Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 133

She’s Leaking Fluids.

Conner

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It’s pushing midnight, and the hotel room smells like bourbon, takeout, and the kind of sweat that comes from too many hours of sitting around waiting. Matteo is stretched out across the couch, boots on the armrest, flicking through channels he’s not even watching. Liam’s sitting at the table across from me, cards fanned out in his hands, playing a game of solitaire that I’m pretty sure he’s making up as he goes. I swirl the glass in my hand, the amber liquid catching the low lamplight. It’s good bourbon, smooth, burns just enough to make me feel something, but it doesn’t touch the restless pull in my chest.

“Any word from the girls yet?” Matteo asks without looking up.

I recheck my phone. Nothing. Just the same empty screen, the same small knot sitting behind my ribs. “Nah,” I mutter. “They’ll check in when they’re ready.”

He grunts, unconvinced, and I can feel both of them watching me even though they pretend not to. I know they’re thinking the same thing I am, but I also know Sage. If something had gone wrong, I’d feel it. I’d know.

Still, it doesn’t stop me from rechecking the bank app, because I’m a glutton for punishment. The new charge sits right there, bold as brass: $3,046.27 – Toyland Superstore.

I can’t help but chuckle, shaking my head. “Christ, she’s lucky she’s cute.”

Liam glances up. “What?”

“She spent a couple of thousand at the toy store hours ago.”

He grins. “Bet it’s for the kid.”

“Course it is.” I take another drink, staring at the number until the words blur. “She’s got a soft spot for lost things.”

It goes quiet for a minute, save for the hum of the AC and Matteo’s lazy flipping through the channels. I should be relaxed. The job’s halfway done. The team’s safe. But there’s this ache in my chest that only one person knows how to fix.

I sigh, rubbing my face. “Don’t get me wrong, lads,” I start, glancing between them, “this is nice and all. Bourbon, cards, quality male bonding time.”

Matteo snorts. “Yeah, we’re a regular bloody spa retreat.”

“Right?” I grin, then let it fade with another drink. “But you two fart, burp, and smell like shit. You’re not her.”

Liam barks a laugh, half–choking on his drink. “Jesus, you’re getting soft, boss.”

“Maybe.” I grin faintly, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “But she’s worth it.”

They don’t say anything after that, and they don’t have to. The silence that follows is almost comfortable. Still, I can’t help glancing at the door, wishing it would open, wishing I could feel her laughter fill this empty, stale room again. Because, yeah. I might be a killer, a leader, a man who’s fought a dozen wars, but when it comes to Sage, I’m just a fool waiting for his girl to come home.

The hotel door creaks open, and the second I see her with her hood half down and Naomi at her side, my heart kicks hard against my ribs.

1/3

12:33 Wed, Oct 22

She’s Leaking Fluids.

73

Relief hits me like a goddamn freight train. She’s safe. She’s here. I’m already halfway across the room before they’ve even made it inside, the bourbon glass forgotten on the table. Naomi gives me this look, then nudges Sage forward, a little too gently to be casual. “I think it’s broken,” she blurts out.

Sage groans, glaring at her boots. “Naomi…” she mutters, voice low and sharp.

“Broken?” I ask, looking between them, my chest tightening. “What’s broken?”

Naomi throws her hands up. “I don’t know! She’s leaking fluid, people and not from her vagina,” she waves vaguely, grimacing.

It takes me a second. Then it clicks. “Oh.”

Sage huffs, crossing her arms tighter, jaw clenched like she’s trying not to feel anything. But her eyes, yeah, her eyes give her away. They’re glassy and red at the edges.

“Come here, sweetheart,” I say quietly, stepping in.

She hesitates for half a second, but I don’t give her time to argue. I just pull her in, arms wrapping around her until she fits perfectly against me, head tucked under my chin. I feel the small tremor in her shoulders before she even breathes out.

Behind us, Naomi catches Matteo’s eye and jerks her head toward the door. “Come on, boys. Exit, stage left.”

“Yeah,” Liam murmurs, already pushing up from the couch. The three of them slip out without another word, the door clicking softly shut behind them.

The room goes quiet. Just the sound of her breathing, uneven, shaky, and my own heart trying to steady itself.

I rest my chin on her head, rubbing slow circles down her back. “You cried, didn’t you?” I whisper, not accusing, just…knowing.

She doesn’t answer, but her silence says everything.

“Yeah,” I murmur, holding her a little tighter. “That’s alright, Ghost. You can cry. You did good tonight.”

She lets out a tiny laugh against my chest, muffled and raw. “You’re not supposed to know how to handle this.”

I smile faintly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Baby girl, I’d learn to fly a rocket ship if you needed me to.”

We stand there in the quiet, her tears soaking into my shirt, my hands anchoring her steady, no more words, there’s no need for them.

After a while, her shaking starts to ease, but she’s still clutching my shirt like she’s afraid the world will crack open if she lets go. I brush my thumb under her eye and catch another tear before it falls. “Come on, sweetheart,” I murmur, “Sit down for a bit.” She lets me lead her over to the bed, quiet as a ghost, eyes glassy and far away. I grab the bag she packed earlier and rummage through until I find a pair of her soft pyjama shorts and one of my old shirts. I drop them on the chair by the bathroom door, then turn on the taps in the tub, letting the water run hot. The steam rolls up, carrying that faint scent of hotel soap. When I come back out, she’s sitting exactly where I left her, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing. “Hey,” I say softly, kneeling in front of her. “You’re okay, yeah?”

She blinks at me once, then shakes her head, just a tiny bit.

“Alright,” I whisper, fingers brushing over her wrists. “Then let me help.”

2/3

12:33 Wed, Oct 22

She’s Leaking Fluids.

I peel her clothes away, slow and careful. Her hands tremble when I reach for the last layer, so I keep my touch soft, until she’s bare in front of me, still beautiful, still mine. “In you go,” I tell her gently, guiding her toward the bath.

She steps in, hissing softly at the heat, and sinks down until the water hugs her shoulders.

I strip next, quick and unceremonious, and climb in behind her. “Scoot forward, sweetheart,” I murmur. She does, and I settle in, legs bracketing hers, pulling her back until her spine rests against my chest.

“There you go,” I whisper against her temple, arms circling her. “Right where you belong.”

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