63

THEA

My breath catches.

Just be mine. All of you.

No labels. No timelines. Just a choice. A surrender.

“I don’t know how to do this without messing it up,” I admit, my voice breaking around the truth.

I’ve always had to be the strong one. The fixer. The one who holds everything together while everything else falls apart.

Ezra raises his hand, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face with gentleness that makes me ache. “You don't have to do anything. Just let go.”

Tears pool in my eyes before I can stop them as I swat his hand away. “I don’t want to need you, bastard.”

He chuckles. “It’s only right if it's mutual.”

I laugh, a hollow, trembling sound, and press my palm to my forehead. “God, I'm starting to feel like I make this hard.”

“You make everything hard, sugarplum.” he murmurs with a crooked smirk.

I smack his chest weakly, and he catches my hand, holding it between us like something sacred.

Then softer, “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just don’t run.”

“I won’t,” I whisper.

His breath shudders, as if he’s been holding it for years.

“You’re mine, Thea.”

My heart stutters in my chest.

“I’m yours,” I say quietly. “But go slow. With me. With Finn. With all of this.”

He nods like it’s a vow. “As slow as you need. Just don’t stop.”

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.

I feel like I might actually be learning how to fly.

I’ve barely caught my breath when his voice cuts through the silence, his hand still holding mine to his chest.

“Who did Finn leave with yesterday?”

I blink, still half dazed. “Seriously? You’re asking about Finn now?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Because I saw you at the door. I saw him enter a car and you were giving him some set of orders like a motherhen.”

My brows shoot up, my lips threatening to pull u into a smile. “You were watching us?”

“I wasn't watching. I was… checking in.”

I glare up at him. “Stalker.”

Ezra exhales through his nose, ignoring the jab.

I shift my weight. “He left with Shirley. She's his best friend’s mother.”

He nods, then pauses. “I wasn’t trying to overstep, I just—”

I raise a hand to cut him off. “It’s okay. But if we’re really doing this—this relationship thing—we need to set ground rules.”

His eyes flicker. “Okay.”

“You don’t get to just be part of Finn’s life because you’re part of mine. It doesn’t work like that. He’s a kid. My kid. And I’m not just going to shove a stranger into his world because I’ve made reckless choices with my heart.”

Ezra’s expression flickers, but he nods. “Fair.”

“You’ll have to win him over yourself,” I continue, voice quieter now. “At your pace. On his terms.”

Another nod. Slower this time.

“And I need space for that. For us. I won’t let him get attached if this is going to fall apart like everything else or pose as a danger in his world.”

He’s silent for a long beat. Then he says, softly, “I can give you that.”

I chuckle bitterly. “You say that like I’m offering you anything worth staying for.”

He steps closer, brushes his fingers down my arm—barely a touch, like he’s afraid I’ll flinch. “You are.”

“Even if all I give you is crumbs?” I ask.

“I’ll take it. Because it’s you. Because you’re it.”

That’s the moment it hits me—how willing he is to settle. To scrape at the edges of love just to stay near it.

It hurts. Because I know it’s not fair. Because I’ve been the one building walls and calling it protection. Because somewhere deep down, I want to give him more.

But I’m still scared of everything falling apart.

And he still stays.

And I'll give him more. He deserves it.

.

.

.

EZRA

I’ve heard confessions in boardrooms, in bedrooms, behind closed doors of glass towers and after too many drinks. But none of them ever sounded like this.

None of them ever mattered.

It feels like gravity. Like something inevitable. Like something I’ve been chasing without realizing I already belonged to it.

Her words root themselves in the hollow places of my chest and expand, cracking through every wall I’ve ever built.

I don’t speak. I can’t. If I do, I’ll break the moment. I’ll scare her. I’ll claim more than she’s ready to give.

So I just nod. Once.

As slow as you need. Just don’t stop.

She looks at me like I might still disappear. Like this might still be a dream.

I want to kiss her. I want to mark her all over again—but not like last time. Not to claim or punish or possess. This time, it’s reverence. Worship. I want to kiss every scar I’ve left and make her believe I’d undo every wound if I could.

But instead, I say, “Come here,” and pull her gently into my arms.

She fits. Of course she does. She always has.

Her fingers curl against my shirt like she's still not sure I’m real.

And me? I close my eyes and breathe her in—vanilla and defiance and something that smells like goddamn home.

I don’t know what being someone’s boyfriend or what being someone's is supposed to mean. I’ve never been one. I’ve never wanted to be one. Until her.

Her. My hurricane. My firecracker. My sugarplum.