Our Finest Moment ✔️

32

LIANA

For my wife,
To protect you when I can't.

A gun.

Colton gave me a gun. That's not even the worst part, honestly, because when I turn it around to look at it, I see it's a Colt. That means something, doesn't it? And the note means something, too. Everything means something more with him, but I can never figure out what or why—and I'm starting to get tired of it.

And I can't get over how everything just ceased to exist around us when we locked eyes in the hallway. It was...surreal. That was way more than sexual tension—even I know that—but how much more? I was already confused, and now I might be going crazy. I woke up in his arms today, barely remembering the mind-blowing sex before I fell asleep, and it felt good. I felt warm and safe.

With him.

What the fuck happened to learning his triggers and using them against him? Now it looks more like I'm learning to turn hate into love, or exchange my sanity for idiocy. I don't want either of those things, and I certainly don't want him or his murderous, psychopathic tendencies. It could be contagious. I could end up with a never-ending thirst for blood.

I slap my palm to my forehead, groaning loudly to myself as I simply stare at the stupid gift he gave me. Maybe I should get him something, too. Something nice that represents me. Though, it would be more like he's getting himself something, considering all the money I spend is really his.. But does that matter? I don't know, and I don't want to find out—meaning I won't go out of my way to find him a present.

The pistol is heavy and looks old, and I'm not sure I could ever use it, but—surprisingly enough—I appreciate it. This shit I've become entangled in is way more dangerous than anything I've ever imagined. I'm sure my parents would appreciate that I have something to protect myself with when Colton's not around. Not that he will be very often, which may be the reason for the gift.

Unless it's another way to fuck with my mind, giving me a weapon with his name on it.

I'm not having that. My hand tightens around the gun, and I start towards the door, fully determined to find him, wherever he went in this too-big and ridiculously elaborate house.

Following him down the stairs, I decide to try the kitchen or living rooms first. I don't find him in the two living rooms on the first floor, not even by the glorious fire I've wanted to sit by and play my guitar for weeks now—I've just been afraid I'll bother Colton with it. I should just not give a shit about what he thinks, and I'm going to do it. Soon.

As I enter the dining room, I hear the fridge door closing, and I know I've found him. I step into the room and put the gun on the island counter, the sound so sharp it makes my ears ring.

Colton turns around, just as he takes a bite out of a red apple. The way his jaw moves as he chews distracts me for a few seconds, until I blink the sight away and push the gun towards him on the other side of the stone counter.

"I can't accept this," I tell him with the strictest voice I can muster. Then I cross my arms and incline my head, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, you can," he retorts, swallowing the contents of his mouth. "You just say, 'thank you, Colton', and take it. You can do it."

He places his hands widely on the island, his jaw ticking as he looks down at the gun, and then at me. My brows furrow and I huff. "I don't want it."

"So you're suicidal again?" He arches a brow at me, and then he shrugs with one shoulder, as if it's no big deal if I am.

The fact that he just immediately goes there because I had one weak moment in front of him with a knife makes my blood boil, and not in the same way it does when he undresses me with his eyes.