Page 139 of Broken Pact

After I touched base with the cleanup crew and the Rosewood cop, I put my girl on the back of my bike and brought her home. Her hands started trembling halfway through the ride, her adrenaline crashing hard. But she stayed with me the whole time, like the secret badass she is.

She didn’t blink when I swept the house to make sure it was clear. Or when I asked her to shower with the door cracked open. Or when I dressed her head-to-toe in my clothes. Or when I put her on the counter and meticulously cleaned her cuts and checked every inch of her to make sure she was okay. Or when I followed her around, herding her into bed like some kind smothering boyfriend.

She just watched me with that heartbreakingly patient expression on her face. And I think maybe it made me love her a little bit more for it.

“Alright, baby. You get three questions tonight. The rest in the morning.”

“Technically, it’s the morning. If it was a work day, my alarm would be going off in a half hour.”

The mouth on her, I swear to god. I remind my dick now is not the time to get turned on by her sass. “I don’t hear a question,” I tease her.

She rolls over so she’s facing me. “How did you find me?”

“I’ll always find you, Coraline,” I vow.

“And I love that, I do, but I don’t understand what happened between when I left here and now. Sorry again about catnapping Pudding, but he seems fine, right?” she says with a wince. “He’s not traumatized, is he?”

I glance at my fluffy ball of cat on his little igloo bed in front of the window. He’s curled into his preferred sleeping position: a donut.

“He’s fine, baby,” I reassure her, brushing a loose piece of hair off her face. “You can hear him purring.”

A soft smile flits across her face. “He sounds like a little baby motorcycle.” Her gaze slides to mine and she swallows hard. “Am I going to go to jail? I shot someone today.”

I tsk lightly. “Baby, you shot a will-be-confirmed serial killer in self-defense in Rosewood. They’ll probably give you a sash or something at the annual summer festival.”

She flicks me with the back of her hand. “They will not. But,” she says, pausing to sigh. “I’m still worried. I think I won’t feel better until we talk to the sheriff tomorrow.”

I trail my fingers along her jawline, my touch gentle as I meet her worried gaze. “Which is why we need to go to sleep. We have a long couple of days ahead of us.”

“But I’m not—” She yawns, cutting herself off. “Tired.”

My lips twitch in amusement. "Sure you're not," I tease her gently.

Her eyelids are already drooping, but she stubbornly tries to blink away the sleepiness. “I’m really not,” she insists, even as another yawn escapes her. “I have more questions.”

I pull her closer, tucking her head under my chin and tangling our legs together. “Humor me, baby.”

She grumbles something unintelligible but snuggles into my chest. I watch the ceiling fan twirl around and around, listening to the sound of her breaths evening out. I feel the moment she gives in and sleep claims her, her body relaxing further.

Despite the harrowing events of the day, a sense of peace washes over me, knowing she’s safe in my arms. I press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo.

My own eyelids grow heavy, but my mind remains alert, replaying every moment that led us here. I think back to the moment I found her on that dark road, desperate and bleeding but still fighting. Pride swells in my chest at the memory. My brave, beautiful girl. She saved herself today, fought like hell to get back to me. To us.

And I’ll spend the rest of my life loving her for it.

EPILOGUE

CORALINE

ONE WEEK LATER

I take a deep breath, my gaze drifting out over the sparkling lake. The sun’s rays dance across the rippling surface, creating a mesmerizing display of light and shadow. I’ve taken to spending a lot of time in the sunshine lately, enjoying the way it warms my skin. It’s such a stark contrast to the chill that still lingers in my bones.

It’s been a week since that harrowing night on Magnolia Lane. A week since we realized Jasper’s half-sister might be suffering from erotomania. Once Hawke took her into the Rosewood sheriff’s department, she spilled everything. How she’d been stalking Jasper for months, how she broke into his house and made copies of his keys. How she initially found Grant and devised this entire scheme. Apparently, Grant went off book, and that spooked her.

It’s only been a week since I fought my way out of Grant’s twisted delusions and back to Jasper—a week since I shot someone. It feels like a lifetime.

Physically, I’m fine. My cuts and bruises are fading, scabbing over. Soon it’ll be like they were never there.

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