I inhale deeply, exhaling just as slow, my grip flexing around the remote before I toss it onto the nightstand, letting it clatter against the wood as the noise from the TV turns into background static. My fingers twitch against my thigh, my entire body wired too tight, and before I can think too hard about it, before I can stop myself from acting on the need to be closer to her, I reach out, my hands finding her waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her hoodie as I pull her into my lap.

Haven lets out a soft gasp, her balance shifting as she moves with me, instinctively bracing her hands against my chest, her wide brown eyes locking onto mine the second she settles against me. My arms wrap around her, grounding me just as much as I hope I’m grounding her, my palms spreading against her lower back, keeping her there, needing her there.

Her brows pull together, concern flashing across her face, her voice softer now, careful. “Carter,” she murmurs, her fingers curling slightly against my shirt. “Talk to me.”

I exhale sharply, my grip on her tightening, my forehead dipping just slightly toward her shoulder before I force myself to meet her gaze again, because I need to say it. I need her to hear it. “I don’t want you to leave,” I admit, my voice rough, quieter than I meant for it to be but somehow heavier than I expected. “I know you have to, I know this was just a visit, but…” I shake my head, my jaw clenching, frustration burning in my chest. “Fuck, Haven, I don’t want this to be over.”

Her expression shifts, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t brush it off, doesn’t give me some easy, distant response. Instead, she shifts again, her fingers moving, trailing along the side of my neck, her touch light but firm, like she’s letting me know she’s here, really here, in this moment with me. “It’s not over,” she says softly, her thumb brushing against my skin, her voice steady, sure. “Just because I have to leave doesn’t mean this ends.”

I stare at her, swallowing hard, trying to hold onto those words, trying to believe in them the way she does, but there’s a part of me, this deep, aching part that worries the second she walks out that door, everything shifts back to how it was before.