43. Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Three
Wrenley
The armory is quiet in the way only a room full of weapons can be.
Margot and I don’t say anything at first. We don’t need to.
She’s at the workbench, polishing a knife she’s already cleaned three times.
Not because it needs it. Because she needs to keep her hands moving.
I’m doing the same, checking the same magazine I checked twenty minutes ago, flipping it in my fingers like it might reveal something new on the fourth inspection. It won’t
Margot finally breaks the silence, her voice a soft slice in the still air. “You okay?”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Define okay.”
She snorts. “Fair.”
Another moment passes before she sets the knife down and leans back against the table, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve been quiet since Daisy told us what she overheard,” she says. “Too quiet.”
“I’m thinking,” I murmur.
“You’re spiraling.”
“I’m thinking,” I repeat, sharper this time.
Margot lets it sit a beat, then steps closer, nudging my shoulder with hers. “We’ve known each other long enough for me to recognize when you’re trying to swallow something too big to chew.”
I sigh, lowering the magazine. “Doesn’t matter. What she heard changes everything. He’s been closer for longer than we thought.”
Margot leans her head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. I figured. It still sucks.”
That makes me smile, small but real. I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, knees bent. Margot joins me without hesitation, settling beside me like we’ve done this a thousand times. Because we have.
She nudges my knee with hers. “Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have to take all of this on yourself.”
I look over at her. She’s watching me with that expression I’ve only ever seen her use with the people she actually cares about. The soft one. The one she’d stab someone for pointing out.
“No one expects you to carry the whole world,” she says. “Not alone.”
I scoff. “You sure? Because it feels like everyone keeps handing me pieces of it.”
She bumps her shoulder into mine again. “You’ve always been the strongest of us. But even strong people get tired. And scared. And overwhelmed. And sometimes they need someone to sit on the damn floor with them. That’s what I’m here for.”
My throat tightens with an ache that I hate. One I trust only a few people to see.
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” I say quietly.
Margot shrugs like that kind of confession doesn’t hit her straight in the chest. “It’s mutual, bitch.”
We both laugh at that, soft, tired, but honest. She reaches over and takes the magazine out of my hand, setting it aside. “Enough pretending to be busy?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Then what do we do?”
She leans her head against mine. “Whatever comes next,” she says. “Together.”
The door creaks open behind us, we both turn. Reaper stands in the doorway. Not looking panicked. Not angry. But something in his eyes is different. Focused. Determined. Like he’s already made a choice he doesn’t plan to tell me about.
Margot and I exchange a look, the kind only best friends can translate in an instant. This is it. Something’s shifted.
Reaper stands in the doorway like he’s been there long enough to hear us, but not long enough to interrupt. His eyes move between us, two women sitting on the floor with weapons scattered around like toys, and something softens in his face.
Not tension. Not suspicion. Warmth. “Milkshakes in the hammock?” he asks, voice low, almost shy beneath the gravel.
Margot snorts. I giggle. “Did you even have to ask that?” I grin.
His smile comes slow, real and deep, the kind that lights up the scar on his cheek and puts a crack in every wall he ever built.
“I’ll make them,” he says. “Meet you out there.”
He turns and disappears down the hall, steps quiet, shoulders relaxed. The air he leaves behind smells like him, smoke, winter and leather, the kind of safety that kills anything trying to hurt me. It lingers, warm and sharp at once, sinking into my lungs in a way that steadies me.
I watch until he’s completely gone. Margot nudges me with her shoulder again. “He is madly in love with you.” She pauses. “They both are.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s useless, my smile betrays me. I stand and offer her a hand. She takes it, letting me pull her to her feet. She brushes dust off her knees, then glances toward the doorway where Reaper vanished.
“Wrenley,” she says, tone softer than usual, “You know how lucky you are to be loved like that, right? By two men who would pull the sun from the sky just to keep you warm?”
I swallow. Look back at the empty doorway. At the echo of Liam’s smile. At the thought of Max teasing me on the porch about milkshakes while the blender runs.
“Yeah,” I whisper, throat tight. “I know.”
Margot lifts her chin, smug and fierce. “Well, so am I.”
I blink. “What?”
She jerks her thumb toward the door. “Riot. Elias. Do you think either of them are here because they enjoy Wrecker’s playlist?”
I laugh, real, loud, too bright for an armory.
Margot steps toward the door, pausing just long enough to toss over her shoulder. “Go get your milkshake, queen of chaos, I’ve got boys to annoy.” She winks and disappears down the hall, leaving me smiling at the empty doorway.
I head toward the garden, to Liam, the hammock, to the only place that feels like home now.
The sun is high enough now that the garden looks washed in gold. The oak tree stands exactly where it always has, solid, patient, older than any of us. The hammock sways gently beneath it, the breeze brushing through it like a whispered invitation.
I’m standing there, just watching it, when footsteps crunch across the grass behind me. “I thought you’d already be in that thing,” Liam says.
His voice is warm, that low rumble that settles straight into my bones and makes the world feel a little less sharp.
I turn, giggling. “Last time I got in first, we both almost ended up on the ground.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up an actual laugh slipping out of him, quiet and rough around the edges. “Yeah,” he says. “We did.”
He holds out two milkshakes, frosty plastic cups with tall straws and just enough whipped cream on top to be sinful.
I take both from him carefully. “You get in first.”
He doesn’t argue, doesn’t even hesitate. He steps over the hammock and sinks into it with surprising grace, the fabric barely shifting under his weight. He glances up at me, smug. “That was much easier.”
I laugh and hand him one of the shakes before climbing in beside him. The hammock sways when I get in, but he stabilizes it with a gentle hand on my hip. I settle against him, our legs brushing, our shoulders tucked together like puzzle pieces that always fit together.
I take a sip of my shake, eyes fluttering closed. “Peanut butter fudge,” I breathe. “My favorite.”
He takes a sip of his own, pride warming his expression. “I know. And I think I finally got them to taste like the ones from that hole-in-the-wall place we found just outside of town.”
I groan in satisfaction. “Those were delicious. These are almost identical.”
The breeze rustles the leaves above us, dappling sunlight across his face.
He looks… relaxed. Peaceful in a way he rarely allows himself to be.
We fall quiet, sipping our milkshakes. No war.
No plans. No blood or fear or maps to decode.
Just us. Just this. Being together without needing to fill the silence.
The hammock sways softly beneath us, my head tucked against Liam’s shoulder, his fingers still tracing idle patterns across the back of my hand. For a long moment, it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that feels rare, precious, almost stolen.
But his breathing shifts. Not heavier. Not tense. Just thoughtful. I know him well enough to recognize when something is sitting heavy on his chest. I tilt my head up toward him. “Okay,” I murmur. “Tell me.”
He glances down, pretending not to understand. “Tell you what?”
“What’s on your mind?” I bump my knees into his. “Because you’re doing that silent brooding thing. The one that usually ends with you trying to take on everything alone.”
His mouth lifts in a small, tired smile. “You read me too well.”
“I try,” I whisper.
He exhales slowly, long and steady, his hand slipping from mine to rest over my heart. “It terrifies me,” he says quietly.
My breath catches. “What does?”
“You.” His voice is raw, unpolished. “The way I love you. The way I need you.” His thumb brushes my collarbone. “The way losing you would be the end of me.”
My chest tightens, not with fear, but with something deeper, something whole.
I shift, turning in the hammock so I can face him, and press my forehead against his.
“Liam,” I whisper, “You’re not going to lose me.”
His eyes close for a moment, like those words physically hit him. He lifts a hand to cradle my cheek, thumb stroking the soft skin beneath my eye.
“You say that like I haven’t already come close,” he murmurs. “Like, I don’t see it every time I close my eyes. When Max was taken. The crash. The pain. The nightmares…”
I place my hand over his, grounding him. “Look at me.”
He does, and the world narrows to the two of us. “You love hard,” I say softly. “And you fear hard. You won’t lose me, Liam. You never will.”
His jaw works, emotion tight and unguarded. I cup his face with both hands, pulling him closer until our noses brush. “I love you,” I breathe. “So much it scares me, too. So much I don’t know where I end and you begin anymore.”
His breath trembles. And then he kisses me. Not the hungry, feral kind we share after battle. Not the desperate, claiming kind from last night. This one is slow. Deep. Almost reverent. A confession in the shape of a kiss. It knocks something loose inside me. Something tender and fierce all at once.
The hammock sways too much beneath us, making the moment feel fragile. Temporary. So I pull back, breathless, and whisper, “Come here.” As I step out of the hammock, he follows.