Is this…is this what moms feel when they tuck their kids in?
Am I a mom now?
Mother of nuns.
Wait—they have, like, a Mother Superior, right? The boss nun?
Leader of the penguins.
If she's also called a sister, does that make us her brother?
Omg, "wincest" could be a thing. Gonna get all Game of Throney up in this—
My charge lets out a little content sigh that warms me in all the wrong places, yet still, I don’t move.
Because she’s right here—this impossible girl—with her face pressed against my abs, like I’m safe to be around.
Spoiler alert. I’mnot.
But she doesn’t know that. Or maybe she does and doesn’t care.
Her hair spills across my stomach, soft against my skin, copper catching the low light. I pick up a curl, twist it between my fingers. It slides through, wild and smooth.
I’ve never done this before—this staying still thing. I don’t do soft. I don’t dogentle.
Usually it’s…yeah, she’s satisfied, I’ve blown my load, time to bounce.
Or, the classics…
Thanks, Trey. Can I meet Logan?
Like I’m a steppingstone on the way to the headliners.
Disposable.
Fine. Maybe that’s easier. Because the truth? I’m not built for keeping.
Braden would lose it if he saw me now.
He’d call me a simp, then tell me to stop acting like I’m broken.
Tell me I’m fine the way I am.
He’d be wrong, but I’d let him say it.
For a second, I just breathe.
Her warmth seeps into me. Her quiet, her stillness—it sinks under my ribs like a hum I don’t recognize.
Peace.
It shouldn’t be there.
I twitch.
I squirm.
My life’s been built on noise and motion and damage control. I don’t know what to do with peace—it feels like wearing someone else’s skin.
