Chapter Fourteen #2
I start the engine, the low hum filling the silence between us.
She stares out the window, fingers tracing idle shapes on her thigh, pretending she’s not replaying the moment in her head.
I pretend I’m not doing the same. The city rolls past us, familiar streets, familiar lights, but everything feels sharper, heavier, like the air itself is holding its breath.
She shifts in her seat, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. I catch it. I always catch it. She looks away quickly, like she didn’t mean to be caught. Her cheeks are pink. Mine probably are too.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road instead of the way her voice sounded when she said she loved me. Soft. Unplanned. Honest. It’s still echoing in my head, looping, replaying, burning itself into every part of me.
She clears her throat. “You’re quiet.”
I keep my eyes forward. “So are you.”
She huffs a small laugh, barely audible. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Same.”
She turns her head fully now, watching me. I can feel her gaze on my jaw, my cheek, my mouth. It’s distracting. It’s dangerous. It’s perfect.
“You’re blushing,” she says, voice warm, teasing.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
I exhale through my nose, trying not to smile. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bunny.”
She bites her lip, trying to hide her grin. “You started it.”
She’s right. I did. And I’d do it again.
The drive continues, the city thinning out as we get closer to the studio district.
She leans her head against the window, watching the world blur past, her fingers tapping lightly against her thigh in a rhythm I know by heart.
She’s nervous. She’s excited. She’s scared. She’s healing. She’s all of it at once.
I glance at her again, just for a second. She looks like herself. Not fragile. Not broken.
Just Mara. My Mara.
“We’re almost there,” I say quietly.
She nods, eyes softening. “Good. I’ve missed them.”
I know she has. I know she’s been craving normalcy, craving the studio, craving Shae’s chaos and Jace’s dramatics. I know she needs this. I know she needs to feel like she’s stepping back into her life instead of being dragged through the aftermath of something she doesn’t remember.
I pull into the familiar street, the studio sign glowing faintly above the door. She sits up straighter, adjusting her flannel, smoothing her hair, breathing in slowly like she’s preparing herself for impact.
I park the car and turn to her. “Ready.”
She looks at me, eyes steady, voice soft. “Yeah. With you? Always.”
And I swear something in my chest almost gives out.
I get out, circle around, open her door. She steps out, boots hitting the pavement, flannel swaying with her movement. She looks up at the studio, then back at me.
“Let’s go,” she says.
And I follow her inside.
The door swings open with a creak, the familiar sound settling into my bones.
The place hasn’t changed at all in our absence.
Same mismatched cushions, same paint samples scattered across the coffee table, same half finished sketch pinned to the wall.
Shae and Jace are on the couch, mid argument, Shae gesturing wildly while Jace leans back with that smug grin that always gets him in trouble.
He must have said something stupid again. He always does.
Mara steps in beside me, her flannel sleeves pushed up, boots tapping lightly against the floor as she takes in the room. I watch her face soften, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. She missed this place. She missed them. She missed normal.
I guide her toward the couch, sit beside her, and throw my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She melts into me without hesitation, her body fitting against mine like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. Shae’s rant cuts off mid sentence when she sees us.
“Oh my god,” Shae breathes, eyes widening. “You’re actually here.”
Jace’s grin drops instantly, replaced by something softer, something relieved. “Finally,” he mutters, but his voice cracks just enough to betray him.
Mara leans into me a little more, her head brushing my shoulder. I tighten my arm around her, grounding her, grounding myself. She’s here. She’s safe. She’s breathing. That’s all that matters.
Shae launches herself off the couch, practically tripping over a pile of sketchbooks. “You look like you’ve been through hell,” she says, grabbing Mara’s free hand and squeezing it. “And you didn’t call me. I should strangle you.”
Mara laughs softly, the sound small but real. “I missed you too.”
Jace stands, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes flicking between us. “You alright?” he asks, voice low, directed at her but checking me too.
“She’s fine,” I answer before she can. She glances up at me, but she doesn’t argue.
She lets me hold the weight of the question for her.
“I’m sorry… for you know..” Jace starts, Mara quickly shuts him up “Don’t you dare, Jace.
You took a bullet for me, literally. I can’t thank you enough.
” She reaches over and takes Jace’s hand, his eyes fill with tears at the corner.
Shae sits on Mara’s other side, practically crowding her. “You’re staying all day,” she announces. “I don’t care what plans you had.”
Mara smiles, leaning into me again. “We didn’t have any.”
Jace snorts. “Good. Because I’m not letting you disappear again.”
I feel Mara’s fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, subtle, grounding. I rest my hand on her thigh, thumb brushing slow circles, steadying her. She’s overwhelmed. I can feel it. But she’s here. She’s trying. She’s choosing this.
Shae starts rambling again, something about new inks and a client who cried because she didn’t like the stencil. Jace interrupts her every few seconds, earning a smack to the shoulder each time. Mara watches them, eyes soft, lips curved into a small smile.
I watch her.
“What do you guys want for dinner?” I ask, watching Shae shove her iPad practically into Mara’s face. She’s close enough to knock her off the couch if she leans any further.
“You know those aren’t edible, right?” I say, my voice low, a warning threaded through it. “It looks like you’re trying to force-feed her.”
Shae freezes, glances at me, then slowly backs off. She has no idea what Mara went through, but the look I give her tells her enough. She sits down without another word, hands folded, eyes softening.
“I could go for tacos,” Jace says, waving a hand at me like he’s dismissing a servant. “I’ll order. You sit down.”
I pad into the kitchen, grab a can of Monster from the fridge, and place it in front of Mara. Her eyes light up instantly, the kind of spark I haven’t seen in days.
“I swear you’re literally a crackhead when it comes to that stuff,” Shae laughs.
“I will cut you if you say that again,” Mara fires back, deadpan, and Shae snorts. I find myself chuckling too, the familiar exchange settling something warm in my chest.
I sit beside her again, close enough that our legs touch. I lean in, whispering into her hair, “I’m proud of you.”
She doesn’t look at me, but her shoulders relax, just a little.
I glance at the screen in front of her, the design she’s been working on.
A bunny in the jaws of a wolf. Not twisted.
Not bloody. The bunny lies still, calm, trusting.
The wolf holds it gently, like it’s something precious, something claimed.
I look up at her. She’s already looking at me.
I smile.
She doesn’t smile back. Not immediately. She just watches me, eyes soft, unreadable, like she’s trying to decide whether I understand what the design means. I do. I understand too well.
She turns the iPad slightly toward me. “It’s not finished,” she says quietly.
“It’s perfect,” I answer.
Her breath catches. She looks down at the screen again, tracing the outline of the wolf’s jaw with her fingertip. “It’s not supposed to be violent,” she murmurs. “It’s supposed to be… safe.”
Safe.
In the wolf’s mouth.
In mine.
I swallow hard, the meaning hitting me deeper than she probably intended. Or maybe she did intend it. Maybe she knows exactly what she’s saying without saying it.
Jace returns from the kitchen, waving his phone. “Tacos ordered. Fifteen minutes. Nobody touch my churros.”
Shae rolls her eyes. “Nobody wants your churros, Jace.”
Mara laughs softly, leaning into me again, her shoulder pressing against mine. I rest my hand on her thigh, thumb brushing slow circles, grounding her, grounding myself.
She looks up at me, eyes warm, steady. “Thank you,” she says.
“For what.”
“For bringing me here.”
I tighten my grip on her thigh, just slightly. “Always.”
She turns back to her design, but her hand stays on my leg, fingers curled lightly into the fabric of my jeans, like she’s anchoring herself to me without thinking.
Jace watches Mara laugh with Shae, the Monster can in her hand, her shoulders finally relaxed, her smile small but real. He waits until she’s distracted, until she’s leaning into me with that soft familiarity that makes my chest tighten, then he jerks his chin toward the hallway.
I know that look. He wants answers. He wants them now.
I squeeze Mara’s thigh once, a silent promise, then stand. She glances up at me, eyes curious, but I brush her hair behind her ear and murmur, “I’ll be right back.” She nods, trusting, and goes back to showing Shae the wolf and bunny design.
I follow Jace down the hall, past the storage room, past the old tattoo chair nobody uses anymore. He stops near the back door, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looks like he’s been holding something in for days.
“What the hell happened,” he says, voice low, controlled, but barely.
I stare at him, expression blank. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
He scoffs. “Bullshit.”
I don’t respond. I just watch him, waiting.
He steps closer, eyes sharp. “She disappeared for weeks. You disappeared with her. She looks like she’s been through something. And you’re hovering like she’s made of glass. So tell me what happened.”