Page 49 of The Mercenary's Hidden Heir

"Yeah, angel," I rasp. "It’s me."

The pipe clatters to the floor.

Before I can even move, she’s in front of me, fists pounding against my chest.

"You left!" she cries, voice breaking into jagged pieces. "You left me there to rot!"

Every hit is a gut punch I take without flinching.

"I know," I grind out.

"I thought you were dead, Traz!" she shouts, fury blazing out of her. "I thought—you didn’t come back—you didn’t even look!"

"I know," I say again, voice shredded.

I grab her wrists, gentle but firm, pulling her closer.

"I was a goddamn coward," I admit, each word cutting deeper than any blade.

"I thought leaving would keep you safe."

She stares up at me, trembling, eyes glossy with tears she refuses to shed.

"I didn’t need safe," she whispers. "I needed you."

Something breaks loose inside me.

I pull her against me, arms wrapping around her tight, so tight, like I could fuse us back together if I just held on hard enough.

She doesn't fight it.

Not this time.

She melts into my chest, shaking.

"I’m sorry," I murmur into her hair. "I’m so damn sorry."

We stand there for a long time, breathing each other in like lifelines.

A small noise pulls me back.

A tiny cough.

I look up.

Two figures stand behind a stack of crates, half-hidden.

Tiny.

Wide-eyed.

One little girl—wild silver curls, fierce little scowl.

One little boy—dark hair, bright green eyes exactly like mine.

They clutch each other’s hands, staring at me like I’m some ghost clawed up from the deep.

Kelli pulls back just enough to follow my gaze.

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