Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 51

Her Obsession.

I’m Sorry.

Sage picked up her spoon, swirling it slowly through the stew before tasting it. Her eyes went half–lidded, and she made a quiet, appreciative sound. “Alright… you might actually be useful outside of killing people.”

I chuckled. “High praise from you, Ghost.”

“It’s good,” she said, almost begrudgingly, before taking another bite. “Comfort food. Let me guess, your mother’s recipe?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, leaning back in my chair. “Made it every Sunday. If you were good, she let you sneak a piece of bread before dinner. If you were bad, she still fed you, just didn’t let you hear the end of it.”

Her lips twitched. “I bet you were trouble.”

“Still am,” I said, watching her hide a smirk behind her wine glass.

She glanced at me then, softer, like she was letting me in past her usual walls. “Feels… nice. Sitting here. No noise. No gunfire.”

“Then we’ll make more nights like this,” I said without thinking. And I meant it.

Her gaze lingered on mine for a beat too long before she looked away, spoon tapping against the bowl. We finished eating slower than either of us needed to, like drawing out the moment might keep the rest of the world at bay.

When Sage finally set her spoon down, I stood and started clearing the dishes. “Don’t move, I’ve got it.”

“Not a chance,” she said, pushing her chair back. “You cooked, I’ll help.”

I tried to argue, she was still healing but she was already stacking plates and heading for the sink. I followed, catching the faintest smirk as she passed me. We worked side by side, the warm water running, the quiet clink of dishes filling the silence. Every so often, her arm would brush mine, and I’d catch her glancing up at me from under her lashes.

When we finished, she leaned against the counter, drying her hands on a towel. “Not bad for a date night, big guy.”

“Next time,” I said, stepping closer, “I’ll make dessert.”

Her mouth curved in that dangerous, knowing smile. “Careful, darling. You keep this up, I might get used to you.”

And God help me, that’s exactly what I wanted. There was never a question of whether Sage would sleep in her own room tonight. It wasn’t even something we spoke about, it was just understood. She padded into the bedroom ahead of me, her movements easy but deliberate, like she was already mapping her spot in the bed. I ducked into the bathroom, brushing my teeth while listening to the soft rustle of blankets. When I came back out, she was sitting on the edge of my bed, her hair loose over her shoulders, one of my shirts hanging off her frame like it belonged there.

“You ready?” I asked.

“Always,” she murmured, crawling in and holding the blanket open for me.

I slid in beside her, the warmth of her body already pulling me in. She didn’t hesitate, just curled into me, her head finding its place against my chest, her arm sliding around my waist. For a long moment, we didn’t speak. Just the sound of our breathing syncing, the rise and fall of her chest against mine. I let my hand trace idle lines along her back, committing the feeling of her here, safe, in my arms.

“You’re comfortable,” she mumbled, almost asleep already.

“You’re stuck with me now,” I whispered back.

Her fingers tightened slightly against my side, like she had something to say but wouldn’t and with her wrapped around me like I was something worth holding onto, I let the rest of the world fall away.

7:25 pm &

I’m Sorry

Sage

Conner’s breathing had evened out a while ago, slow and steady against my ear. I stayed there longer than I should have, letting myself soak it in, his warmth, the way his arm stayed draped over me even in sleep, the way his heartbeat was just loud enough for me to match my own to it. If I stayed any longer, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go. Carefully, inch by inch, I slid out from under his arm. He stirred once, but didn’t wake. My chest ached as I reached for the folded piece of paper on the nightstand, already written hours ago. Just two words. I’m sorry.”

I placed it where I knew he’d see it first thing. The hallway outside felt colder, sharper, like it knew what I was doing. Naomi was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She didn’t say a word, just fell into step beside me. We didn’t speak as we moved, silent shadows past the cameras, the guards, the security measures I’d personally upgraded. I’d built them to keep threats out, not me in. The night air hit us as we slipped through the back gate. A few hundred meters into the trees, the outline of my bike waited, half–hidden in the bushes where I’d left it days ago. Naomi swung onto the back, hands gripping my shoulders lightly. Neither of us looked back as I started the engine, the purr swallowed by the darkness. By this time tomorrow, we’d be back at the compound. Back in the cage we thought we’d escaped. And I had no idea if I’d ever see him again. The road stretched out in front of us like a vein of dark glass, headlights cutting a narrow path through the night. The hum of the engine filled the silence between Naomi and me. She didn’t talk, didn’t ask questions, just let her weight settle against my back, her hands a steady pressure on my sides.

Hours passed in a blur of blacktop and cold wind. My mind wouldn’t stop circling the same thoughts. The compound. The training yards. The smell of oil and gunpowder that clung to everything. Yakov’s voice barking orders that carved themselves into my bones. I’d left that place, but it had never really left me. We stopped just before dawn at a gas station on the edge of a nowhere town. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making my head ache and my body wasn’t feeling any better but pain was just a mental obstacle… I just had to think it didn’t hurt and it wouldn’t hurt so much. I grabbed bottled water, a couple cans of energy drink, and two sandwiches that looked like they’d been sitting there since the last presidential term. She returned with a bag of chips and a wad of cash she’d swiped from a distracted trucker’s wallet.

“Old habits,” she said with a shrug, stuffing the bills into her jacket.

We hit the road again, the horizon just starting to bleed pale gold. Somewhere past the next town, we stopped at a twenty–four–hour laundromat. I bought us both a set of cheap, fresh clothes from the rack in back, jeans, plain tees, and hoodies. The smell of detergent was almost comforting after the stench of rubble and blood. When we rode out again, the air was sharper, cooler. My hands tightened on the handlebars. Every mile brought us closer.

Chapter Comments

Pakalana Piper–somalinog

2 hours ago

I wanna cry 88