Page 396 of Primal

“I know,” Kade murmurs into my hair. “I see it too. Every time I close my eyes.”

“I don’t … I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve to … to feel good. Even just for a bit.”

“Is that why you pushed me away?”

I press my face into the pillow. It smells like him—cedar and musk … the weeks he’s spent hiding down here.

“I couldn’t stop seeing them. Kristy. Lana. And Wesley, he—”

“You think they’d want you miserable for the rest of your life?” Kade presses a kiss to my shoulder blade, his stubble prickling my skin.

My breath shudders out. I should see a real therapist—not someone who’s obviously treating trauma with pain meds.

He keeps quiet, rubbing slow circles on my back. Like if he touches me long enough, maybe it’ll bleed through his skin instead.

“I think about it too,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “The bodies. The cameras. Every second you were under him and I couldn’t—”

I roll over to face him. “You saved me.”

His jaw tightens. “Not fast enough.”

And in that moment, I see it—how it still chews him up from the inside. The same weight I’ve been carrying, mirrored in someone who knows exactly what it costs.

What we lost.

What we’re learning how to live with.

Them. Us. The version of ourselves that made it out.

He dips his head to meet me, nosing my chin, breathing me in. He looks ruined. Hollowed out. Every edge soft in the aftermath. Like he’s still halfway bleeding out in that chapel.

I press my forehead to his. “We’re not okay, are we?”

“No.” He brushes my hair back. “But we’re here.”

That’s enough to crack me wide open. Not in a bad way. Not anymore.

I say it for both of us. “I missed you.”

“Then stay. I’ll chain you to the bed if I have to.” He plants a kiss on my palm. “Or you could move in with me.”

I blink. “Are you kidding?”

“Where were you gonna go, anyway?”

“My parents. Temporarily. At least until I figure out what normal’s supposed to feel like.”

“We could get a place together. You, me, and Max. Maybe somewhere nearby so I can still swing by to check on her.”

Her. He means his mother. And he’s dead serious.

My stomach drops—like my heart just got hijacked.

I should laugh. Tell him he’s insane for going from zero to living together.

But he says it with the same quiet certainty I feel whenever I let myself imagine it.

Us. A real home. A family.