Chapter 26 #4
I laugh once, low and bitter. “You want the truth?”
She doesn’t blink. “For once, yeah.”
Fair.
I nod slowly and look at her like I’m trying to memorize what she looks like right before I hand her the loaded gun and trust she won’t use it. “Because you mattered too much.”
The words leave me rougher than I meant them to. Not polished. Not romantic. Not clean.
Just true.
Allison’s brows pull together. And because she’s still not going to let me get away with half a confession and a tortured jaw tick, she says, “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect fucking sense.”
Her eyes flash. “Then explain it.”
So I do.
I drag both hands through my hair and start pacing because standing still while I say this feels impossible. “You want to know why I kissed you that first time and then spent years acting like a coward?” I ask. “Because the second I did it, I knew.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I keep going. “I knew if I really crossed that line with you, I wasn’t ever coming back from it.
There was no casual version of you for me.
No easy version. No temporary. No fun little mistake after a party I could laugh off and move on from.
” I stop pacing and look right at her. “It was always going to be everything with you or nothing.”
Her breathing changes. Just a little. “And that scared you,” she says quietly.
I bark out another humorless laugh. “Scared isn’t even the word for it.”
Because scared sounds manageable. Scared sounds like cold feet and hesitation and maybe some common sense.
This wasn’t that.
This was standing on the edge of the one thing I wanted bad enough to lose myself in and realizing if I stepped wrong, I wouldn’t just ruin me.
I’d ruin her too.
I take another step toward her and lower my voice.
“You grew up in this club. You’re Landon’s sister.
Uncle Torch’s daughter. My mom basically half raised you.
My whole life is tied up in yours before either of us ever touched each other.
The second I made you mine for real, there was no undoing it. ”
Her face changes at that. Not enough to save me. Enough to tell me she’s hearing me.
I keep going anyway, because if I stop now, I’ll never say the whole thing.
“And maybe that sounds like bullshit to you now, but I knew what I was risking. I knew if I hurt you, it wasn’t just some breakup.
It was church and family dinners and your mom looking at me like I’m the man who broke her daughter.
It was Landon wanting to put me through a wall.
It was every holiday, every birthday, every cookout in this club turning into a fucking landmine.
” My chest feels too tight for my lungs.
“And I wanted you bad enough that I knew once I started, I wouldn’t know how to stop. ”
Allison’s throat works once. Her arms are still folded, but not as tightly now.Still guarded. Still protecting herself.
Good. She should.
I haven’t earned anything else yet.
“So instead,” she says softly, “you just kept hurting me anyway.”
That one goes in clean. Straight through. Because there it is. The thing I’ve been dressing up as fear and caution and self-control like any of that changes the outcome.
I hurt her anyway.
Not by claiming her and failing. By never claiming her at all and still acting like she belonged to me every time somebody else noticed her.
I nod once, slow and miserable. “Yeah.”
No defense. No spin. No excuse.
Just yes.
Because that’s the truth too.
Allison’s eyes shine, and the sight of that nearly breaks me in half. “You kissed me,” she says, voice shaking now just enough to gut me, “and I thought maybe that meant something. Then you acted like it never happened.”
I move toward her instinctively, but she puts a hand up.Not dramatic. Not panicked.Just enough to stop me.
I stop immediately. Because if there is one thing I’m going to do right tonight, it’s listen when she draws a line.
Her voice is quieter now. “You took my first time and then made me feel like I’d done something wrong by not warning you first.”
That one is somehow worse.
Because I’ve hated myself for that from the second it happened. From the second realization hit and instead of pulling her into me and thanking God and every dead saint I could think of that she’d given me something that precious, I made it about my own panic.
I made her feel small inside a moment that should’ve been hers too.
I look at her and say, “I know.”
Tears slip down her cheeks anyway.Silent. Furious. Beautiful enough to make my chest ache.
And that’s it.
That’s the line.
That’s the moment where whatever stupid, defensive, self-protective instinct I’ve still got left just finally burns out.
I step forward slowly this time, watching her face the whole way. “Allie.”
She doesn’t tell me to stop. Doesn’t move. So I keep going until I’m close enough to reach for her and then I don’t.
Not yet.
“I was wrong,” I say.
Her eyes flick to mine.
“I was wrong when I kissed you and ran. I was wrong when I made your first time about my own bullshit instead of what you needed. I was wrong every time I made you pay for the fact that I didn’t know how to handle what you are to me.
” My voice drops lower, rougher. “And I swear to you, I am done doing that.”
She looks at me for one long, brutal second. Then she asks the question I deserve. “How do I know?”
No tears in it now. No softness. Just honesty.
How do I know this isn’t just another version of Jimmy Baker losing his shit because somebody else is getting too close?
I take a breath and say the one thing I know with absolute certainty. “You don’t.”
Her expression flickers. Pain. Disappointment. Something else. Before she can pull away from that answer, I keep going.
“You don’t know because I gave you every reason not to trust me. I know that.” My throat feels raw. “So I’m not asking you to believe me because I said the right thing in one room after being a fucking idiot for years.”
Something in her face softens at that.
“I’m telling you,” I say, “that I’m done pretending this is anything but what it is.”
Her voice comes out small. “And what is it?”
I don’t hesitate. “You’re mine.”
The words land between us like a live wire.
Her breath catches.
Mine does too.
But I’m not done now. Not even close.
“I don’t mean that in the way men say it when they think possession is enough to stand in for love,” I tell her, voice low and steady now because there is no room left for cowardice.
“I mean you’re mine because you’ve had every piece of me that matters for so damn long I don’t even know where I end and you start anymore.
I mean I look at every future in front of me and you’re in it whether I want to admit that or not.
I mean I should’ve put my patch on your back and my name on your skin before anybody ever had the chance to think you were up for grabs. ”
Allison makes this tiny, wrecked sound that nearly drops me to my knees.
I take the final half-step and cup her face in both hands before I can stop myself.
She lets me.
I brush my thumbs over the wet tracks on her cheeks and say the hardest part last, because apparently I needed to bleed enough to get there. “I was scared,” I admit.
Her eyes search mine. Not letting me soften it. Not letting me hide.
So I don’t.
“I was scared because you mattered too much. Because I knew if I really had you, really let myself love you the way I wanted to, there was no version of losing you I’d survive clean.
” My forehead drops to hers, and my voice turns rough around the edges.
“And I was too much of a coward to admit that, so I kept trying to keep one foot out the door while still acting like I had a right to you.”
Her hands finally come up. Not to push me away. To grip my wrists.
I close my eyes for half a second because that tiny act of trust feels like more than I deserve.
When I open them again, she’s staring right at me. “You love me?” The question is almost a whisper. And somehow that’s the easiest thing she’s asked me all night.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No qualifiers. No room left for confusion.
“I love you Allie, always have.”
Her whole face changes. Not into some easy, pretty, cinematic version of relief. Into something realer. Something cracked open and vulnerable and furious and hopeful all at once. Like she’s wanted those words long enough that finally hearing them almost hurts more than not hearing them did.
I deserve that too.
“You don’t get to say that and think it fixes everything,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“You don’t get to tell me I’m yours and think I’m just going to melt because you finally decided to be brave for ten minutes.”
That one almost gets a laugh out of me.
Almost.
“I know that too.”
Her brows pull together. “Then what exactly do you think is happening here?”
I look at her. At the woman I have loved wrong for so long I nearly forgot love is supposed to look like anything but panic and possession and fear.
Then I answer honestly. “I think I’m finally telling the truth.”
That does it. Not all at once. Not cleanly.
But something in her gives.
Her grip on my wrists shifts. Softens. Then her forehead presses just a little harder to mine and she lets out this shaky breath that sounds like surrender and fight and heartbreak all tangled up together.
“I hate you,” she whispers.
I smile for the first time all night, small and wrecked and real. “No, you don’t.”
“No,” she says, and her mouth trembles. “Unfortunately, I really don’t.”
Then she kisses me.
Not like the office. Not like the hallway. Not like any of the reckless, starving, adrenaline-fueled versions of us that came before this.
This kiss is still hungry. Still hard. Still full of too much history and too many things finally breaking loose at once.
But there’s intention in it now. Choice.
She kisses me because she wants to. Because she’s furious. Because she loves me too and probably hates that fact almost as much as I do.
And I kiss her back like I know exactly what she’s giving me this time.
No panic. No running.
My hands slide from her face to her waist and I pull her in slowly, giving her every second to stop this if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
Instead, her fingers slide into my hair and tug just enough to make my whole body lock up around the sensation.
“Jimmy,” she breathes against my mouth.
“Yeah.”
“If you pull away from me again after this, I’ll actually kill you.”
That one gets a rough laugh out of me. “Fair.”
She kisses me harder for that.
And Christ, I have never felt anything like this in my life.
Not because it’s the hottest I’ve ever been.
Though God, it’s close. Because for the first time, I’m not kissing her with one hand on the brakes.
For the first time, I’m not trying to survive her while also protecting myself from what she does to me.
I’m just in it.
All the way in.
My hands slide under her shirt and over warm skin, reverent for half a second before she arches into me and ruins any chance I had at staying calm.
I walk her backward toward the bed slowly, mouth never leaving hers, every part of me tuned to her in a way that feels almost violent after years of trying not to look too closely.
When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she breaks the kiss just enough to look up at me.
And even now, even here, even with her lips swollen and her chest rising hard and my whole body damn near vibrating from the effort of holding myself together, she makes me work for it.
“Say it again,” she whispers.
I know what she means.
I brace one hand beside her head and slide the other to the back of her neck, holding her there while I look her dead in the eye and give her exactly what she asked for.
“I love you.”
Her lashes flutter.
I don’t stop.
“I’m done pretending.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth.
“I’m done running.”
I kiss her jaw.
“I’m done acting like I don’t know exactly who you are to me.”
Her fingers dig into my shirt. “Jimmy—”
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes again.
“You’re mine,” I tell her, lower now, rougher, every word chosen on purpose. “And this time, I’m going to prove it.”
Something hot and liquid flashes through her expression. Not fear. Not uncertainty.
Relief.
Finally.
And when she reaches for me again, pulling me down into another kiss, it isn’t chaos anymore.
It isn’t desperation or adrenaline or panic.
It’s a choice. Her choice. Mine too.
This time, when we come together, it’s with every intention of staying there.