But my body doesn’t give a single care about logic…it just melts right into him.
Like I was carved to fit in that exact place. Which is crazy when you think about his hard body and my very soft one.
Skip’s arms wrap around me fully, warm and strong and mentally calming in a way Knuckles’ hug wasn’t.
Knuckles’ hug felt like support. Like comfort. Like someone steadying a friend.
Skip’s feels like gravity. Like safety. Like somehow the entire world goes quiet in his arms.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt without me meaning to.
“I… I’m okay,” I manage. “Just… tired.”
Skip exhales slowly.
“Areyouokay?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “But, I’ll explain why when we all gather in the war room in a few hours.”
What’s the war room?
Knuckles clears his throat. “Uh… incoming.”
I pull back just enough to look through the kitchen doorway to where Knuckles stands at the front door.
Four women, a toddler, and a little girl who can’t be older than six all pour into the house like a cheerful ambush.
One of the women is holding something wrapped in foil.
One has a diaper bag.
The little girl has construction paper.
The toddler is dragging a stuffed dinosaur that’s seen better days.
They all speak at once.
“There he is!”
“Oh, he’s awake!”
“Is this Eli?”
“He looks so sweet!”
“CAN I SHOW HIM MY PICTURE?”
I blink.
Skip groans under his breath. “Welcome committee.”
Knuckles smirks. “Told you.”
The toddler stares up at me, drools, and immediately raises his arms like he expects me to pick him up.
“What’s happening?” I whisper.
Skip just chuckles and keeps an arm around me so I don’t get swept away in the chaos.
