“You’re in it.”
My throat tightens. The way he says it—like I’m the miracle he thought he’d never touch again. And for a second, I let myself believe that maybe Iam.
I smile—and it’s not forced this time. Not something I paste on to survive the day. It’s real. Because for the first time in forever,thisfeels real.
And he sees it.
His eyes catch on mine and hold there like an anchor.
Neither of us knows what to say about last night. Not yet.
But somehow… that feels okay. Like silence might be the safest place for now. His touch says enough.
I rest my hand on his chest, feeling the familiar rhythm of his heart beneath my palm. Present. Alive. Here.
Our eyes meet and hold, searching, reaching for what our voices haven’t yet said.
“I’m not letting you go, this time,” he says in a deep, low voice, while his fingers trace down my arm.
And something in me—softens. Sparks. Leans in.
“Well, at some point,” I say, half-teasing, “I’m going to need to use the bathroom.”
He chuckles—a warm, low sound that rumbles against my ribs.
“I suppose I can let go… a little.”
He lets me go—reluctantly, like it takes effort to peel himself away—but his hand lingers at my wrist before releasing me completely.
“I’ll make breakfast,” he adds, already sitting up. “Slightly burnt toast and whatever’s in the fridge.”
“You know your strengths,” I call over my shoulder as I head toward the bathroom.
Behind me, I swear I hear him exhale… lighter.
And in the quiet, between the pain and the healing...
Hope begins to breathe again.
* * *
Dorian
I pull out my phone and type a quick message to David.
Hey. We're ok. I’ll fill you in later. Meantime, I need a favor. Find Andy Moldovan. He used to work with us. It’s important. Urgent. Very. Let me know when you have something.
Next, I switch threads to Maddox.
Send the papers. Now. Lake house printer.
No further explanation needed. He’ll know what I mean.
I move quietly through the kitchen, the smell of toast lingering in the air—slightly burnt, just like I warned. I plate the eggs and fruit, reach for mugs, and pour her hot chocolate and my coffee. I take a breath.
I stare out the window while I wait, eyes landing on the shimmer of the lake. Peaceful. Still. A perfect illusion—like nothing bad has ever touched this place. But this morning, I want to believe in peace again. For her.
The soft sound of footsteps pulls me back. I turn—and there she is.
