Page 80 of The Final Contract
“He’d see me one shift,” Stasia says, “then Sera the next—and every time he’d swear something was off. Different shoes. Different lipstick. Hair pinned one day, loose the next.”
“And we just played dumb,” Sera finishes, eyes bright with mischief. “Let him drive himself crazy trying to prove we weren’t the same person.”
They collapse into laughter again, heads tipping together like it’s the oldest joke in the book. Daniel shakes his head, grinning despite himself.
And me? I just sit there, taking it in. The glow of the fire, the sound of their laughter, the way Sera’s eyes catch the light. It feels like family. It feels like home.
All day, I’ve watched Daniel with Stasia. The little touches, the way his hand finds her waist, the way she leans into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And I’ve envied him for it.
Because I’ve wanted the same with Seraphina. Wanted to hold her hand, rest my palm on the small of her back, pull her against me just to feel her there.
But I didn’t.
Because this thing between us—it’s barreling toward a place we’ve been pretending not to see. And we’re both getting to the point we don’t care anymore.
Me? I’m already there.
She’s been sitting beside me on the wicker loveseat, her thigh brushing mine every so often, and every brush has been torture. So when Daniel gets up to fetch Stasia another beer, he bends and kisses her before stepping away.
That’s it for me.
I look at Seraphina. She’s wearing the happiest, easiest smile I’ve ever seen, and she’s looking right at me.
“Fuck it.”
I pull her flush against me, tilt her chin up, and kiss her like I’ve wanted to all damn day. My arm locks around her waist, holding her close, and my stomach drops when she kisses me back—her hand slipping onto my thigh, fingers curling on my knee as she leans into me.
Daniel passes behind me, patting my shoulder once on his way to the cooler. “About time.”
Stasia’s grinning too, her smile full of approval as she looks at her sister—at us. And that does something to me. Cuts deep, because I know how much Sera and her sister love each other. That bond? I’ll never have it with my own brother. Cormac and I are too far gone, on opposite continents even when we stand in the same room.
Daniel returns, settling back into his chair, beer in hand. He points at Sera. “So, tell us. Hardest patient you ever had. Which one made you finally get out of there?”
Sera takes a deep breath. “Oh, gosh.” She chews her lip, thinking. “Not sure if it was one in particular or just the buildup, but…one of our last nights in the ER together was brutal.”
Stasia nods. “Yeah. That one was rough.”
I glance between them. “What happened?”
Sera’s voice softens. “Drunk driver accident. Couple in the car, and they brought all three in. The woman was in the worst shape. Stasia’s team took her first, but it was going bad. They called me in too. There was so much blood…” She shakes her head, eyes distant. “Seeing what the collision did to her body was awful. But what made it worse was…she looked like us. Blonde. About our age.”
Her voice cracks, just a little. “I was doing chest compressions while they tried to save her, and all I could see was Stasia. Couldn’t stop picturing it. Couldn’t do it anymore after that.”
The group falls quiet. Even the fire seems to hush, just the crackle of wood filling the silence.
Then Sera lifts her chin, smirking faintly. “So I decided becoming a full-time whore would be better.”
The tension snaps like a string, and everyone bursts out laughing.
I throw my head back, laughing with them, but my arm stays locked tight around her, keeping her close.
It’s late when we leave, the McLaren humming under my hands as I ease us onto the dark stretch back toward the city. I’m not racing this time. I keep it steady, giving her the quiet she needs after tonight. I also don’t want this day to end.
That story she told—about the crash, about the girl who looked like her sister—I could see how it dragged her back into the blood and the memories.
But now she’s watching me. Not haunted anymore. Not just that.
Her fingers drift to my hand on the gearshift, tracing lazy circles across my knuckles. She doesn’t say a word, just looks at me with those eyes—hot, heavy, full of need. Fuck-me eyes.
