“Yeah.” I roll us over, pinning her beneath me, watching her eyes darken again. “In fact, I think we should practice.”
Her laugh turns into a gasp as I rock against her. “Practice?”
“Making babies is an important skill.” I nip at her collarbone. “It requires dedication. Repetition.”
“Very scientific approach.”
“I’m thorough.” I trail lower, and she arches into me. “Methodical.”
“Sawyer—”
“That's my name.” I grin against her stomach. “Keep saying it.”
Much later, after round two and the shower that turned into round three, Jessie finally falls asleep.
I watch her for a long moment, admiring how her face softens in sleep and how she instinctively curls toward me, seeking warmth even in unconsciousness. The sight of her in our bed, in our cabin, in our life feels profound.
Ours.
Carefully, I slip out of bed and tiptoe across the cabin. The torn papers still litter the kitchen floor from when she destroyed them earlier, remnants of her choice, our choice.
I crouch down and pick up the pieces one by one:Petition for Annulment,Grounds for Dissolution, signature lines that will never be signed.
The wood stove is still warm. I feed the scraps into the fire, watching them curl, blacken, and vanish.
Best mistake either of us ever made.
When the last scrap—Jessica Marie Henry—catches fire and turns to ash, I close the stove door and stand there, watching the flames settle.
Behind me, Jessie murmurs something in her sleep. I turn to look at the woman who walked into my life and made me believe I wasn't too much after all.
I climb back into bed, pulling her against my chest. She sighs and nestles closer, her hand finding its familiar place over my heart.
“Love you,” she mumbles, half-asleep.
“Love you too, Smudge.” I press a kiss to her hair. “Go back to sleep.”
She does.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I do too.
No nightmares. No restless thoughts. Just her warmth beside me and the quiet certainty that I’m exactly where I'm meant to be.
Chapter 13
Jessie
Tank’s hand finds my knee as we turn onto the main ranch road, his thumb tracing slow circles through my jeans like he knows exactly how fast my heart is racing.
After everything we’ve been through, you’d think I’d be past getting nervous. But I’m not. Because I’m meeting his best friends, who are like his ‘family,’ and their partners.
“You’re quiet.”
“I’m mentally preparing.” The main house comes into view, warm light spilling from every window, trucks already parked in a haphazard cluster by the porch. “You could’ve warned me this was a wholething.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“With your entire military unit.”
