"I want beautiful mistakes with you," he whispers against the curve of my neck, sending shivers cascading down my spine.
Unable to fight the fatigue, I fade into a deep sleep with a heart full of hope that, when I wake, those words will still be true.
Chapter 29
LONDON
The first thing I notice when I wake isn't the obvious chill in the cool morning air or even the way my back protests against the uneven ground. It's the weight of her head on my chest. Laney's blonde hair is sprawled across it as I take careful breaths to steady the rise and fall of my chest. I've spent a small eternity dreaming of a moment just like this one, where she is mine again, one where I wake up, and she's right where I left her, in my arms.
I don't need to question how we got here. I remember every minute detail because I took my time cataloging each one, knowing tomorrows aren't guaranteed. The fear of what happened before had sunk its claws deep, and this time, I was the one throwing up walls, hurting her with words that gutted me even as I spoke them. But she refused to let them win. She fought—fought just like she did last time. Except, this time, I fought too.
Now, with her temple pressed against my chest and her arm draped loosely over my waist, something inside me cracks open. Not a breaking, rather an opening, like a door I've kept locked for far too long. Right now, in the still morning light, with her stubborn heart beating against mine and my own unyielding need toprotect warring with this newfound clarity, I can see what I was blind to before.
We're not better apart. We're stronger together, and protecting her from a distance was never the answer. It was cowardice dressed up as nobility. The best way to protect her isn't to stand guard against the shadows but to stand beside her in the light, to be whatever she needs me to be. That's the man I want to be. That's the man she deserves.
A breeze rustles the leaves above us, and Laney's eyes flutter open. For a heartbeat, her eyes assess mine and her soft gaze is unguarded. It's the way she used to look at me, and I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure I get to keep it.
"Morning," she whispers, her brown eyes almost hazel as they reflect the morning sun.
"Good morning." I smile softly, pushing a strand of hair away from her forehead.
We steal a few more seconds of silence, basking in the light of a new day, one that we started together instead of apart, before the sounds of catering crews breaking down tables filter through the air.
"What time is it?" she asks, looking over her shoulder and scanning all that there is to see in the light.
"I don't know. My phone is in the pocket of my jeans and checking it would have required letting you go."
She rolls her lips to stifle the smile threatening to take over her face. Her fingers lazily trace over my chest, my skin sparking to life beneath her touch. "Last night, were you aware Trigg knew you were under the table?"
I chuckle, my fingers finding hers. "Not at first, but there were signs," I admit. I know that when I went under the table, his eyes had drifted toward the bar, where I knew Asha was entertaining guests.
Pressing the tips of her fingers against mine, she asks, "Are you worried about telling him your plan to add him to the lease?"
I pull a cleansing breath through my nose and exhale slowly. "No, I started to tell him on our trail ride, but then you got attacked by bees. He knows I'm aware of the lease. I want to fill him in on my plan, but we haven't been able to sync up yet. Every time we're close, life happens."
"What changed? I thought you weren't sure if you could trust him."
"Hard times test your character, and watching how he's handled things since you arrived, I understand him more," I attempt to explain.
Six years. That's how long it's been since I arrived on Trigg's doorstep, a ghost from a past he didn't know existed. Beyond that first jarring moment when Baylor introduced us as brothers, we've found our rhythm, carved out a space where two strangers could become family.
The early days carried their weight of uncertainty, both of us walking on eggshells around truths, but that hesitation felt inevitable. When your entire understanding of yourself gets rewritten in a single conversation, caution becomes a survival technique. I catch myself wondering if our positions had been reversed—if he'd been the one standing on my father's doorstep with nowhere else to turn—would I have opened my door as readily? Would I have demanded explanations he wasn't ready to give, or would I have possessed his quiet patience, waiting for trust to grow organically?
These questions gnaw at me because they matter. They reveal the fault lines that run through both our lives, the damage done by a mother who chose abandonment, and the bitterness and pride that festers between our fathers. They've chosen isolation over reconciliation and resentment over family, and those choices have shaped both of us in ways we're still learning to understand. However, despite the scars of the past, we both seem to have one core value in common: our refusal to let the past repeat itself.
"Are you saying you agree with his tactics?" she questions, a little baffled by my acceptance.
We may have different temperaments and different ways ofprocessing pain, but fundamentally, we are both determined to be more than the sum of our wounds. We both want something our parents couldn't give us: family.
"I didn't say all that, but the more you know him, the more you understand his ways. He's good at playing the Jekyll-and-Hyde card, but he's never really the bad guy." I sigh. "I can relate to someone who'll let you assume the worst of them if it means they help you in the end. He knew you wouldn't keep his secret, and the way he saw it, that benefited both of you."
She's quiet, choosing to lay her head on my chest, pressing her ear to my heart as she processes what I've said. I know we are talking about Trigg, but I think she's heard another truth in my response—my truth.
"What about the things he said about Sydney?" she changes the subject.
I laugh and seductively drag my finger up the side of her arm. "I think that's when it became clear I was between your thighs, and he was trying to get a rise out of you." I bite my lip hard to force myself to think about the pinch of pain instead of the way she came hard all over my tongue.
Her head pops back up, and she rests her chin on my chest. "So you don't think it was true?"
