Chapter 28

Chapter 28
Gray
 For a few minutes, I don't say a damn thing.
I just hold her. 
Feel the way she's curled against me. 
The stiffness still locked in her shoulders.
The hesitation she hasn't quite let go of yet. 
And fuck, that might be the hardest part of all this.
Knowing I helped put it there. 
Not intentionally. 
Doesn't make a damn bit of difference. 
Pain doesn't care why it showed up—only that it did. 
My hand drifts up and down her back in slow passes, the motion settling something restless inside me. 
A familiar itch crawls through my chest anyway. 
Part of me wants to get up and dig through my nightstand for the licorice I keep stashed in there. Something to keep my hands busy while I figure out how the hell to say what needs saying. 
Instead, I stay right where I am. 
Keep my arms around her. 
Keep her right where she is. 
Right where she's meant to be. 
Because as uncomfortable as this conversation's about to get, holding her like this reminds me of something important. 
I don't need the distraction. 
Not tonight. 
I've got everything I need right here in my arms. 
Little by little, some of the tension starts bleeding out of her body. 
Not much.
Just enough for me to notice. 
"Little minx," I start quietly. "Do you really think I'd leave you if Christine walked back through that door tomorrow?" 
The words scrape out of me. 
I tighten my hold on her. 
"Do you honestly think I'm the kind of man who'd do that to you?"
The second I ask it, I already know the answer.
Because if she didn't believe it, she wouldn't have ended up at Rapture. 
Wouldn't have turned off her phone. 
Wouldn't have gotten drunk enough to stop thinking about it.
Ashley goes quiet in my arms.
Too quiet.
And that's answer enough. 
A knot forms low in my gut. 
Not because I'm angry.
Because somehow—after everything—the woman sleeping in my bed, wearing my clothes, and building a life beside me still thinks she's temporary. 
Still thinks I'd throw her away the second my past came knocking. 
Fucking Christ. 
A few weeks ago, I tried convincing myself she was nothing but a distraction.
Something easy.
Something I could enjoy without letting it get too deep. 
That bullshit didn't survive long. 
I trust her. 
More than that, I rely on her. 
She's the first person I want to see when I walk through the door after a long day. 
The first person I look for when something goes right.
The first person I think about when shit goes sideways. 
Somewhere along the way, she stopped being a part of my life and became part of me. 
And somehow she still doesn't know that.
I thought moving her in would've made it obvious.  
Thought clearing out space in my house—and in my goddamn routine—said everything that needed saying. 
Thought she understood.
Guess I was wrong. 
"Give me a minute," I say, carefully sliding her off my lap and onto the bed.
Her brows pull together immediately. 
"W-What are you doing?" she asks, sounding more exhausted than drunk now. 
I don't answer. 
Not yet.
Instead, I cross the room and crouch in front of the dresser. 
The bottom drawer slides open. 
Good. 
It's right where I left it. 
Wish she'd found this instead of that damn ring. 
My fingers close around the leather. 
A week ago, I stood in the clubhouse and told myself I was getting ahead of things.
That having it made didn't mean anything.
Just preparation.
Just in case.
Bullshit. 
The second I approved the design, I already knew. 

I wasn't making room for her.
She'd already taken it.
Somewhere between having thirty boxes hauled into my house and turning my bathroom counter into a beauty supply store, she'd carved out a place in my heart I couldn't imagine empty anymore. 
I just wasn't ready to accept it yet. 
Maybe there isn't gonna be a better time than now.
Because tonight made one thing painfully clear. 
While I'd been planning for her future here, she'd been sitting alone with doubts she kept quiet.
Wondering if she belonged. 
Wondering if any of this was meant to last. 
Wondering if I moved her in just so I could throw her out when I got bored. 
The thought hits like a punch to the ribs. 
Because that's not me.
Not with her. 
And somehow, I let her believe otherwise. 
I rise to my feet and turn around.
Ashley's watching me from the bed, confusion written all over her face. 
Her eyes track every step as I cross the room. 
I don't say a word. 
Not yet.
I sit beside her and place the cut in her lap. 
For a second, she just stares at it.
Doesn't move.
Doesn't breathe.
Hell, I don't think she even blinks.
Then her fingers close around the leather.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like she's afraid it'll disappear if she touches it too fast. 
"Gray..." Her voice cracks around my name. 
The sound damn near guts me. 
"Had it made before you moved in," I tell her, my voice rough. "Been sittin' in that drawer for a week."
Her head snaps up.
"What?"
I nod toward the patch stitched beneath the Reaper's emblem.
The one that says exactly who she is. 
Exactly where she belongs. 
My ol' lady.
Not someday.
Not eventually.
Not if everything works out.
Now.
No conditions.
No expiration date—just mine. 
"I told you I was serious about us, sweetheart."
This time, I don't look away. 
"Thought I was makin' plans for later."
I reach over and brush my thumb across her cheek.
"Turns out I already made up my mind."
The words settle between us.
Heavy. 
Final.
For a beat, neither of us moves. 
Ashley just stares down at the cut in her lap, fingertips brushing over the patch like she still can't quite believe it's real. 
And watching her look at it?
Watching her look at me?
Something cracks open inside my chest.
I've spent months fighting this.
Talking myself out of it.
Pretending I wasn't already too far gone.
Because the last woman I gave my heart to left with a piece of it. 
Left me standing in the wreckage wondering why the fuck I'd ever handed it over in the first place. 
But Ashley isn't Christine.
And somewhere along the way, I stopped waiting for her to hurt me the same way. 
I'm ready. 
The words rise in my throat before I can second-guess them. 
Before I can bury them. 
Before I can run from them. 
"I love you."
Her breath catches. 
Those big brown eyes snap to mine.
Emotion flashes across her face so fast I almost miss it. 
Shock.
Relief.
Something dangerously close to tears. 
Then she whispers, "Thank you."
I blink.
Once.
Twice. 
The fuck?
For a second, I just stare at her—waiting for the rest.
It doesn't come. 
Before my brain can catch up, my hand shoots out and closes around the side of her neck, tipping her face toward mine. 
A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth.
There she is.
Brat. 
A low chuckle rumbles out of me.
"Naughty little minx," I chastise.
Her grin widens. 
And just like that, some of the weight crushing my chest eases.
I know that look.
Know exactly what she's doing. 
"Say it." 
The command comes out rough.
Certain.
Because there isn't a single doubt left in my mind. 
She loves me too. 
"I hate you," she says sweetly. 
I tighten my grip just enough to make her squeak. 
Her grin only grows. 
Smartass.
I lean closer—close enough to steal the next breath from her lungs. 
"Try again."
My voice drops lower.
Darker. 
The kind that always gets her attention—whether she wants it to or not. 
For once, she doesn't fire back with another joke. 
Doesn't tease.
Doesn't try to hide behind that smart little mouth of hers. 
Her eyes soften.
And when she speaks, every wall I've spent years building takes a direct hit. 
"I love you, Grayson Bennett."
There it is.
The words hit harder than any bullet ever could.
My heart slams against my ribs.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at her.
Wonder how the fuck a man like me ended up with a woman like her.
I've got blood on my hands.
More regrets than I know what to do with. 
Enough mistakes behind me to fill a goddamn lifetime.
Yet somehow, this beautiful, stubborn, impossible woman crawled under my skin and stayed there.
Refused to leave.
And I'll be damned if I ever take that for granted again. 
My hand slides up to cup her jaw. 
Careful.
Like she's something precious.
Something I still can't quite believe belongs to me. 
"You're mine," I murmur. 
Not possessive.
Not controlling.
Just the truth.
The same truth that's been staring me in the face for months now—even when I was too stubborn to admit it. 
Ashley's eyes flutter shut for a second, and when they open again, they're shining with emotion. 
"Promise?" she whispers.
I brush my thumb across her cheek.
"Promise."
The corner of her mouth trembles.
And for the first time since Luther brought her home, I see the fear starting to leave her.
Good.
Because I never want to see that look in her eyes again.
Not if I can help it.
Ashley's fingers tighten in the front of my shirt, holding on like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
I hate that she ever felt like she had to.
Slowly, I lean in, giving her every chance to pull away.
She doesn't.
The second my mouth touches hers, every damn thing I've been carrying tonight bleeds into the kiss. 
The anger.
The hurt.
The fear.
The relief.
The love. 
It's all there. 
In the way I hold her against me.
In the way I kiss her like I'm trying to make her understand that what she just gave me means the fucking world. 
She makes a soft sound against my lips, and it damn near undoes me. 
Then she moves—climbing into my lap without a second thought and closing the distance between us. 
Her fingers slide into my hair and hold on tight. 
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer still. 
Like I can't get enough of her. 
Like I never will.  
My beautiful addiction.  
When I finally pull back, our foreheads rest together.
Her eyes stay closed, a sleepy smile lingering on her lips. 
My chest does something stupid at the sight of it. 
Something warm. 
Something dangerously close to peace. 
I press one last kiss to her forehead before shifting us higher on the bed. 
Ashley goes willingly, curling into me the second we settle beneath the blankets. 
And this time, there's no tension left in her.  
It's just my little minx. 
Just us. 
Tomorrow, I'll spend the day reminding her exactly how much she means to me. 
But tonight? 
Tonight, the most incredible woman I've ever met told me she loves me. 
And all I want to do is hold her until sleep takes us both—and thank whatever force in this fucked-up world decided to give her to me.