Chapter 36 REICH
REICH
Iheld her close, my arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the other hand threading slowly through her hair as we lay sprawled across the cold, hardwood floor of the living room.
The fire had long since burned itself down to glowing embers, their light flickering faintly across her skin.
She was warm against me, her body molded to mine, fitting as if she’d always belonged there.
My fingers combed through the silken strands of her hair over and over, memorizing the texture, needing to do something with my hands because if I didn’t…
I’d probably lose what little control I had left… again.
The silence between us stretched, heavy but not suffocating. It wasn’t the uncomfortable kind that begged to be filled. It was a quiet understanding, a fragile peace I hadn’t realized I craved until now.
I dipped my head, brushing my lips across her temple. She exhaled softly, her breath feathering against my neck, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside us didn’t exist.
I tilted her face toward mine, needing to see her. Needing proof that this wasn’t just some fever dream I’d conjured out of desperation.
Those eyes.
Fuck, those eyes.
Green and wild and devastatingly soft all at once. They carried storms in them, the kind that could destroy, and yet they looked at me now with something gentler. Something raw.
It undid me.
“How are you feeling now?” I asked, my voice low, coaxing, a thread of teasing woven through it, because if I didn’t keep it light, I was afraid of how much weight would slip into my tone.
She didn’t answer right away. Just studied me with that unwavering gaze of hers, searching for something. I wasn’t sure what.
Maybe I didn’t want to know.
But then her lips curved faintly, and she gave me a soft nod. “Better,” she murmured. Her voice was quiet but certain. “Really.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, brushing my fingers along her jaw.
“Good.” Because if she was better, maybe I could be too.
“Thank you… for everything,” she added, and this time, her hand found mine, her fingers curling around my wrist like an anchor. Like I was the one who needed grounding.
“It’s nothing, Sage,” I muttered, but my hand lingered on her cheek, my thumb tracing the hollow just beneath her eye.
Her grip tightened just slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to stop me.
“It’s not nothing, Reich.” Her voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
There was something resolute in it. Unshakable.
And it hit me like a punch to the gut.
“I was ready to die…” she said after a beat.
No bitterness. No drama. Just truth.
“I was ready to disappear with no one knowing my shame.” Her breath shuddered out of her like a ghost she’d been holding in too long. “But you… you didn’t let me.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her she’d saved herself. But I stayed quiet.
Because maybe she needed to say this.
And maybe I needed to hear it.
“You showed me how to let that go,” she whispered.
“You made me see that trusting again doesn’t mean giving yourself away.
” She drew a breath, as though steadying herself, and then her voice dropped, quieter.
“I spent so long thinking routine would keep me safe. If I controlled everything, I couldn’t be blindsided again.
But all I was doing was hiding. From everything. From myself.”
I knew what that was like.
I knew it too well.
“You did this,” I told her. My voice was rougher than I intended. “Not me.”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes shining. “You made me open up.”
“Again… that was all you.”
Her laugh was faint, but real, as she pointed at herself. “And I thought I was the difficult one.”
I smirked, teasing, “You are.” then softer, “But you did all the hard work, wildflower.”
Her expression changed—something softened, something vulnerable and open that nearly wrecked me.
And then she said it again, “Still… thank you.”
I swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in my throat.
It was stupid.
I shouldn’t have felt this much over two simple words.
But I did.
Her fingers slid to my chest, resting over my heart. I was sure she could feel how hard it was pounding. And maybe that was the point.
“I know I still have a long way to go,” she said after a moment. “But I feel like I’m getting better.”
I watched her carefully.
Because there was something else.
I could feel it.
A hesitation.
A shadow.
“What is it, Sage?”
She bit her lip, almost like she was considering lying, but then she sighed, “I found your library today.”
My brow arched, “Did you?”
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Of course, she’d been curious.
Of course, she’d gone looking.
“It’s beautiful,” she added softly.
I nodded once. “It’s my favorite place in the house,” I said honestly. “It’s where I can think. Where I go to feel… normal.”
I wasn’t sure why I told her that, but it was the truth, and she deserved the truth.
“It suits you,” she murmured.
But there was more she was holding back. So, I waited and then I pressed, “Is that really all?”
She hesitated. Just long enough.
Then: “The playlist.”
My pulse jumped. “What about it?” I asked, careful to keep my tone neutral.
She swallowed. “It felt like every song understood me on a different level. Every song spoke the words I was too afraid to say… Like whoever made it… knows me better than I know myself.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I just threw some songs together. It’s nothing.”
A lie. A pathetic one. Her eyes snapped to mine, sharper now, “Stop saying it’s nothing.”
Her voice was firm. It left no room for argument. She wasn’t letting me off easy.
I exhaled slowly. “Maybe,” I said, “the person who made it doesn’t fully understand what she’s been through… but wanted her to know she isn’t alone.”
Her gaze didn’t waver, “Why?”
“Because…” I said, letting the word hang, “Music gives you permission to feel it... The pain... The grief... And maybe—when you’re ready—to let it go. It reminds you that you’re not alone. That others have felt it too.”
“A hundred others to be exact…” I added quietly, “And that’s just a fraction.”
She looked down and I looked away as I went on, “Every time a song resonates with you, it’s because you’ve poured a part of yourself into it.
It becomes a mirror—reflecting what lives inside you, what you’ve felt but couldn’t quite say.
It gives voice to the things your heart knows but your own words can’t reach. ”
I glanced back at her. And there it was.
That glimmer of understanding.
“Reich,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to—”
“You don’t have to,” I cut in. Because I already knew.
I’d made that playlist for her.
And maybe for me, too.
I couldn’t help but silently thank every artist behind those songs in that moment.
The ones who had saved me when I didn’t think anything could.
Now, they were saving her too.
“Thank you…” I said quietly.
She blinked, confused. “For what?”
I hesitated, then I let my guard down… “For seeing me.”
Her lips parted and I knew she understood.
Because she was seeing me now, in ways no one ever had.
And fuck, it scared me.
It made me want more.
But wanting more meant risking everything.
I was quiet for a long time before I pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Lingering. Soft. Final.
And then I pulled away. Because if I stayed any longer, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let go.
I left her there, curled on the floor by the fire, watching me with those wild, green eyes as I slipped from the room like a coward.
I needed to breathe. To clear my head.
I found Cas in the hall.
And everything changed.
His face was pale, drained of color.
His chest heaved as if he’d just run miles.
His hands shook.
I didn’t hesitate.
“Cas?” My voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. “What happened?”
He struggled to find breath; his body taut with panic.
“She knows,” he gasped. “It’s all my fault.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Who knows?”
His throat bobbed. And then, barely a whisper—“Sam.”
Shit.