Chapter Twenty-Six

TRINITY

In one single moment, my life had been turned upside down.

And the whiplash—God, the whiplash—was unbearable.

I felt like I was drowning inside my body. My thoughts were spiralling out of control, crashing into each other like waves in a storm surge. The questions pulsed through me like a second heartbeat. My reality … our relationship… him. Everything I thought I knew felt like it had been dipped in shadow. I was questioning everything—and not just him.

I was questioning myself.

I looked at the man I loved—truly loved—with everything I had … and what I saw broke me. Not the stoic, fierce protector I knew, but a hollowed-out shell. Haunted. Fragile. A man whose foundations had been ripped from beneath him, standing in the rubble of his truth.

And still—still—even in the center of my own unraveling, I knew.

I knew I was the only one who could reach him. The only one who could pull him up from the wreckage and breathe life into his lungs again. If I hadn’t loved him, it would’ve been easy to walk away. I could’ve run until my lungs gave out, until my heart stopped screaming at me to turn back. But I loved him. Fiercely. Utterly.

And watching that pain wash across his face like a storm surge over cliffs … it buried every doubt under its weight.

Do we need to talk? Yes.

Do I have questions I need answered? Absolutely.

Do I need the whole truth—grit and gore and all its dark roots? More than ever.

Can we make it through this? I don’t know.

But what I knew—what I held tightly in my chest—was that I could not, and would not, leave the person I claimed to love in a shattered heap on the floor. Not when I had the strength to hold him.

Has he hurt me? Yes.

Am I hurting? Yes.

Can I move past that pain? ~I don’t know.

~Can we heal each other’s wounds? ~Maybe. Maybe not.~

But in this moment—right now—I could do the only thing I knew how to do.

I could love.

Not in the romanticised sense. But in the truest, rawest form.

The love that kneels instead of turning away. The kind that reaches for broken glass with bare hands and says I will still hold you.

I stood. My legs were trembling, but I held firm. And after a moment—after doubt clawed at me one final time—I reached my hand down to him.

His eyes lifted.

God, the way he looked at me.

That devastated, childlike expression behind the man’s body. The vulnerability—no longer guarded behind his usual dominance—spilled freely from his soul. His hand rose, tentative, and he gripped mine like it was the only thing anchoring him to this earth. I helped him to his feet. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

We walked silently, hand in hand, through the house. Each step carried the weight of heartbreak, of unshed apologies, of trust hanging on by a frayed thread.

Upstairs, the silence screamed around us.

At the door to his bedroom, I opened it gently, then led him in.

He stood there, as if unsure of his right to be here now. Like the space he called home was no longer his. He looked so lost. So … small. I turned to him, his hands still in mine, and walked him to the bed. He sat at the foot of it, motionless. The flickering light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across his face—softer now, worn with sorrow.

I stood between his knees and looked into his eyes.

So much had changed, but that ache I felt for him hadn’t. I ran my hands through his hair, brushing it back from his face, my fingers drifting down to his cheeks. His skin was warm but pale. His body was with me, but his soul … I needed to find it again.

Gently, slowly, I knelt and removed his track pants, pulling them down his legs until they pooled at his feet. He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. I wasn’t doing this for desire, or control. This wasn’t for performance.

This was for us.

I pulled off the track pants I had been wearing. Then my top. Left in nothing but my underwear, I walked back over to him and took his hand again.

Still, he didn’t speak.

Still, he followed.

I peeled back the sheets and climbed in first, never letting go of his hand. Once I was settled, I tugged, wordlessly inviting him in beside me. He followed, sliding in beside me, lying on his side—rigid, arm tucked under the pillow, not touching me.

Fear clung to him like a second skin. I could feel it radiating off him.

I watched him.

And then I moved.

I slid closer, slowly, not wanting to spook the wounded thing beside me. I guided him to turn over, until his back faced me. Carefully, I molded myself into him, my front flush with his back, the curves of our bodies locking together like we were cut from the same piece of creation.

Then I slid my hand forward.

Under his arm. Around his chest. Until my palm settled over the place I needed most to touch—his heart.

It was thundering.

Not beating—pounding. Hard. Erratic. Frantic with fear. The adrenaline in him coursed like a river. But I didn’t pull away.

I stayed.

I held.

My head rested on his shoulder. His scent filled my lungs—woody, masculine, familiar. Safe. Even in this chaos, he still smelled like home. He exhaled then, a long, staggered breath like he’d been holding it for days.

A sob followed it.

A single, quiet, soul-baring sob.

It broke me.

That sound—so raw, so broken—held more truth than any words he could say. In it, I heard everything. His guilt. His fear. His love. His regret. And I ~knew~.

I knew in that moment that everything we’d shared was real. The way he loved me, the way he kissed me, the way he saw me. The way he held me at night like he was afraid I’d vanish. All of it was real.

Despite the secrets. Despite the scars.

Despite the darkness in the chapters he hadn’t yet shown me.

I felt my tears fall. Softly at first, then steadily. They soaked into the warm skin of his back, and I knew he felt them. I knew, because his hand came up—slowly—and covered mine.

His palm over my fingers.

A lifeline, tangled in vulnerability.

That was all we needed.

We lay like that—silently crying, silently healing—clinging to each other in a room that had become our sanctuary. I stayed with the rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingertips. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The warmth that seeped between our skin.

And slowly, the weight eased.

Slowly, the storm inside me softened.

I began to drift.

Sleep was a shadow I hadn’t expected to find tonight … but in his arms, wrapped around this broken man who held my soul… I found it.

Just as I surrendered to that peace, I heard his voice. Barely audible. Gravelled with emotion.

But it reached me, even in the haze of slumber.

“I’d die without you.”

And in my heart, I knew…

So would I.