Page 69 of Cyclone

“Jude.”

Her name broke the silence.

She blinked slowly, then turned to face me, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—God, her eyes—were full of things she wasn’t ready to say.

“Come on,” I said gently, reaching for her hand.

She let me pull her from the truck and lead her inside.

I didn’t turn on the lights.

Didn’t need to.

The house glowed softly from the dim light leaking through the windows, wrapping us in shadows and quiet.

She kicked off her boots by the door without a word. Shrugged off her jacket and dropped it on the bench.

I watched her every move.

Not because I didn’t trust the silence.

But because Idid.

She walked into the living room, paused at the edge of the couch, then turned back to me.

“Everything feels like it’s spinning,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Like if I let go for even a second, I’ll fall apart.”

I stepped closer, slow and steady.

“You’re allowed to fall apart,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You’ve been holding everything together for too long.”

Her jaw trembled. “What if I don’t know how to come back from it?”

“Then I’ll be there to put you back together.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “You can’t fix me, Cyclone.”

“I’m not trying to,” I said. “I’m just not going to leave you alone with the pieces.”

That broke something in her.

She stepped into me, and I caught her. Her arms wrapped around my waist, her face buried in my chest.

I held her tight.

No words.

No promises.

Just presence.

She pulled back a moment later, her fingers curling into the hem of my shirt.

“I don’t want to feel scared right now,” she said, her voice low and raw. “I want to feelsomething else.Something that’s mine. Not his. Not theirs.”

I didn’t answer.

Just lifted her chin and kissed her.

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