Page 26 of Crushed Vow
Finally, he asked, “Do you feel safe here?”
I hesitated.
“I don’t mean because of me,” he added quickly. “I mean... the room. The house. This version of it.”
I turned toward him slowly. “I don’t know yet. But I don’t feel caged. That’s... something.”
His shoulders eased a fraction, as if those words mattered more to him than they should’ve.
“I’ll keep changing whatever you need me to,” he said. “Until it feels like yours.”
I didn’t answer right away. But I didn’t pull away, either.
“Can you eat now? The food’s ready,” Cassian asked, his voice quiet.
I nodded slowly, rising to my feet. “Yeah. I can eat.”
I took a step toward the kitchen, but before I could cross the threshold, he moved in front of me—not forceful, just enough to pause me. “Sit at the table,” he said gently. “Let me serve you. If you want, I can even feed you.”
I folded my arms, narrowing my eyes. “I’m not sick, Cassian. You don’t need to treat me like I’m fragile.”
“I’m not treating you like a patient,” he said. “I’m treating you like you matter. Like the woman I should’ve cherished from the start.”
I stared at him for a beat. “You had every chance to treat me like that back then. You didn’t.”
He didn’t argue.
I stepped around him, walked into the kitchen, and plated the food myself. He didn’t stop me again. Just followed in silence, keeping a respectful distance.
Back at the dining table, I began eating without a word. Cassian sat across from me, watching. He hadn’t touched his own food.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask why he wasn’t eating, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and picked up, his posture still, his voice low.
“Yeah.” A pause. “I’m listening.”
He didn’t say much else, but when he hung up, his fist remained clenched around the phone. His knuckles had gone pale. On the surface, he looked composed. But something was simmering underneath.
I set my fork down, heart ticking with an old, familiar unease. “A year ago, before I left... I saw a message on your phone,” I said quietly. “Someone said they missed you. That I could have you back after they were done. Who was it?”
His expression didn’t flicker. “My coach.”
My brow arched. “A female coach?”
He gave a brief glance to a new notification, then met my gaze again. “Male. He’d been out of the country for months, on a contract. He’d just gotten back. The message was about training—reworking my schedule for the finals.”
I studied him. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“You don’t have to. But it’s the truth.” His voice stayed calm. “If I were seeing someone else, I’d tell you to your face.”
I said nothing for a long moment, just kept eating. Then, without looking up, I asked, “You didn’t win the biker championship, did you?”
He shook his head. “No. First loss I’ve ever had. I made it to the finals, but I was falling apart. I was too far gone.”
He let out a hollow laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Someone actually tried to hit me with a bottle after I lost. But the worst part wasn’t the defeat. It was realizing that nothing—not even a title—mattered without you.”
His gaze dropped, and his voice lowered even more. “I thought about you every second. To the point that I...”
He trailed off.
