Page 13

13

Beatrice

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

No boots stomping across the deck, no radio chatter, no warning clicks of weapons being checked. Just the sound of waves brushing the shore, and the soft rhythm of Mike snoring beside the couch.

The team went to their homes, leaving Raven and me behind.

But Raven never left.

He didn’t ask for permission.

He just… stayed.

* * *

I found him out on the deck, barefoot, coffee in hand, watching the sunrise like it might give him answers.

He didn’t turn when I stepped out. Just said, “You sleep?”

“For a few hours.”

He nodded slowly. “You cried in your sleep.”

I tensed.

“I didn’t wake you,” he added gently. “I just… held you.”

The ache behind my eyes throbbed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He looked over at me, eyes dark and quiet. “You’ve earned every tear.”

I sat beside him, the wood still warm beneath my legs. “It’s not over. Those kinds of men are everywhere. I learned that when I was undercover, our government hired them more than anyone else.”

We sat like that for a while, watching the sky bleed orange and gold across the water.

Then I said the one thing I’d been afraid of since he walked into my life.

“I don’t know how to be… normal. I’ve always been a bit different. My Dad always said I was special because I always had to be doing something.”

Raven set down his mug and shifted toward me. “Good.”

That threw me. “What?”

“I don’t want normal,” he said. “I want you .”

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off softly, firmly.

“You don’t have to be perfect. Or put-together. Or fixed. You just have to stop walking away.”

I blinked against the burn in my eyes. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not. But it’s worth it.”

He reached for my hand, slow and sure, like he didn’t want to startle me. Then he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me.

Something in my chest cracked wide open.

I leaned into him, my head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around me like armor.

And just like that…

I stopped fighting.

* * *

That night, the house glowed with soft light.

Raven cooked—nothing fancy, just grilled fish and roasted potatoes—and we ate barefoot on the floor with Mike between us and Mandy keeping guard by the door.

There was laughter.

And wine.

And that quiet hum of connection that didn’t need words.

When the plates were cleared and the lights turned low, he reached for me again—slower this time, like asking a question.

I answered with a kiss.

No rush.

No fire.

Just need.

And trust.

* * *

Later, wrapped in his arms beneath a blanket, I whispered, “I’m scared.”

He kissed my temple. “Good.”

“Why good?”

“Because fear means something’s worth losing. And you’re not losing me, Beatrice.”

Not this time.

Not ever.