Page 78 of Thunder

He shudders.

Buried deep, he breaks—a groan torn from his chest, and I feel him spill hot inside me, pulse after pulse, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades. His breath comes in harsh, uneven bursts against my skin.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

Then his arms wrap around me from behind.

He pulls me upright, my back against his chest, and just holds me.

His heart's pounding against my spine.

Mine's still racing.

We stand there in the wreckage of the afternoon.

A broken mug on the floor, my clothes in a pile, his jeans around his ankles, and he holds me like I'm the only solid thing in a world that just fell apart.

"You okay?" he asks finally. Mouth against my hair.

I think about my father's face.

The betrayal. The rage. The way he looked at Thunder like he was a monster, and at me like I was a stranger.

"No," I say. "But I will be."

His arms tighten. "Yeah. You will."

Outside, the sun's going down over the Texas hill country, painting everything gold and red. Like fire. Like a brand.

I watch it through the kitchen window, naked in his arms, and I don't look away.

We head into the bedroom, and the sun goes down.

In my bed, we lie there in the blue dark and let the quiet hold us.

His fingers trace idle up and down my spine, over the script that started all of this, and the exact moment he reaches it he lingers, his thumb moving slow across the letters that spell him out on my skin.

"He's gonna come around," Thunder says after a while. "Your daddy. I know him better than most, and I heard what was under all that yellin'. He's not done with you. Not by a long shot. He's just gotta lick his wounds and get past the part where his pride's involved, and then he's gonna remember the only thing he ever really wanted was for you to be happy."

His arm tightens. "Give him time. He'll find his way back to you. Might take a bit. But he will."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Man doesn't say take care of her to the fella he's decided to hate." His chest rumbles under my ear. "That was him leavin' the door cracked. Trust me. I speak Phantom."

I huff a laugh against his skin, the first one in what feels like a year, and it startles both of us, and he squeezes me tighter for it.

"And if he doesn't?" I ask, quieter, the fear I've carried all day still hanging on by a thread.

"If he stays angry? If I lost him for good today?"

"Then that's on him, not you." His voice goes firm, no give in it.

"You didn't do one thing wrong today except love somebody and be scared to say so. That's not a crime, rattlesnake. That's just bein' human in a family that never learned how to do it out loud."

He tips my chin up so I have to look at him. "But you didn't lose him. I'd stake my patch on it. He's hurt, and he's proud, and he's gonna need a while to sit in it. That's not the same as gone. You of all people oughta know the difference by now. Your sisters froze you out for months and look where you all landed. This family breaks. Then it finds its way back. Every time."

I let that settle into me, and I find I believe it, because he's right — I do know the difference now.