Page 112 of Pistols & Peonies

“It’s implied,” I mutter, my spoon clanking softly against the ceramic. “She’s got a million ways to dress it up. Talking about how I had so much ‘potential’ and I’m wasting it. Or how maybe if I’d been a little less hard to handle, my dad wouldn’t have run out on us.” I force a smile like it’s funny rather than a wound I’ve carried my whole life. “Classic narcissist stuff.”

Kane’s expression darkens. He sets his mug down and folds his arms, tension settling into his frame. “I hope you know she’s full of shit.”

I shrug, even as my chest tightens. “I mean… she’s not entirely wrong. I was a handful as a kid, and I’m still one now. That’s why nobody ever sticks around.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, adding, “Until you, but that’s not by choice. It was all Alpha. This stupid Pairing.”

He pushes off from the counter, prowling around the kitchen island toward me. My body registers the move before my brain does– my pulse skips, skin prickling with anticipation. I turn on the stool just as he steps in close, bracketing me with both hands planted on the counter behind me.

If it were anyone else, the way he’s looming would feel like a threat. Instead, it feels like gravity– inevitable, inescapable– my head tipping back, palms coming up to brace against the solid planes of his chest automatically.

“Alpha might’ve thrown us together, but I refuse to give him the credit for what this has turned into,” he growls, liquid gold bleeding into his dark irises. “I didn’t choose it in the beginning, but I am now, Violet. And not because of Alpha, but in spite of him.”

My pulse stutters.

“I was the last one who wanted this to work,” he continues, eyes locked on mine. “But you…”

I look away before he can finish that thought, the weight of it pressing in too fast, too much.

His hand comes up, catching my chin and turning my face back toward his. “Fuck your mom for ever making you think you weren’t good enough,” he bites out. “And fuck your dad for walking away like you weren’t worth staying for.”

The conviction in his voice makes something crack open in my chest, a wound I’d thought long scarred over suddenly ripped open and bleeding.

“You deserve better,” he continues firmly. “You deserve someone who sees you, all of you, and loves you for exactly who you are.”

My belly flips, pulse taking off at a gallop.

Kane holds my gaze, the pad of his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip. “I do.”

My heart trips over its valves.

“You… what?” I breathe, staring up at him while hope and fear collide hard enough to make me dizzy.

I shouldn’t want this.

I never planned for it, always said I didn’t need it, didn’t want it…

But the ferocity behind his words– the way he says them as if he’d go to war for me without hesitation– hits something deep, something I’ve spent years shoving down and pretending doesn’t exist.

The need to be chosen.

To be enough.

For someone to stay.

“You heard me,” Kane murmurs. “I don’t bullshit, not about things that matter. And I’m too old for games.”

I huff out a quiet breath, defaulting to humor because it’s easier than letting him see how hard that just hit. “Well, you are pretty old…”

“Hey.” His eyes narrow, his hand sliding down to wrap loosely around my throat, fingers flexing. “Don’t make me put you over my knee.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t love that,” I fire back, a smirk tugging at my mouth.

“I love you.”

I blink at him, caught off guard by how easy he makes it sound. Like it’s not a risk. Like it’s not the kind of thing that can ruin you if it goes wrong.

And worse… how badly I want to say it back.

“I…” I start, then stall, my throat tightening.