Chapter 9 - Nora #2
Warren's forehead rests against mine. "I need to put you down. My shoulder—"
"Of course. I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize." He walks us back to the couch, lowering us both down. I'm still in his lap, his cock still inside me, and neither of us moves to change that. "That was incredible!"
"Yeah," I whisper. "It was."
We sit there in silence. His good arm around me. My head on his shoulder. His cock softening inside me, our combined release slowly leaking out.
I should feel embarrassed. Should feel ashamed for being so bold, so desperate…
But I feel happy. Safe. Wanted.
"Your ex was an idiot," Warren says suddenly.
I lift my head to look at him. "What?"
"Your ex. The one who hurt you. Who made you feel like you weren't enough." His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone. "He was an idiot. Because you're everything. You know that, right?"
"He cheated on me," I whisper. "That's why I left. I came home early one day and found him in bed with his best friend. The one he told me not to worry about for two years."
Warren's entire body goes rigid. "Nora—"
"I trusted him. I chose to trust him even when my gut was screaming at me that something was wrong.
And I was right to be worried, but I ignored it because I wanted to believe him.
" Tears burn behind my eyes. "So, I'm going to have a very hard time trusting again.
Even though… Even though I want to trust you.
God, Warren, I want to trust you so badly it hurts.
But I don't know if I can. Not completely. Not yet."
Warren's silent for a long moment. His hand stays on my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone, and I can't read his expression.
Then he speaks.
"I'm not perfect either."
I blink. "What?"
"You think you're the only one bringing baggage into this?
" His voice is rough. "Nora, I've hurt people.
Killed people. I have PTSD nightmares that wake me up swinging.
Some nights I can't sleep at all because the second I close my eyes, I'm back overseas watching civilians die.
Good men die. People I couldn't save no matter how hard I tried. "
I wait for him to continue.
"I'm forty-three years old and I've never had a serious relationship because I didn't think I was capable of it.
Didn't think I deserved it." He pauses. "And now here you are, and you’re a beautiful, brave woman with a daughter I'm already half in love with, and I'm fucking terrified I'm going to screw this up.
That my nightmares are going to scare you away.
That you're going to realize I'm too damaged, too broken, too much. "
Tears spill down my cheeks. "Warren—"
"So yeah. You're going to have a hard time trusting. And I'm going to have nightmares. And we're both going to fuck this up sometimes." His forehead presses against mine. "But maybe, maybe we can be fucked up together. Maybe we can be patient with each other. Work through it."
"You mean that?"
"Every word." His hand moves to the back of my neck, holding me close. "I know trust has to be earned. I know you can't just flip a switch and believe in me because I want you to. So, I'll earn it. Day by day. Choice by choice. I'll show you that I'm not him. That I won't hurt you like he did."
"And I'll be patient with your nightmares," I whisper. "I'll be there when you wake up. I won't run when things get hard."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
We sit there, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air. Both of us damaged. Both of us scared. Both of us choosing to try anyway.
"This is insane," I say. "We've known each other for two days. I don’t even know why they call you Judge."
"Because I’m the one who balances the scales, the one who’s always neutral, no matter the choice that we have to make."
"We're going to fuck this up."
"Probably."
"But we're doing it anyway?"
Warren pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are intense, certain, completely focused on mine.
"Yeah," he says. "We're doing it anyway."
I lean forward and kiss him. When I pull back, I'm smiling despite the tears still wet on my cheeks. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay, let's try. Let's see what happens. Let's—" My voice breaks. "Let's be a family. Broken pieces and all."
Warren's entire face transforms. The smile that spreads across his features is bright enough to light the whole room.
"Broken pieces and all," he repeats.
Then the door opens.
"I hope you're decent because Grace ate all the chocolate and now she's bouncing off the walls and I can't… Oh fuck!"
Saint stands in the doorway, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. He's staring at us, at me still straddling Warren's lap, at our clothes scattered across the room, at the very obvious evidence of what we just did.
Then he spins around so fast he nearly trips.
"I'll… I'm going to… Grace is with Canvas… I'll just… Jesus Christ, Judge, you could have locked the door—"
The door slams shut behind him.
Warren and I stare at each other for one long moment.
Then we both start laughing. And it hurts his ribs, and tears are streaming down my face, and we probably just traumatized Saint for life.
But I don't care.
Because for the first time in years, I feel like everything's going to be okay.
Like maybe, despite everything, despite the cheating ex and the PTSD nightmares and the war with the Vipers, we found exactly what we were looking for.
Each other.
Broken pieces and all.