Page 29 of North’s Claim

I sit there, in the middle of the yard, head tilted back, letting the rain wash me clean. And I remember being six. Barefoot. Racing down the block with puddles splashing under my heels and no care in the world. My dad chasing behind me with a towel and my mom yelling from the porch not to track mud in the house.

Back then, life was still innocent. I still believed in forever.

I rise to my feet and spin in slow circles. I dance. Under the rain. Under the weight of a thousand ghosts and I laugh again. One that bubbles up and breaks out with tears chasing it.

I cry and laugh all at once because for the first time in years I feel alive. I can’t let my past destroy what I have left to live. Maeve was right. We all get one life. Just one, and we’re the only ones who get to write our path. We can stumble, can fall but we get back up. We live, fight for our peace, and for the first time I think I want to.

Shivering, I drag myself inside. A cold is the last thing I need. My skin’s cold to the touch, and my fingers are trembling. I take a long, hot shower. The steam wraps around me like a blanket. I scrub my skin until the warmth sinks into my bones.

After I towel off, I walk into North’s room, open his drawer, and pull out another one of his shirts. It's soft, worn, and smells like him. It falls just under my knees and clings to my still-damp skin.

It’s like he’s hugging me.

He hasn’t, not since that day he held me when I broke down. And even then, it wasn’t about romance. It was comfort and safety.

Still, I think about it. About what it would feel like if he did it again.

We share a bed now. Ever since he found me curled up on the armchair and lost his shit. I don’t know if it was worry or rage, or both, but he asked me to sleep in his bed and started sleeping next to me. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t even crowd me but knowing he’s there… it helps.

I smile as I make a sandwich. I don’t bother cooking when he’s not home. It doesn’t feel worth it. A sandwich and some fruit will do.

After dinner, I curl up on the couch, watch some mindless TV, and sip tea. The rain’s still tapping gently on the windows, soothing and soft. Before bed, I check all the doors and windows twice. Then a third time, just in case.

Habit.

I slip under the covers, on his side of the bed, and press my face into his pillow.

My hand drifts between my thighs, and I catch my breath. My heart pounds. It’s stupid, so stupid, but in the darkness, I let myself pretend.

Pretend that his arms are around me.

That I’m not broken.

That maybe I’m allowed to want more.

Even if I’ll never have it.

Chapter 12

North

I’m fucking exhausted.

My whole body aches. Every cell screams for a bed. For silence and peace.

The gate closes behind me as I kill the engine. Lights are off, and the house’s quiet. Not a sound but the tick of the engine cooling down. I shove open the door and slip inside, trying not to wake her. My boots hit the floor soft, careful. Until I stop.

A sound, no, a moan. Soft and breathless. It’s barely a whisper but it shreds through me like a bullet. My whole body stills. I know that sound, and it ain’t pain. It’s fucking pleasure.

I stalk down the hallway, rage already coiling. If someone touched her, if anyone got in this house, if someone laid a finger on her, I’ll paint the goddamn walls red.

But when I reach the bedroom and see her framed by the soft silver light of the full moon slipping through the curtains I freeze. She’s alone. Her back arches. Her legs parted. One hand buried between her thighs, the other gripping the sheets like she’s drowning in the feel of her own touch. My heart stops. She’s riding her fingers in slow, trembling strokes, her breath catching, her lips parted, and then she moans again. My name.

Fucking hell.

I grip the doorframe, hard enough my knuckles go white. My cock’s hard in an instant, throbbing. She says it again, a breathless whisper that nearly brings me to my knees. She’s never said my name before.

Not like that.