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“For letting me have that piece of you.”

I end the call and take a shuddered breath right as I hear him finish his shower and turn the water off. The tattoo ended up not happening after we spent the day in bed. Now that I’ve shared one of my biggest secrets with Casper, it’s time I go all in and trust him. Despite feeling like I’m involving him in ways I don’t want to, he wants this, and it’s the least I can do for him.

A few minutes later he steps out of the bathroom.

“Good shower?” I ask, offering him a warm smile and setting my phone on the charger.

“Everything okay?”

Apparently my expression wasn’t as convincing as I’d hoped.

I nod, wrapping the bedsheet around my body and standing and stepping toward him.

“I did it,” I say, my shoulders releasing their tension.

With raised brows he breaks into a face-splitting grin. “You quit?”

Another nod.

He closes the distance between us and kneels at my feet, wrapping his arms around the backs of my thighs while gazing up at me. “It’s going to be okay,” he assures.

“Promise?”

“Promise . . . and I’m proud of you.”

I scoff, resting my hands behind his neck and letting the sheet drop slightly. “For what? Letting you pay off my debt?”

“For trusting me to take care of this.”

I raise an eyebrow at him; for a second it almost sounds like he knows about the blackmail. The way he says take care of seems like more than just paying me to dance for him in the evenings.

“I’m more than happy about this arrangement. I’m making out like a bandit,” he adds quickly. “Whatever you need to pay off, we’ll deal with it together.”

“Thank you.” I bend to press a kiss to his lips.

And just like that, it feels like he’s carrying some of it for me. He sees me—truly sees me for who I am and the experiences that brought me to this place with him. He doesn’t just accept all of me, he loves all of me.

Casper’s right, I don’t stand a chance.

It took everything in me to hold it together while she told me about her scars. What he did, the fear he put in her, the fear he put in me listening to her recall it years later. My fingers trace the edges of raised flesh on her back. I was careful to file away my emotions to give space for hers.

And then I said it.

I’d meant to share my feelings later—at a time that made more sense—but seeing the way she looked at me, like she was preparing for me to pull away, I needed her to know that I wasn’t going anywhere.

Anna was unexpected. I locked every door, and she got in anyway.

Her presence felt natural enough that I didn’t try to push her out, because at our core, we share an understanding. For all of our differences, we both know what it feels like to be discarded and left behind. The parts of her that are starving to be loved are the same parts of me that never got fed.

When I watched her tip her head back and laugh on those swings, it was like everything clicked into place. I knew then and there, she was it. She had been through hell, but the fact that she could carry that weight and still find a way to laugh and be soft with me . . . I was done for.

My fingers move in random patterns over her spine—I don’t even realize I’m doing it until she shifts closer, chasing my touch. This woman knows as well as I do—we belong together.

I’ve never had this before Anna. It’s like she can climb into my thoughts and turn down the volume. I’ve always been on high alert, ready for change, anticipating, calculating, always going. Yet here, in this bed with her, my soul feels settled and safe—Anna is my home and I have no desire to move.

She stacks her palms on my chest and rests her chin on top. “Tell me about your house.”

I inhale with raised eyebrows. “Not much to tell.”