Chapter 32 Reed
REED
Wren’s voice was quiet, hesitant. “Did Cam ever tell you about the night he got me out?”
I shook my head slowly. “He mentioned it… But he never really went into the details.”
She took a breath like it hurt, and then she began.
“The night I stopped pretending Dad loved me, the silence in the house was louder than any screaming he’d ever done.”
My gut twisted. I could picture it—could hear the echo of boots across cheap flooring, doors slamming like gunshots.
“I was sitting on my bedroom floor,” she continued. “The only light was from my laptop. I was listening to music through my headphones, trying to drown everything out.”
She paused. I felt her breath falter against my chest.
“He threw a plate at me that night. Blamed me for Mom leaving. Called me ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ in the same breath. Said I’d never be anything. Never be enough.”
Her voice cracked.
“I never cried in front of him. Never gave him that.”
I could feel the weight behind those words, like she’d been holding them in for years, letting them calcify somewhere deep. And now they were rising.
“But when Cam opened my door, I broke.”
God, the way she said that. I had to squeeze my eyes shut. I was glad her head was still on my chest so she couldn’t see the way I was reacting to her truths.
“He just stood there,” she said. “Saw the mess—my smudged mascara, the bruise under my T-shirt sleeve…”
Then her voice dropped.
“He asked me, ‘Did he hurt you?’”
She shook her head. And I didn’t need more than that. I didn’t need anything else. The unspoken was enough. My jaw clenched. Rage simmered low and slow in my chest, but I kept my hand on her hip, soft, grounding. This wasn’t about me. This was her story.
“Cam walked and sat beside me. He pulled me in close like he was holding my whole world together.”
Her next words barely made it out.
“I don’t think I’d ever been hugged like that before. Maybe when Mom left.”
I had to breathe through that. He made her a promise that he would never leave her behind ever again. Right there in that broken room.
“I wish he would’ve taken you sooner.”
She whispered, “I wish he could’ve.”
God.
I pictured it—the two of them sitting there, shadows on the wall, tears soaking into a worn hoodie. His hand was on her back. Her hands were clutching the pieces of herself she didn’t know how to hold. And still they got out.
“He said we were leaving,” she finished. “He’d been saving while he was in college. Picking up extra shifts at some auto shop. Anything to make sure I didn’t have to survive on my own in that house.”
I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.
She wasn’t just telling me about her pain—she was trusting me with it. She was opening that cracked door and letting me see inside.
“Before sunrise,” she whispered, “we packed two bags, left, and never looked back. After going no contact with our dad, it’s been us against the world ever since. I guess the house he bought was fairly cheap, and we turned it into our home.”
I swallowed hard. My throat felt raw. There was nothing I could say that would make that better. But I could be here.
I reached down, slid my hand over her hand that rested next to her head on my chest. The movement was slow and deliberate. She had just shared a part of herself most people never saw—the wounds, the nights spent in silence that screamed louder than words.
“We’ve both been through a lot,” I said quietly, my voice rougher than I expected. “More than most. And maybe that’s why… we’ve earned this.”
I let go of her hand and ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the knot of nerves tightening in my chest. “I’m starting to fall for you, Wren.” The words tasted strange coming out loud, but they were true.
“I found you in the dark,” I admitted, voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Not just that night. All the nights I didn’t even realize I was looking for you. And now I want to bring you to the light.”
The future didn’t have to be a shadowed place haunted by the past anymore. I wanted better for both of us.
“I want to make the future better. For us.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of it settling deep.
“I won’t leave you. Not like the rest. Not ever.”
My hand squeezed her hip gently, a silent promise in the quiet night.
She looked up at me and smiled through those shimmering, teary eyes, a fragile mix of vulnerability and fierce determination that pulled me in deeper than I ever thought possible.
Without hesitation, she moved over my legs, straddling me like she was anchoring herself to me, grounding us both in this fragile, electric moment.
Her hands came up slowly, deliberately, cupping my face with a tenderness that contrasted with the fire burning behind her gaze.
Wren’s eyes drifted toward my neck, her gaze catching on the ink just below my jaw.
The detailed moth—black and gray, fine-lined—its wings stretching just far enough to tease the edge of my collarbone.
She looked at it like she was trying to understand something more than just a tattoo.
“Can I ask you something?” she said, voice soft, lined with curiosity and something gentler.
I didn’t look at her right away. Just gave a low hum. “You just did.”
She nudged me, smiling. “Smartass.”
That pulled a chuckle from me, but I still kept my head turned upward, eyes on the trees swaying beneath the stars.
Then I felt her hand hovering near my neck, not quite touching the ink, close enough that her warmth reached me.
“Your moth…” she asked. “Why there? Why that?”
I stilled. I finally turned toward her, let my eyes meet hers. Green against hazel. Hers were wide, open. No judgment, just waiting.
“It was my roughest tattoo,” I said, voice low. “I didn’t pick it. Just told Dax the reason I wanted a new one and he came up with the idea.”
She didn’t rush me. Just watched. Listened.
“I got it because…” I paused, throat working around the words. “Because I needed a reminder. Of who I was. And who I didn’t wanna stop being.”
She didn’t move. Her hand was still there—just a breath away from skin.
“I’ve seen some terrible shit,” I admitted. “I grew up in it and worked around it. Sometimes… I felt it in myself, too. The darkness.”
The breeze brushed past us, cool and quiet.
“But even when things were bad, I could still see good in people. Even when they didn’t deserve it. Even when it made things harder.”
I glanced away for a second, then back to her. She hadn’t flinched.
“The moth…” I murmured, “It’s drawn to the flame, right? Even when it burns. It doesn’t stop flying toward the light.”
Her lips parted slightly. I could see it in her—she got it. Not just the words, but the feeling behind them.
“That’s why it’s there,” I finished. “So I don’t forget. So I don’t let the dark win. So I don’t stop looking for the light… in other people or myself.”
She reached out then—slow, careful—and let her fingers brush the edge of the moth, just under my jaw. The touch was featherlight, but it hit me deep.
“You do that, you know,” she whispered. “See light where no one else does.”
Her eyes found mine, and I felt something stir in my chest. Something that scared the shit out of me and calmed me at the same time.
“Even in me,” she added, quieter now.
I took her hand, laced our fingers together like it was instinct. Like it was the only thing I knew for sure at that moment.
“I especially see it in you, pretty girl,” my voice low, steady. “Even when you don’t.”
Her thumb moved slowly and deliberately. Tracing the edge of the moth inked just below my jaw like she was trying to memorize it by touch alone. I loved how she was making me feel. Wanted. Seen.
“I always wondered why it felt different with you,” she said, her voice soft enough to blend with the breeze. “Why being around you made me feel… seen.”
My breath caught. Barely, but enough that she felt it.
“I didn’t think I had any light left to find,” she added.
I swallowed, my voice rasping when I answered, “You do, Wren. You glow.”
And damn, those words hit her. Not in a way that broke her, but in the way that let something beautiful out. Something buried. The air felt thicker. Still. Like even the night was holding its breath.
I let go of her hand, only so I could touch her face.
My left palm rested against her cheek, warm and real.
My fingers on my right hand threaded through her hair at the base of her neck like I’d dreamed of doing a hundred times but never let myself.
My thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.
She leaned into it without thinking, like her body already knew mine.
“You sure?” I asked. My voice was barely a whisper, not pushing.
She nodded. Small at first. Then again, slower.
“I’ve always been sure.”
That was it. That was all I needed. I leaned in—slow, cautious, giving her every second to change her mind. But she didn’t. I felt her breath catch. Saw her eyes flutter shut. And then I kissed her.
Soft. Intentional. My lips brushed hers like I was learning her mouth, not just claiming it. Like I was giving her something, not taking. But the second she kissed me back—really kissed me, fingers fisting into my shirt, mouth parting beneath mine—I lost the hold on my restraint.
A low groan escaped my lips as I deepened the kiss, hand slipping down to her waist and pulling her into me like I’d been starving and just realized what I needed to survive.
She came willingly. No hesitation. Her body pressed into mine like we were pieces of the same storm, trying to find calm in each other. And God, she fit. Every inch of her felt like something I hadn’t let myself want—and now couldn’t let go of.
The stars above us blurred, and the world fell away.
I kissed her like I’d been holding it in for years. Because honestly, I had. She kissed me like I was something steady—something safe. Like I was home.
When we finally came up for air, I didn’t move far. Just rested my forehead against hers, breathing hard. Her chest rose and fell against mine, fast and warm.
“You still think you don’t have any light left?” I asked, voice rough and gravelly.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled.
“Not when you kiss me like that.”
I kept looking at her like she was made of stars and wildfire. Like she had hung the fucking moon. I pulled her back in for a kiss. My tongue immediately found hers, which earned me a quiet moan from her.
My breath hitched, and I could hear my pulse in my ears. Every inch of me was on fire. At this point, my brain could barely function because of the sudden rush of blood that went straight to my dick.
“Oh, pretty girl,” I spoke softly, voice thick with need, barely able to keep steady. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”
My hands tightened at her hips as I shifted my body upward, grinding my hips deliberately into her spread legs.
The friction between us was electric, raw heat pooling low and setting fire to every nerve ending.
Her breath hitched—soft, shaky, utterly vulnerable—and she let out a loud moan that melted through me.
Fuck, she sounded so fucking good. I needed to hear more.
I needed to hear her scream my name. I wanted to feel her tight, needy cunt around my cock. I needed her like I needed air.
Her hands curled in my hair, pulling me closer as if she agreed with what I was saying in my head.