Page 34 of Thunder's Reckoning

I didn’t answer.

“I ain’t gonna pretend you didn’t, but before you do somethin’ stupid like disappearin’, I need you to listen.”

Still nothing from me.

He didn’t fill the silence with soft words or lies. Just gave it a beat, then spoke again.

“I told ‘em you were worth it. Told ‘em I trust you.”

Something in my chest cracked at that. I didn’t know why it meant so much, coming from him. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like I wasn’t broken beyond repair.

I turned slowly, one shoe on, one bare foot pressed to the worn floorboards.

“You shouldn’t,” I said.

He didn’t flinch. Just watched me with those eyes like clear sky before a storm.

“I bring danger,” I said. “People with guns and lies and prayers soaked in blood. You think you can handle it, but you don’t know what’s out there. What’s waiting for me to stop running.”

“I don’t give a damn what’s waitin’,” he said. “Ain’t nobody got the right to hurt you or them kids.”

My throat tightened. “I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

“You won’t,” he said. “Because I’m not bein’ dragged into this, I’m walkin’ in with my eyes open. That’s my choice.”

I looked down at the bag again. My fingers were still trembling. “I was just going grab a few things. Enough to get us by—”

“To what?” he asked, stepping closer. “To keep runnin’? Livin’ outta bags and shadows? That’s not a life. That’s not what they need.”

His words hit me like a slap. Not because he was cruel, but because he wasn’t.

He saw it. The truth I’d been avoiding.

“I ain’t sayin’ this is easy,” he added. “Hell, it’s probably gonna be the hardest thing you’ve ever faced. But I meant what I said, you’re safe here. For as long as you need.”

I blinked hard, chest rising too fast. “You hardly know me,” I whispered.

His voice softened. “I know you well enough, Sable. I know enough to stand beside you.”

My heart thudded so loud it drowned everything else. For a second, I stood still. Then I let the bag drop from my hand. No drama. Just done.

When he opened his arms, I didn’t hesitate. I stepped into them. Carefully. Cautiously. Like I wasn’t sure if I was allowed. He held me close but not too tight. Like he knew I was still learning how to breathe.

Then he pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. “Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me what you’re runnin’ from?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SHE STEPPED INTOme like she was relearnin’ how to move.Like touch was foreign, somethin’ she’d read about but never practiced. Light. Careful. One arm slid around my ribs, the other pressed flat to my chest like she needed proof I was real—solid—and staying.

I didn’t rush her. Just stood still, lettin’ her take what she needed.

Christ, it felt right. She felt right. Not in the quick, dirty way women had always felt before, fast hands, faster goodbyes. No, this was somethin’ else. Somethin’ that rooted deep and pulled hard.

When I eased back, my hands stayed on her shoulders, holdin’ her steady. Not just for her—for me. ‘Cause I was already thinkin’ about crossin’ lines I knew damn well she wasn’t ready for. Wantin’ more when she barely had anythin’ left to give.

“Tell me,” I murmured, eyes locked on hers. “What are you runnin’ from?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted to the window like she expected the past to bust through the glass and drag her back. I’d seen that look before, soldiers crawlin’ home from war, women hidin’ bruises under sleeves, kids flinchin’ at shadows. Fear like that didn’t vanish just ‘cause you bolted a door. It lived in the marrow. I knew. I carried it, too.