Chapter 44
forty-four
Zach
I take longer in the shower than I need to.
Long enough that the heat fades from the water and turns lukewarm against my skin, long enough that the quiet of the apartment settles into something steady outside the door, long enough that I know exactly what I’m doing even if I don’t say it out loud.
They needed that.
Jackson needed that.
And she... she needed it more than either of us have been willing to admit.
The sound of her voice had carried through the apartment earlier, soft at first, then breaking, then shifting into something else entirely, something that pulled tight in my chest and lower at the same time, something that made my body react before my mind could catch up to it.
I’d stood there under the water, eyes closed, letting it run over me while I listened, while I let myself understand exactly what had been missing, what we’d been holding back from her without meaning to.
And my body hadn’t been subtle about it.
Hard.
Immediate.
A response that had nothing to do with patience and everything to do with memory, with knowing exactly what she sounds like when she lets go, with knowing how she feels when she’s not being handled like something fragile.
But I didn’t move. I didn’t interrupt. Because this wasn’t about me. This was about them. So I stay until I know it’s over. Until the apartment settles again. Until I can step back into it without breaking something that finally started to mend.
I turn the water off, dry off slowly, deliberately, giving them that extra space, that extra time, before I pull on a pair of sweats and push the door open.
The apartment is quiet again.
Different quiet this time.
Softer.
I move down the hallway without rushing, my steps instinctively quieter as I reach the bedroom door, my hand pausing on the handle for a second before I push it open.
Jackson is on the bed.
Lying on his side, facing her.
Watching her.
His hand is in her hair, fingers moving through it slowly, like he needs to keep touching her, like he needs that constant reminder that she’s here.
She’s asleep.
Curled slightly toward him, her body relaxed in a way I haven’t seen since before everything, the tension gone from her shoulders, her breathing even, her face soft.
And she’s naked.
Completely unguarded, completely open, like she finally let herself drop whatever she’s been holding onto for days.
Jackson doesn’t look up straight away.
His gaze is fixed on her collarbone.
On the tattoo.
Property of Jackson.
The ink that sits just above where her skin is still healing, where the faint, angry lines of the cuts that tried to take it from her still linger, not fully faded yet, a reminder carved into her body of something that should never have happened.
His jaw tightens.
“He tried to remove us from her.”
His voice is quiet, rough, like he’s holding it in place with effort.
“He almost did it.”
I step further into the room, the door closing softly behind me.
“He didn’t,” I say.
Jackson finally looks up at me.
“That’s not the point,” he replies. “We were letting him win.”
The words land heavier than I expect.
“By not giving her what she needed,” he adds, his gaze dropping back to her. “We were helping him do it.”
I don’t argue. Because he’s not wrong. His eyes flick back to me.
“You saw it,” he says. “You knew what she needed.”
I shake my head slightly.
“I only just figured it out.”
He studies me for a second.
“Then why didn’t you give it to her first?”
There’s no accusation in it, just honesty. Because he needs to understand.
“Because you needed it more,” I answer simply. “And she needed you to be the one to give it to her.”
That settles something in him, even if it doesn’t ease it. He exhales slowly, his hand still moving through her hair.
“And Elijah…” he trails off, his jaw tightening again. “I don’t know how we’re going to reach him.”
I lean against the wall for a second, watching her, taking in the way she’s curled into the bed, the way she looks finally at peace.
“I don’t think we do,” I say quietly. “Not yet.”
He glances at me.
“Not until he deals with what he needs to deal with,” I add. “Not until the Vargas situation is done.”
Jackson’s gaze drops again.
“But until then,” I continue, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to the bed, “you and I can give her what she needs.”
His hand stills for a second in her hair. Then starts moving again.
“We remind her who she is,” I finish.
He nods slowly.
“I’m going to grab some water,” he says after a moment. “In case she wakes up.”
I nod toward the bed.
“I’ve got her.”
He pushes himself up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he moves, his eyes lingering on her for a second before he leaves the room.
I wait until he’s gone before I move.
Carefully, I slide onto the other side of the bed, not jostling her, not disturbing the way she’s settled, letting my body sink into the mattress slowly so I don’t wake her.
She shifts anyway. Instinct. Her body turning toward the warmth. Toward me.
Her hand brushes my chest before she settles, her body curling into mine without waking, like she knows it’s safe, like she doesn’t need to question it.
My arm comes around her automatically, my hand settling against her back, holding her there, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
She’s warm. Relaxed. Soft in a way that she hasn’t been since we got her back. And it hits harder than I expect. How tense she’s been. How tightly she’s been holding herself together. How much she needed what just happened.
My hand moves slowly over her arm, my thumb brushing along her skin, grounding, steady, nothing that would wake her, just enough that if she shifted, she’d feel me there.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in, letting myself sit in this moment, in the quiet of it, in the fact that she’s here.
That we have her. For a while, I don’t move.
I just stay there, holding her, letting the weight of everything settle somewhere it can be carried instead of fought.
Until something starts to feel off. Time has passed. Too much. Jackson should be back by now. Carefully, I ease out from under her, making sure she’s still settled before I slide off the bed and head out into the hallway.
The apartment is quiet. The lounge light is still on. I follow it. Jackson is sitting on the couch, Lia’s laptop open in front of him and he’s crying. Not loud. Not breaking down. But silent tears that he hasn’t bothered to wipe away.
“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.
He looks up at me, his expression raw in a way I haven’t seen from him before.
“I read it.”
My gaze flicks to the laptop.
“You read what she wrote?”
He nods.
“I know I shouldn’t have,” he says quickly. “Don’t tell her. But… Zach…”
His voice tightens.
“You need to read this too.”
I don’t move.
“Why?”
“Because it’s everything,” he says. “Everything that happened to her. Everything she felt. Everything after.”
He swallows hard.
“She put her heart in this. And we’ve been… holding parts of her down without even realizing it.”
The words land. Heavy. I look at the laptop again. Then back at him.
“I’m not ready to read it yet.”
He studies me. Then nods.
“Yeah. I get that.”
He closes the laptop slowly.
“I need more, Zach,” he says after a second.
I sit down across from him.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re pushing me,” he says. “PR. Social media. All of it. I’ve got meetings this week.”
His jaw tightens.
“I built everything on being… that guy. The one everyone watches. The one they want.”
His eyes lift to mine.
“I can’t do that anymore.”
I don’t interrupt.
“I need the world to know she’s mine,” he says, the words coming out quieter but heavier. “I need to be able to say it. I need to stop pretending she’s not everything.”
I lean back slightly, considering that.
“When Elijah gets back,” I say, “and when she wakes up tomorrow, we’ll talk about it. All of us.”
He nods slowly.
“Yeah.”
“Come back to bed,” I add. “Be with her.”
His gaze softens slightly.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He grabs the glass of water from the kitchen bench, and we head back toward the bedroom together.
As we walk, I already know what I’m going to have to do. Jackson needs something solid. Something public. Something that anchors him to her in a way the world can’t ignore.
And Elijah...Elijah is going to resist it.
I can already see it.
Which means I’m going to have to be the one who pushes.
Because this isn’t just about her anymore.
It’s about all of us. And when I slide back into bed beside her, her body immediately settling back against mine, her warmth grounding me again, her breathing soft and steady, I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I want this.
All of it.
Her.
The life we’re building.
The family that’s coming.
And I’m not going to let anything, or anyone, take that from us again.