Page 40 of Oath
He was quiet, and when I glanced up, his jaw was set like he wrestled with more than just his own discomfort. Maybe words. Maybe the same words I’d just said, but they didn’t come.
“AB,” I murmured, working both thumbs against a particularly stubborn knot. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“You deserve to hear it though,” he argued, his voice tense and rough.
I paused, hands stilling for a beat against the firm line of muscle beneath them. That edge in his voice—it wasn’t resistance. It was strain. Like he was trying to push something past a wall he hadn’t let anyone near before.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said quietly, easing back into the motion, gentler this time. “Whenever it comes—if it comes—it’ll mean more because it’s real. Not because you felt backed into a corner.”
His thigh twitched under my hands, like his body wanted to argue even if his mouth didn’t know how. I looked up, and his eyes were already on me, stormy and uncertain and unbearably soft.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then gave a frustrated shake of his head. “It’s not that I don’t feel it. I just… haven’t said it in a long time. Not like this. Not when it actually matters.”
My chest ached, but I managed a small, steady smile. “Then let it matter. I’m not keeping score.”
His hand found mine, fingers curling tight, like he needed the contact to hold the words steady. He looked at me—really looked—and something shifted behind his eyes, something fragile trying to take shape.
“When this is done,” he said, low and steady, “when we have Bones back, when we’ve found your sister, when we’ve done all of that—” His grip tightened just a fraction. “I want you to have a reason to stay.”
My breath caught, the weight of what he was saying folding over my heart like a blanket—heavy, warm, impossible to ignore.
“You already are,” I said, voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re the reason.” All of them were.
He exhaled hard, like I’d knocked something loose in his chest, and leaned forward to press his forehead to mine again. There were still miles ahead of us—fights to win, wounds to reopen—but in that moment, between the unspoken and the not-yet-said, somethingrealsettled between us.
And neither of us pulled away.
A quiet beat passed, thick with everything we weren’t rushing to say and Goblin’s adorable snores. AB brushed over my knuckles, and I could feel the smallest tremble in it, like something in him was finally letting go.
Then, from the stairs as Voodoo descended them, “That’s good to hear.”
He had one brow lifted with his usual easy calm, though the corner of his mouth tugged just slightly upward. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said, clearly lying, “but with all thisfeelings and healinggoing on, figured I should make sure nobody was dying.”
AB let out a slow breath, and I could feel the warmth of a reluctant smile at my temple.
Voodoo’s gaze flicked to me, and held. “Glad to know we’reallon the same page now.” He let that sentiment linger in the air as he joined us. “But unless you two are planning to kiss your way through a rescue mission, we’ve got a plan to finalize. I’ll grab Lunchbox and food.”
AB groaned under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “He’s never going to let us live this down.”
“Nope,” Voodoo called over his shoulder as he walked away. “So hurry up, Romeo.”
AB watched Voodoo disappear down the hall with a quiet sigh, the warmth of the moment still lingering between us like an ember we weren’t ready to stamp out. He didn’t say anything right away, just leaned back against the cushions with that slow, thoughtful way of his, like maybe the world was just now settling into something he could breathe in again.
I stood, reluctantly breaking the contact, and lifted his laptop from the coffee table and returned it to him. It was closed, but it still hummed faintly.
“You left it open to the satellite map,” I said softly. “Didn’t want to lose your place.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, glancing down at it but not opening it yet. His fingers ghosted over the top, distracted. Still somewhere in the space we’d just carved out.
Before either of us could say more, the floor creaked again, and in came Voodoo and Lunchbox, both carrying plates and mugs like offerings to exhausted gods.
“Sandwiches and caffeine,” Lunchbox declared, setting everything down carefully. “That’s the extent of our emotional intelligence today.”
“Better than nothing,” I said with a grateful smile as the scent of strong coffee hit the air.
Voodoo passed AB a cup, then handed me one with an unreadable look. “Eat. Think. Then we get to work.”
The moment shifted—less tender, more tactical—but no less grounded in what mattered. They were all here. Still fighting. Still pushing forward.
