Chapter 74: Don’t let go
Chapter 73
Ciel
I watch Jack’s sleeping form.
We’d only just gotten back to the house, after maybe two hours in the car, the kind of silence between us that isn’t uncomfortable but heavy — the kind that settles on your shoulders and refuses to move.
Jack hadn’t opted to eat when we got inside, hadn’t even changed out of his clothes. He just walked upstairs like someone running out of energy mid-sentence and collapsed on the bed.
He didn’t fall asleep. He blacked out.
The kind of exhaustion that swallows a person whole.
I stood there for a while, hovering at the edge of the bed, unsure if I should stay or go.But then he reached out — not with his usual confidence, not with the easy strength that’s so naturally him — but gently, like he was asking for something without words. His hand caught mine just as I shifted away.
"Stay," he’d murmured, voice low and tired.
How could I not?
Jack doesn’t talk about his past. Not really. He deflects with jokes, smirks, the kind of charm that hides more than it reveals. But then again... neither do I. We both have ghosts trailing behind us. Maybe they’re different kinds of monsters, maybe some are louder than others, but they’re still there.
Always there.
Maybe one day, we’ll open up to each other — peel back the layers and show the ugly parts we pretend don’t exist. But until then... I’ll be Jack’s center of gravity.
The way he’s already mine.
I don’t have much to offer. No grand declarations. No shiny future tied up in a neat bow. Just me. This bruised, cracked, stitched-together version of myself. I just hope that’s enough.
Jack looks so different when he’s asleep. No teasing grin. No eyes that look into your soul.
Jack is human. I mean I knew that.
This proves Jack is not perfect.
Actually, that’s the thing — he’s more than perfect. He’s human.
All my life, alphas have been the same. Arrogant. Narcissistic. Piss-poor excuses of people wrapped in muscle and entitlement. Alphas to me meant danger. Alphas meant control. Alphas meant my breath caught somewhere between fear and fury.
Jack... is not like them.
Jack is an outlier.
That must be why I love him.
Love.
The word echoes like a bell in my head. Heavy. Unavoidable.
Yeah. I love him.
I love the way he makes me feel safe in a way that terrifies me. I love the way his arms wrap around me without demanding anything in return. I love the way his voice softens when he says my name. I love the way his voice is filled obvious affection when he calls me sunshine.
Nolan is the other half of my soul, the person who lives in the spaces between my breaths, the one I’ve always known I could find even in the dark.
But Jack... Jack is something else entirely. He’s light. Color. Solid ground beneath my feet. A kind of steadiness I didn’t think I’d ever get to have.
I smooth the wrinkles from his sleeping face, fingers trailing softly over the lines on his brow. He looks younger like this.
My thumb brushes over the back of his hand, still wrapped tight around mine, iron-clad even in sleep. It’s like he’s afraid that if he lets go, I’ll disappear.
A soft knock sounds against the door. It’s light, almost testing the waters, like whoever’s outside isn’t sure they should be here.
"Come in," I whisper, my voice barely above the hum of the night.
The door creaks open a little, and Nolan peeks his head in,his cheeks are pink, like he’s been overthinking this moment the entire walk down the hall. He steps inside slowly, as if Jack might wake up and bare his teeth at him. He doesn’t—Jack’s still dead to the world.
Nolan stops by the bed and perches carefully on the edge, his movements featherlight.
"What’s going on?" he whispers, glancing at Jack like the man’s some sleeping bear.
I shrug. What is going on? I don’t know either.
"Obviously," Nolan continues softly, "I can’t make a mean meal the way you can, but I prepared some dinner. Just pasta and meatballs, so dinner?"
I lift my left hand—well, I try to. Jack’s got it clamped in his iron grip, like I’ll disappear if he lets go. I wiggle my fingers in Nolan’s direction instead.
He snorts quietly, the tension easing a little from his shoulders. "I’ll bring it up then."
He disappears as quietly as he came, and when he returns a few minutes later,with a plate and tray.
Luckily Jack’s grip is on my left hand, I take the plate, it’s a little awkward but it works.The pasta smells warm and garlicky, the sauce thick with just enough spice to make it comforting.
"It’s good," I say after my first bite, meaning it.
Nolan’s lips twitch upward, and his nose scrunches just the slightest bit. He tries to downplay it. "It was nothing."
"Uh-huh," I hum, amused. "I bet Lanny’s favorite pacifier you made absolute hell of that kitchen."
He ducks his head, but the sheepish grin gives him away.
We eat like that— well me eating, him perched close, talking in quiet voices so we don’t wake the sleeping Alpha sprawled next to us. It’s easy, warm, the kind of domestic softness that sneaks up on you. I finish my meal with Nolan throwing in little jabs, and me teasing him right back.
Eventually, his gaze shifts to Jack. He leans closer, studying the Alpha’s face with almost childish fascination.
"Wow," Nolan murmurs. "He’s really knocked out cold."
"Yeah," I reply, lowering my voice instinctively. "I think he needed the rest."
Nolan circles the bed to Jack’s side and sits again, as careful as before. His eyes roam Jack’s face, lingering on the lines that have softened now that he’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"He’s so handsome it’s unfair," Nolan says, clicking his tongue.
I smirk. "I know."
"Like... look at him," Nolan adds, gesturing vaguely. "The stupid jawline, the lips, the dumb curly hair. I mean, who gets to look like that ?"
I laugh quietly, choking a little on the sound. He’s not wrong.
And then—because my mouth has always had a direct line to trouble—I say, "Did you know he has a piercing on his dick?"
Nolan’s head snaps toward me so fast I’m half-afraid he’s going to sprain something. His blue eyes are wide, almost comically so.
"No," he breathes, scandalized and intrigued in equal measure.
I nod solemnly, like I’m delivering classified information. "It’s silver. I gave him head once, and it was... something. Especially paired with his humongous dick."
Nolan’s mouth opens, then closes again, like he doesn’t know where to even begin processing that.
"What? He doesn’t look like the type," he blurts.
"I know," I whisper back, grinning. "I kept forgetting to tell you about it."
His gaze drops unconsciously toward the bottom of the bed, like Jack’s going to pull the covers back and show him.
"So is it at the—" Nolan starts, but Jack shifts in his sleep, rolling onto his back with a low groan. The sound shuts Nolan right up. He holds his breath like a guilty teenager caught snooping.
Jack doesn’t wake, though. He just tightens his grip on my hand, as if reminding me I’m not going anywhere.
Nolan lets out a shaky laugh and stands, shaking his head. He reaches for the dirty plate, balancing it in one hand. Before he steps away, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead, the gesture quiet and familiar.
"This conversation isn’t over," he murmurs.
"Wouldn’t dream of it," I reply with a grin.
The door clicks shut behind him, and silence wraps the room again. Jack shifts, still half-asleep, his hand gripping mine like a lifeline.
I let out a soft sigh and ease down onto the bed, curling closer until my head finds the space beneath his jaw. His scent is warm and heavy, grounding. My eyelids grow heavy.
I shift a little closer to him, careful not to jostle the bed too much. Jack’s a heavy sleeper, but the moment my breath fans against his skin, he hums low in his throat—a sound that rumbles through his chest, warm and lazy.
His arm moves instinctively, wrapping around me and dragging me flush against him. Even half-asleep, the man is possessive.
My face ends up pressed against the curve of his neck, right where his pulse beats slow and steady. It’s warm here, his skin smelling faintly of lavender and sunlight, and something that’s just... him.
He shifts again, murmuring something against my hair. I can’t make out the words, but the intent is there. He pulls me tighter, tucking my head under his chin, as if I belong here, like I’ve always belonged here.
"I’m not going anywhere," I whisper, even though he’s asleep.
He doesn’t hear me. Or maybe some part of him does, because his fingers tighten against my waist in response, anchoring me there, right where he wants me.