Page 63 of Jasper

“He was cold,” I defend. “I was trying to help.”

“Uh-huh. You like him.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do.”

“He’s a four-legged demon.”

“You feed him, buy him toys, and now you put clothes on him because you’re worried about him being cold,” she teases, applying multiple rainbow bandages on my arms. “That’s not hate. That’s love.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the grin from breaking through. “He’s your cat. Only reason he’s still breathing.”

She slows then, her fingers gentler. “He kept me company. On the road. Through… everything.”

I meet her gaze. Her eyes are soft, but tired. A little haunted.

“I know, baby girl. That’s why I don’t hate him.”

She smiles again, gently this time. And it hits me right in the chest.

When she finishes taking care of me with far more bandages than necessary, she steps back, hands on her hips like she’s just patched up a war hero.

“There. Good as new.”

I glance down at my arms. “I look like I lost a fight with an angry toddler.”

“A heroic toddler,” she corrects, grinning.

From the hallway, Fluffy sits watching us, tail flicking, plotting his revenge.

But Ariana’s eyes are glowing, laughter on her lips.

Maybe getting into a fight with her damn cat was worth it. Especially when she looks as happy as she does right now.

* * *

Ariana’s body is pressed against me, her face nestled in the curve of my neck, her breath soft and warm against my skin. One arm is draped across her back, the other wrapped around her waist, keeping her close, like I’m afraid she might vanish if I let go. My hand moves slowly, rhythmically, stroking along her spine beneath the blanket. Every so often, she sighs on an exhale.

She fits here.

Fitsme.

Her body was made to rest against mine, her soul was built from the same shattered edges I carry in my chest.

I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo—something soft and clean and unmistakablyher. She’s calm now, more relaxed than I’ve seen her in days. Her breathing is slow and steady, the rise and fall of her chest in sync with mine.

And still, there’s one thing I need to know. One ache I can’t soothe until she lets me in.

“Rainbow,” I murmur, my lips brushing her temple. “Can you tell me about your foster family?”

She stiffens for a moment. Her whole body goes quiet, her breathing stalling slightly, and I know she’s somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

“You never talk about them,” I say softly. “About growing up. But I want to know. I want to know everything about you.”

She draws in a breath. It sounds shaky. Uncertain. But she nods faintly, and when she finally speaks, her voice is barely more than a whisper.

“My foster parents… They weren’t bad people,” she begins slowly.

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