Page 61 of Bound By Threads
God, she’s beautiful.
“I used to think I couldn’t have anything good,”she signs.“Not for long, anyway. Good things got taken. Or they changed.”
“You don’t have to earn goodness, Lottie. You are good.”
She blinks fast, more tears welling.“You don’t care about what I’ve done?”
“No,”I sign immediately.“I care about how you survived.”
She swallows, her hands shaking again.“I danced to feel strong. I stripped to feel seen. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I had power. But it’s not about sex or attention. It never was. It was about being in control of something.”
I nod, not needing her to explain more. I already understand.
I’ve seen men break under the weight of things they couldn’t control.
And I’ve seen her fight to rise every single day.
“I get it,”I sign.“You don’t have to justify it to me.”
A long breath slips from her lips, like she’s finally, finally letting go of a weight that’s been digging into her ribs. She rests her forehead against mine again.
And then she kisses me.
Soft at first. Uncertain. Her lips brushing mine like a whisper I’ll never hear, but feel deep in my bones. My hands come up to cradle her face, and she sinks into me like she’s been waiting for this—like she’s home.
It’s not rushed. It’s not urgent.
It’s careful and reverent, like we’re both terrified this moment will vanish if we move too fast.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are glossy again. Her hands find mine, lacing our fingers together.
We stay curled on the couch until her eyes begin to drift closed, her head tucked beneath my chin. I don’t move.
I don’t even blink.
I just hold her like she might float away if I let go.
Chapter30
Crew
We spot her the second the truck pulls into the parking lot. Lottie… or Scarlett, as I still think of her, even if she doesn’t go by that anymore.
She’s in the passenger seat of that guy’s truck. Oscar, I think his name is. He’s always following her, assessing everything like it’s a threat to her.
Oscar jumps out of the truck, circles around, and opens the passenger door with a kind of soft enthusiasm that makes my stomach twist.
Not in jealousy… something worse.
The bitter realization that I don’t know who she is anymore. That she’s lived her life for the last two years and has probably never thought of us once while we destroyed ourselves with our grief.
He helps her down, his hand wrapped around hers like it’s as natural as breathing, and my stomach churns. Then he turns her to face him, signing something to her—fingers moving fast but with a purpose—and she laughs. It lights up her whole face. Her shoulders are relaxed, her body leaning towards him like she’s blooming under the attention. And then she rises onto her tiptoes and kisses him.
My heart stutters.
Roman curses low under his breath. Elijah growls beside me, jaw tight, fists already clenched. His whole body is a live wire of rage.
“What the actual fuck,” Elijah mutters, eyes locked on them like he’s ready to storm across the lot and rip Oscar’s head off.
