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Now, I ignore the pedestrians walking their dogs. I watch the wind whip Cole’s floppy black hair across his forehead instead.
“You completely showboated during the blindfold sequence last night.”
Cole bumps his shoulder against mine. “The crowd paid for a spectacle, Archer. I delivered a masterpiece. Did you hear that guy in the third row? He sounded like he swallowed his own tongue.”
“He stopped breathing because you threw the eight-inch steel a fraction of a millimeter from my left nostril.”
“Precision is my brand. I knew exactly where your nose was.”
“You were blindfolded.”
“I possess exceptional spatial awareness.” He flashes that sharp, chaotic grin. “Besides, I like watching your pupils dilate when the blade gets close. It’s a massive turn-on.”
I roll my eyes, but a hot flush creeps up my neck. The erotic tension between us in the sawdust ring never faded. It only intensified. Every single catch serves as a violent, intoxicating prelude to the moment he locks the door of our massive trailer and strips the performance leather off my body.
We follow the winding path toward a wrought-iron bench positioned under a massive oak tree.
I stop walking.
Cole halts instantly. His eyes lock onto my face. He reads the shift in my posture with terrifying accuracy. The teasing, arrogant edge vanishes from his expression, replaced by that intense, hyper-focused devotion. He squares his shoulders, giving me his complete attention.
“Sit down,” I instruct.
He drops onto the bench, keeping his knees spread wide. I sit beside him, turning my body to face his.
My heart thuds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I spent years terrified of the future. I punished myself for surviving the rainstorm that took June. I built a fortress out of indifference, convinced that if I stopped caring whether I survived, the universe couldn’t steal anything else from me.
Cole destroyed that false belief. He dismantled it blade by blade, kiss by kiss.
I am terrified again. I am terrified of losing him. I am terrified of losing the chaotic, bloody family we built at the Seven Sins Carnival. But the fear doesn’t paralyze me anymore. The fear serves as absolute proof that I am finally alive.
I want tomorrow. I want permanence. I watched this lethal, feral knife thrower hold Silas and Nova’s son over the last few months. I watched Cole support a sleeping infant against his broad chest, his long fingers cradling the fragile skull with impossible gentleness. The sight fractured the last remaining barricade inside my head.
I reach into my pocket. My fingers close around the small, square cardboard box. I pull it out and place it directly into the center of his large palm.
Cole stares at the plain white lid. His dark eyebrows pinch together, and a deep crease forms between them. The absolute, unadulterated confusion on his sharp face is ridiculous. It’s adorable.
“What the heck is this?” he asks.
“Open it.”
He lifts the lid.
Inside, resting on a tuft of white cotton, sits a tiny, T-shaped piece of plastic and copper wire.
Cole blinks. He stares at the object for five full seconds. He tilts the box, examining the medical device from a different angle, completely lost. He looks like a man trying to decipher an ancient language.
“Is this a microchip?” He pokes the plastic edge with his index finger. “Did Silas bug you? Because I will hunt him down and snap his laptop in half.”
A breathless laugh tears out of my throat.
“It’s my IUD,” I tell him.
His head snaps up, and the air leaves his lungs in a harsh, audible rush. The confusion shatters, replaced by massive, blinding shock. All the color drains from his face, leaving his sharp cheekbones stark against the cold air.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” His voice drops into a raw, gravelly rasp.
I hold his gaze. The panic is entirely gone.
