Page 40

FORTY

BANE

I wake to the feeling of something—someone—prodding my chest. Rhythmic, insistent. A warm weight is sprawled over me, curls tickling my jaw, breath puffing against my collarbone. Moira.

My wife.

The word still feels foreign, like boots I haven’t broken in yet.

But when I open my eyes and find her grinning down at me, it doesn’t feel wrong. Just… improbable. Like she’s something out of a dream I never dared to have.

“Oh my god, finally ,” she drawls, draping herself across me like she belongs there. Because, apparently, she does.

My chest gets tight at the sight of her there smiling and rolling her eyes at me. “I’ve been lying here forever, bored , waiting for you to wake up. I even had a whole conversation with you in your sleep. Did you know dolphins are the ocean’s perverts?”

I exhale slowly, rubbing a hand down my face. “Good morning to you, too.”

She gasps theatrically. “It is a good morning! Look at you! Awake and brooding and all mine.” She nuzzles against me, sighing happily. “Do you think we could get a pet goat?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ugh, but you’d look so hot feeding a little goat in your priestly garb. Father Bane, tending to his flock ?—”

I roll, pinning her under me before she can say anything else. Her laugh bubbles up, bright and untamed, as she fists her hands in my shirt like she means to keep me here forever.

And the sight of her, happy and underneath me, frees the weight that’s been suffocating me with terror lately.

Last week, she could barely get out of bed.

Last week, I could hardly get her to eat, much less talk. There was nothing theatrical in her voice then. No teasing, no sharp wit, no Moira filling the space with the color and chaos she carries with her everywhere.

Just silence and exhaustion. She was curled in on herself. Unreachable.

Yeah, I knew that times like that would be part of what I suspect is her condition, but seeing it firsthand was something else. I couldn’t help wondering—had I brought it on? Could I have prevented it? Brought her out of it sooner?

For all my fucking discipline and control, there was nothing I could do, and it made me want to tear my hair out or find somebody else to go punch.

So yes, she can prod and poke and torment me all she likes. I’ll listen to every ridiculous thought that spills from her lips, happily , as long as it means she’s here again. Fully here.

“Come on, broody husband,” she purrs, curling her leg around my hip. “Let’s stay in bed all day.”

I shake my head, dragging myself up. “Out.”

She pouts dramatically, but I see the spark in her eyes. She wants to be dragged into the world today.

So I do.

And once she’s out, I watch her gain energy from being out.

She makes us walk downtown, but it takes twice as long as it should because she gets distracted by everything .

The bakery. The bookshop. A cat sunbathing in a window. A pigeon she claims is her sworn enemy from last week, even though we both know she spent all last week in bed and I have no idea what a pigeon might have done to deserve her wrath.

I follow wherever she flits off to because how can I not?

It’s like following a living firework, sparking off in different directions, pulling me along in the wake of her energy.

Eventually, we end up at a cafe. She orders something absurdly sweet, I get black coffee, and she insists on getting us pastries shaped like bears.

I refuse.

She gets me one anyway.

“Bite it angrily,” she demands, holding up her phone.

“Why?”

“For memes .”

I give her a flat look.

“For science, Bane. For art. For the people .”

Seeing as I’ve long since accepted my fate as the subject of her ridiculous whims, I take an unnecessarily aggressive bite.

She shudders. “ Hot .”

I exhale through my nose, shaking my head. All I feel in this moment is… content.

More than that, actually. Watching her like this, vibrant and alive, I feel something closer to reverence. I was alone in a boring, petty, cruel world.

And then came her .

She drags me to a movie, where she proceeds to whisper her commentary at me the entire time.

“This guy would not last five minutes with you.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot.”

Moira makes a noise so obscene people turn to look. “God, I love it when you say mean things.”

At some point, I cover her mouth with my hand. She licks my palm. I don’t react. She pouts.

By the time the credits roll, she’s already plotting our next stop. We grab something easy for dinner and walk back home in the dark, her arm looped through mine, chattering about everything and nothing.

I half expect her to run out of steam now.

Sometimes, after days like this, the energy fizzles out, and she crashes. But not tonight. She just keeps going , her hand squeezing my arm every so often like she needs to keep checking that I’m here.

Like she still can’t quite believe I choose to be.

We get home, and she drops dramatically onto the couch. “Carry me to bed.”

“No.”

“But I’m weak and fragile , Bane!”

I raise a brow. “You just spent the entire day dragging me all over the place.”

She squints. “Your point?”

I roll my eyes and bend to pick her up. She makes a delighted noise and wraps herself around me.

“I win,” she sings as I carry her to our bed.

She does.

She wins. Every time.

I set her down, and she watches me in the dim light of our bedroom, something quieter settling into her expression. She reaches out, tracing her fingers down my arm.

“You had fun today,” she murmurs like it surprises her.

I catch her hand and press a kiss to her palm. “Of course I did.”

Her lips twitch like she doesn’t quite believe me.

I don’t blame her. I don’t always make it easy to read me. But I know the truth of it, even if she doesn’t.

I had fun because she’s fun.

Because she’s Moira .

And because, more than anything, I’m just fucking glad she’s here .