.
Repeat.
The rhythm settles me. Simple task always do.
My thoughts quiet. My breathing evens out. The cabin hums softly around me-the washer running in the other room, water moving through pipes, the crackle of wood settling near the fireplace. It’s peaceful.
Then I hear it. An engine in the distance. My body reacts instantly. I shut the water off. Move to the window, then I see it. The truck. Relief hits hard enough to make me dizzy.
He’s back.
Gravel crunches beneath the tires as he pulls up outside. I dry my hands quickly and head for the door.
Kade is already climbing out by the time I step onto the porch. Grocery bags in one had, a box tucked under the other arm.
Cameras.
Good.
I start towards him.
“Hey.”
He looks up.
I immediately know something’s wrong.
Not because of what he says. But because of what he doesn’t.
But something’s sitting heavy behind his eyes. I can see it in the tension in his shoulders. In the way he pauses before speaking.
Like part of him is standing here. And the rest is still trapped in whatever happened in town.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He looks down. Sets the bags down. Looks back at me.
“I uh, think we need to discuss something," he says. His voice is careful. Measured.
“But I know it’s extremely personal and I know that it’s something normal people discuss especially before—"
He trails off. Doesn’t finish. I wait. Let him find the words.
“Kids," he blurts.
The word ands like a gunshot. Loud. Sudden. Impossible to ignore.
“We’ve never discussed kids," he continues. “If you wanted them. Didn’t want them. I’ve noticed that you don’t bleed and I just figured birth control. I’ve read that they can stop your periods."
He’s rambling. I know it. He knows it. I’ve been expecting this conversation. Dreading it. Waiting for it to happen. Just didn’t expect it to happen today.
“Kade—I,"
I start. My voice doesn’t work.
“Do—"
I stop. Can’t find the words. Can’t explain. Can’t—
Something in my face breaks water restraint he was holding onto. He drops everything. Comes to me. His hands cup my face. Gentle. Careful.
“Hey," he says. His voice is soft.
“We don’t need to talk about it right now if you’re not ready to."
Tears cling to my eyes. I blink them back. Try to breathe.
“Let’s get this stuff inside and put away," I say. “Then we can sit and talk."
He nods. Picks up what he dropped. Takes the bags inside.
I stand by the truck. Alone. My mind spiraling.
Does he want kids?
Would he want to be with me when he finds out—
The thought stops there. I don’t let it go any further. It doesn’t matter. Except it does.
There’s something about my body. Something I haven’t told him. Something that changes everything. And now—
Now he’s asking. Now it’s time.
I follow him inside. Close the door. Lock it. Automatic. He’s already in the kitchen. Unpacking. Methodical. Efficient. I move to help. Grab a bag. Start pulling things out. Bread.
Eggs.
Milk.
Cheese.
My hands are shaking. I try to hide it. Can’t. He notices. Of course he does.
“Amethyst."
His voice is soft. I don’t look at him. Keep unpacking. Pasta. Sauce. Canned vegetables. “Hey."
His hand covers mine. Stops me. I freeze. Can’t move. Can’t breathe.
“It’s okay," he says. “Whatever it is. It’s okay."
I close my eyes. Breathe. Try to find the words. Can’t. Not yet.
“Let’s finish this first," I say.
My voice is barely a whisper. He nods. Lets go of my hand. We work in silence. Put everything away. Bread in the pantry. Milk in the fridge. Eggs on the shelf. Methodical. Grounding.
When the last bag is empty, I fold it. Set it aside. Turn to face him. He’s watching me. Patient. Waiting.
“Couch?" I ask.
He nods. Follows me to the living room. I sit. He sits next to me. Close. Not touching. Giving me space. But present. Here. I stare at my hands. At the fingers twisted together in my lap.
“Kade," I start.
Stop. Try again.
“Do you want kids?"
The question hangs between us. Heavy. Loaded. Permanent.
He’s quiet for a moment. Then he shakes his head.
“No."
Simple. Direct.
“I’d be a terrible father,"
The answer comes with no hesitation.
“I don’t even know how to be a dad. I’ve never hurt a kid as an adult. I used to get into fights with the kids at school. But no. I’ve never wanted kids."
He pauses. Looks at me.
“Never even thought I’d find someone who would—"
He stops. Doesn’t finish. But I know what he’s trying to say. He wasn’t sure if anyone would love him for him. For what he is. For the predator inside.
“Kade," I say.
My voice breaks. I take a breath. Force the words out.
“I can’t have kids."
The words leave my mouth. Real. Irreversible.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just waits.
“That choice was taken from me," I continue. The words are coming faster now. Tumbling out.
“By my foster father. He—"
I stop. Breathe. Keep going.
“He got me pregnant. When he found out, he had some quack doctor come and remove everything but my ovaries."
My hands are shaking. I can’t stop them.
“He didn’t want the state to find out how he treated the girls he fostered."
Tears are falling now. Hot. Fast. I can’t stop them either.
“I didn’t kill him for just touching me," I say.
My voice is raw. Broken.
“I killed him for taking my choices away from me."
Silence. Long. Heavy. I can’t look at him. Can’t see his face. Can’t see if he’s looking at me differently now. If he’s disgusted. If he’s—
“Amethyst."
His voice is soft. Gentle. I force myself to look up. His eyes are on mine. And what I see there—
It’s not disgust. Not pity. Not fear. It’s rage. Pure. Lethal. Directed at a dead man. And underneath that—
Love.
“I’m sorry that happened," he says.
His voice is steady. Controlled.
“That your choices were taken from you."
He reaches for my hands. Takes them in his.
“But it doesn’t change anything. Not a damn thing."
His grip tightens.
“Even if I had wanted kids. It still wouldn’t have changed a thing."
The tears come harder now. Relief. Overwhelming. Devastating.
I lean forward. Try to kiss him. But he’s faster. He’s pushing me down on the couch. Capturing my mouth. Kissing me. Devouring me. His hands frame my face. Gentle. Reverent.
“Let me show you," he says against my lips.
“Let me show you just how much I feel for you."
His mouth moves to my jaw. My neck. Soft kisses. Tender. Worshipful. Not claiming. Not possessing. Something else. Something deeper. His hands move to my shirt. Lift it slowly. Carefully. He pulls it over my head. Sets it aside. His eyes move over me. Taking in every inch.
Every scar.
Every mark.
Every piece of evidence of what I’ve survived.
“Beautiful," he whispers.
His fingers trace the scar on my ribs. The one from Enzo. Then the older ones. The ones from before. From missions. From training. From survival.
“Every part of you," he says.
His mouth follows his fingers. Kissing each scar. Each mark. Each piece of my history. “This one," he says. Kissing my shoulder.
“And this one."
My collarbone.
“And this one."
My ribs.
He works his way down. Slow. Methodical. Worshipful.
His hands move to my pants. Unbutton them. Slide them down. Off. I’m bare beneath him. Vulnerable. Exposed. But not afraid. Not with him. Never with him.
His mouth continues its path. Down my stomach. My hip. My thigh. Kissing. Tasting. Claiming in a different way. Not possession. Devotion.
“Kade," I breathe. His name is a prayer. A plea. He looks up at me. Eyes dark. Intense. “I’ve got you," he says.
And then his mouth is on me. Hot. Wet. Perfect. His tongue moves. Slow circles. Deliberate. Focused. Building the pressure. The heat. The need.
My hands go to his hair. Grip. Hold on. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. Just keeps working me. Taking me higher. Higher. Until I’m breaking. Shattering. Coming apart beneath him.
He doesn’t stop. Keeps going. Drawing it out. Making it last.
When I finally come down, he’s moving up my body. Kissing his way back. Stomach. Ribs. Chest. Neck. Mouth.
I taste myself on his lips. Taste his devotion. His love. He pulls back. Just enough to look at me.
“Again," he says. Not a question. A promise.
His hand moves between us. Finds me. Still sensitive. Still trembling.
He circles my clit. Slow. Gentle. Building again.
“I want you to feel this," he says. His voice is rough. Raw. “Want you to know what you do to me."
His fingers slide inside. Two. Curling. Finding that spot. The one that makes me gasp. Makes me arch. Makes me—
“Kade—"
“That’s it," he says. “Let me hear you."
His thumb presses my clit. His fingers work inside. Steady rhythm. Perfect pressure. I’m climbing again. Faster this time. Higher. The pressure building. Coiling. Ready to snap. “Come for me,"
And I do. Hard. Fast. Overwhelming.
My body clenches around his fingers. Pulsing. Trembling. He works me through it. Doesn’t stop until I’m boneless. Spent. Gasping. When I open my eyes, he’s watching me. Eyes dark. Hungry. But patient.
“More?" he asks.
I nod. Can’t speak. Can’t form words. He stands. Strips. Efficient. Quick.
Then he’s back. Settling between my legs. His weight pressing me into the couch. Grounding. Real. He positions himself. The head of his cock pressing against me. Teasing.
“Look at me," he says. I do. Meet his eyes. Hold his gaze.
“I love you," he says. “All of you."
And then he’s pushing inside. Slow. Careful. Filling me. Stretching me. Completing me. I gasp. Arch. Take him deeper. He bottoms out. Holds. Lets me adjust. Lets me feel him. All of him. “
You’re perfect,"
His voice is strained. Controlled.
“Every part of you."
He pulls back. Slow. Almost all the way out.
Then pushes back in. Steady. Deliberate.
Not rough. Not claiming. Worshiping. Each thrust is measured.
Controlled. Designed to make me feel. To make me understand.
This isn’t about possession. This is about love.
About showing me what I mean to him. About reclaiming my body.
Not as his. But as mine. As something sacred.
Something worthy. Something loved. His hand moves between us.
Finds my clit. Circles. Matches the rhythm of his thrusts.
Building the pressure again. The heat. The need.
“Come with me,"
His voice is breaking. Fracturing.
“Let me feel you."
I’m close. So close. The pressure coiling. Tightening. Ready to snap. His thrusts get deeper. Harder. More desperate. But still controlled. Still focused on me. On us.
“Kade—"
“I’ve got you," he says.
And then I’m breaking. Shattering. Coming apart.
My body clenches around him. Pulsing. Pulling him deeper.
He follows. Groaning my name. Spilling inside me.
Hot. Deep. Perfect. We stay like that. Connected.
Breathing hard. Hearts racing. Slowly coming down.
When he finally moves, it’s to gather me close.
Pull me against his chest. Hold me. His hand strokes my hair. My back. Soothing. Grounding.
“I love you," he says again.
“Nothing changes that."
I close my eyes. Let the words sink in. Let them heal something inside me. Something I didn’t know was broken.
“I love you too," I whisper.
I believe him. For the first time since this conversation started, I believe him. He loves all of me. Even the broken parts. Even the stolen parts. Even the pieces that can never be returned. He loves me anyway.
And that means everything.