We both startled.
The bubble of intimacy around us burst.
Skye jerked in my arms, and I pulled back at the same time, the kiss breaking like the snap of a taut thread.
We stared at each other, breathless.
Her lips were parted and swollen. Some color had returned to her face.
I gave her a crooked, sheepish grin, feeling embarrassed about the loss of control. As much as I wanted to continue that kiss…the fog of passion waned as reason broke through.
“We should,” I said, still panting, “probably get some rest. We need to leave early tomorrow so we can get home.”
She didn’t answer right away. She just nodded, flustered, like she didn’t quite trust her voice. Slowly, she turned around, settling back into me. Her spine curved against my chest, our bodies finding that familiar shape.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and rested my chin near the crown of her head.
Eventually, our breathing evened out.
But I didn’t fall asleep instantly. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the storm rage outside.
Wondering what the hell that kiss meant.
Wondering what it was going to mean going forward.
And trying not to hope too much that it meant everything.
23
Skye
Iwokeslowly,surfacingfromsleep like I was rising through fog. The first thing I noticed was warmth. The second was the steady rhythm of Fox’s breathing. My forehead was pressed against his bare chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his chin resting lightly on top of my head.
He was still asleep. I, on the other hand, was suddenly wide awake.
I zeroed in on the tattoo inked across his chest. The vertical infinity loop—with the triangle tucked inside the lower curve—stared back at me, quiet and haunting. The sight of it sent a flood of emotion crashing into me, stealing the air from my lungs.
I didn’t actively think about the baby. I hadn’t in years. It was too much, too intense. It was easier to compartmentalize it, to push it deep down and never look at it too closely. But Fox… Fox had remembered. He’d carried that memory for both of us.
Gratitude came first. Followed closely by love. Because no matter what had happened between Fox and me, part of me would always love him.
Then the guilt hit. And the grief. The sharp, aching kind that crept in through the quiet moments and wrapped itself around your ribs.
I wasn’t in the business of feeling feelings. Not if I could avoid them. I was good at distractions. At work. At pushing forward. But here, in the stillness of morning, tangled in Fox’s arms, there was no room for avoidance. No noise. Nothing to drown it out.
I had left Fox for so many reasons. But mostly? Because I’d believed he deserved better. He had been willing to give up everything—his family, his future, his home—for me. I couldn’t let him do that. He would’ve chosen me, even if it ruined him.
But now…now I knew he’d mourned the life we could’ve had. The family. The baby. That quiet grief he’d buried under ink and muscle and silence hit me harder than I expected.
He shifted, pulling me from the spiral.
“How are you feeling?” His voice was rough.
My heart gave a traitorous little quiver. I tilted my head back, meeting his sleepy gaze. His hair was a tousled mess. Without the tattoos, I might have believed I’d time-traveled straight back to our teenage years.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
His answering smile melted something inside me.
