Not sharp. Not braced. Not ready to challenge or correct or defend.
Just… Audra.
And it hits me then—not like panic, not like desire—but something quieter and far more dangerous.
This isn’t about fixing her.
And it’s not about proving anything either.
It’s about consistency.
Showing up.
Staying put.
Letting her wake up when she’s ready and knowing I’ll still be right here.
I lean back in the chair, eyes never leaving her, and let the house do what it does best—hold.
For now, that’s enough.
Chapter Eleven
AUDRA
I wake slowly.
Not startled. Not panicked.
Just… aware.
The couch beneath me is wide and plush, the kind you sink into instead of perch on. A blanket is draped over me—not tucked too tight, not careless either. A pillow supports my lower back just right.
Thoughtful. Intentional.
I don’t remember lying down.
I remember bacon. Coffee. Laughter.
The low murmur of the TV.
A steady male voice somewhere nearby—calm, even, measured.
The way Derek stayed close without crowding—like he’d positioned himself to notice if I stirred, not to watch, but to know.
That memory settles warm and strange in my chest.
Safe, I realize.
I shift slightly, the blanket slipping, and instinctively pull it closer around my shoulders. The room remains quiet, steady. No raised voices. No pressure. Just the soft rhythm of a house lived in by someone who expects control—but offers care.
The cadence of Derek’s voice continues—professional, unhurried—then fades briefly, like he’s listening more than talking.
And for the first time since last night, my body doesn’t feel braced for impact.
Curiosity nudges me before logic does.
I push myself upright slowly, careful of the lingering fog in my head, and follow the hallway toward the far end of the house. Derek’s voice drifts faintly from behind me now—lower, clipped in places, warm in others. A call he’s clearly in command of. Working. The sound of him ebbs as I move on, replaced by the quiet hum of the house.
