Lyra
Liam was asleep.
The energy he had expended dragged him under fast.
His hand still rested on my waist, holding me just tightly enough that I couldn’t move. I turned a little, facing him, and let my eyes trace the lines of his face. In sleep, he looked different—softer, younger—stripped of the hard edges he wore like armor. His lips parted with each slow breath. For a moment, I let myself look past the anger in my chest, past the scars our love had carved into me. He was still handsome. Beautiful, even. He always had been. This was the man I had fallen in love with. The man a part of me still loved.
My chest squeezed.
I shook every warm thought out of my head.
I had a moment of relapse earlier, but this would not happen again.
Quietly, I eased myself out of his grip.
The ma
