Chapter 64

AIDEN

“We’ll see when it comes to that.”

Her calmness should have been comforting, but before I could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the fragile moment. Two pairs—heavy and purposeful—entered the kitchen. Carlos came first, his expression unreadable, followed closely by Cillian. The air immediately shifted, changing from quiet and peaceful to charged and heavy. Freya and I quickly untangled.

“Cillian,” I muttered, his name heavy on my tongue.

His eyes locked onto mine. His face was an unreadable mask of exhaustion. “The surgery was successful. It was complicated, but successful,” he said hurriedly, the words tumbling out as if they were a burden he was desperate to unload. He had come all the way to tell me the news. Relief began to creep in, tentative and hesitant, until his gaze shifted to the breakfast counter. I knew things were about to go wrong.

“You’re having a fucking feast!” His voice exploded, disbelief and anger pouring out like a torrent.

I shut my eyes and sighed. I could see his perspective; it looked like I was celebrating. Fucking hell.

“And I thought I should come and talk to you. Maybe I went overboard yesterday.” His voice was sharp, each word cutting deeper than the last.

“I came to tell you that she’s awake and asking for you. But you’re celebrating. You just don’t care. I should’ve known that when you left yesterday the moment I asked you to.”

The venom in his tone hit me like a punch to the gut. “It’s not like that,” I managed, keeping my voice even, though my insides churned.

“It’s exactly like that,” he spat, his fury unabated. “You’re a fucking selfish bastard.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing my expression to remain neutral, though every word he hurled at me felt like a dagger twisting deeper into my chest.

“Shut the fuck up,” Freya snapped, her voice slicing through the tension like a whip.

Cillian and I turned to her in shock. She looked annoyed and fed up, her irritated glance directed at Cillian.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his anger now redirected. “Excuse me?”

“Freya,” I interrupted, my tone a warning. The last thing I wanted was for her to get caught in the crossfire. Cillian was angry, raw, and desperate.

But Freya was undeterred. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be interfering between you two—”

“Damn straight you shouldn’t,” Cillian cut her off, his voice dripping with disdain.

“But I will if you talk to him like that,” she shot back, her tone unwavering.

He let out a humorless chuckle, his mocking stare now fixed firmly on me. “So you hide behind your girlfriend now?”

Freya squared her shoulders, refusing to back down. “You’re angry and frustrated, and you’re channeling it all towards him. And I know Aiden’s just going to let you insult him because he cares for you. He wants to protect your feelings. But I want to protect his. So I’m not going to stand and watch you hurt him.”

Her words hit like a freight train. I glanced at her, my chest tightening with a foreign feeling. Her interruption would only complicate things, but I couldn’t help the raw emotion that hit me. She stood up for me. I hadn’t had people stand up for me, and over time I learned to do it myself. I had toughened up and could defend myself, but I’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone else defend you.

Cillian’s jaw tightened. “He’s trying to protect my feelings? From what exactly?”

“From—” Freya started, but I reached out and grabbed her hand, silencing her before she could reveal too much. She looked at me, her expression softening slightly, before closing her eyes and letting out a steadying breath.

“Just don’t say things you’re going to regret later,” she softened her voice, but her tone was firm.

Cillian stared at her for a long moment, his face a storm of conflicting emotions, before turning abruptly and storming out of the house.

I let out a shaky breath, glancing at Freya. She squeezed my hand, her touch grounding me. She turned towards me.

“I’m sorry—I promise I didn’t want to make things worse between you two.” I nodded. I knew it wasn’t her intention, but somehow that’s what happened.

“You shouldn’t have said anything. He’s hurting.”

“But so are you,” she countered, looking offended on my behalf.

“Freya—” I was trying to make her see reason, but she didn’t let me finish.

“No. I couldn’t just be a silent spectator as he insults the man I—insults you,” she said, glancing away, hoping I hadn’t noticed her changing her words. Luckily, I did.

“What did you say?” I was eager to hear her words.

“I couldn’t watch him insult you,” she mumbled, but those weren’t the exact words she’d said.

“No. The man you what?” I stepped closer, eating up the distance between us.

“The man you what, Freya?” I pressed on, desperately wanting to hear her say the words, to confirm I wasn’t hearing things.

“Love. I said ‘the man I love,’ okay? I love you,” she snapped before taking a deep breath, her expression turning uneasy as if the weight of her words just started to feel real.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t ready to fall in love or get into a relationship, but it happened.”

Freya was now mumbling almost to herself. “I fell in love with you. You made me fall in love with you. It’s difficult to even imagine a life where you’re not there. Now I don’t know what to do with these feelings.” She trailed off, probably realizing she was rambling.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. This is not a good time, I know. I shouldn’t have—” I cut her off by grabbing her face and slamming my lips down on hers. She put her hands on my arms to support herself.

“I love you,” I blurted when I broke the kiss.

Freya went absolutely still for a second before murmuring a disbelieving, “You do?” Uncertainty still swam in those forest green orbs. “So you’re not just simply saying it back because I said—”

“You’re the woman I’ve been pining after for years,” I declared, hoping it would shatter all her doubts.

“You have no bloody idea how much I fucking love you. And you have no bloody idea how fucking ecstatic I am to hear you say the words.”

I might as well have worn a “simp” t-shirt. But fuck if I cared. The woman who had taken over my mind and heart, the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about, admitted that she loved me. The rest of the world could go fuck themselves.

“Okay. That’s good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The corners of her lips curved into a beautiful smile.

“Yeah!”

She looked up then, her eyes meeting mine with a quiet certainty. Her voice was soft, but her expression held a flicker of something stronger—trust, maybe even joy.

“Say it again,” I traced the length of her face with my index finger.

“I love you.” The words tumbled out of her like a confession, raw and unguarded. Her cheeks flushed as she spoke, but her gaze never wavered.

“Again.” I didn’t mean for my voice to break, but it did. Something about hearing her say it wasn’t enough. I needed it to fill the space, to wrap around me and suffocate me. I was drowning in her, and I never wanted to come up for air.

“I love you.” Her voice grew steadier now. She sounded amused.

“Keep saying it.” I didn’t care if I sounded desperate. My hands found hers, pulling her closer as my pulse roared in my ears.

“I love you, I love you, I love—” I couldn’t help it. I picked her up, her startled laugh ringing out as I twirled her in the air. I could never get tired of hearing the sound of her laughter, of seeing her eyes shine bright with that tender happiness. As I set her down, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, and the warmth of her smile was all I needed.