Page 102 of Captured Heart

“Crap! I’d better get going,” I say reluctantly. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

He nods, then gets the bill. He walks me to my car, and for some reason, I can’t get in and drive away. I’ve been dying to see him for two years, constantly feeling like something was missing from my life, and I can’t just leave him. I think about asking to exchange numbers, then settle on something bolder.

“Hey...do you want to come back to my place?” I ask, the words slipping out before I lose my nerve.

His brows lift slightly. “Your place?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’ve got coffee and...um, tea? If you’re into that.” It’s a stupid request, considering we just had coffee, but I don’t even care if it makes sense.

He chuckles because he sees right through that. “Sure.”

He follows me back home. When we arrive, I kick off my shoes and flick on the lights. He steps in behind me, taking it all in, his gaze flickering from the spiral staircase that leads upstairs to the oversized canvas painting propped against the far wall.

My apartment is a loft-style duplex tucked on the edge of the city. The walls are exposed brick, with tall industrial windows that let the streetlights spill in, and steel beams crisscrossing overhead. The downstairs area is open-plan, with the kitchen, dining area, and living room blending seamlessly together.

A navy-blue couch sits against one wall, facing a wooden coffee table cluttered with books and an unlit candle. The kitchen is minimalistic, with dark countertops and a sleek stainless-steel fridge.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I offer, shrugging off my jacket and tossing it onto the couch.

“Beer, if you’ve got it.”

I nod, heading to the fridge. I grab a bottle for him and a cold water for myself, twisting the cap off as I hand him the beer. He takes a sip, his eyes scanning the space like he’s cataloging every detail.

“This place is nice. Different.”

“Thanks.” I gesture toward the staircase. “Want the tour?”

He nods, following me as I lead him through the main floor. I point out the small dining nook, the overstuffed bookcase filled with novels, and the sliding door that leads outside.

Then I take him upstairs. My bedroom is cozy, with a queen-sized bed draped in a gray duvet and matching pillows. A vintage trunk sits at the foot of the bed, and string lights are wrapped around the railing, giving the space a soft, golden glow.

When we step inside, his demeanor shifts. His shoulders tighten slightly, and he glances around with a mix of hesitation and discomfort. I catch the way his fingers fidget with the beer bottle, and it hits me that this might be too much too soon.

“Actually,” I say, cutting the tension, “why don’t we sit outside? The moonlight’s amazing tonight.”

His lips curve into a faint smile, and he looks relieved. “Sure.”

I walk with him to the sliding door and lead him out onto the balcony. It’s small, with a round table and two metal chairs tucked into one corner. Tiny potted plants line the railing, and the city sprawls out below us, glowing under the silvery moonlight.

I take a seat, gesturing for him to do the same. “It’s nice out here.”

He leans back in the chair, his eyes drifting to the moon. “Yeah.”

“So, any particular reason you decided on John Alexander? Surely, you could’ve been more creative. I mean, Ronan Markowsky was an option. Just saying.”

He scratches at the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail and shrugs. “Well...after very careful consideration, I decided that’s the man I wanted to be. Aleksandras Kazlauskas was a coward who didn’t have the strength or the mental fortitude to make the right choices. I didn’t want to be him. JohnTurner was cold and calculated and...callous. I didn’t want to be him either.”

“So, you wanted to be John Alexander?” I tease. “Didn’t that guy kidnap me?”

He smirks. “I see it a little differently. I think he fought tooth and nail to protect you. He’s the guy who sacrificed everything to do the right thing.”

“And he never left me,” I add. “Even when I begged him to.”

His smirk fades, and we both fall silent, the weight of the past engulfing both of us. The balcony locks us in a time warp as memories rise to the surface. The small space makes me feel like I’m right back in that room with him. I was trapped and so afraid, but I remember the way he spoke to me when I wanted to give up, his voice calm and steady when I was a total mess inside.

For those few moments, we’re consumed by the gravity of everything we endured, the ways we were broken and rebuilt. The ways we saved each other, piece by jagged piece.

He’s right. John Alexander may have his flaws, but he’s resourceful and resilient and reliable. He was a pillar of strength when I needed him most, and I will forever be grateful for that.

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