We stay like that for a long moment—me kneeling on the floor, her wrapped in my arms, both of us holding on like anchors in a storm.
Finally, she pulls back slightly, wiping at her eyes. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re human,” I correct. “And you’re beautiful. And you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
She huffs out a laugh that’s half sob. “I don’t feel strong.”
“That’s because you’re used to doing everything alone. Used to carrying all the weight by yourself.” I stand, pulling her up with me. “But you don’t have to anymore. Let us help. Let us share the burden. Let us be partners in this.”
“Partners,” she repeats, testing the word.
“Partners,” I confirm.
She takes a shaky breath, then nods. “Okay. Okay. I’ll— I’ll go to Martha’s Vineyard. I’ll take care of the boys. I’ll trust you to handle Ryan and Aria. And when you find them?—”
“We’ll call you immediately,” I finish. “And we’ll make sure you’re there when we end this.”
“Okay.” She looks at the mess of clothes scattered around her suitcase, then back at me. “Will you help me pack? I can’t seem to remember how to fold things properly.”
I smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Of course.”
We spend the next twenty minutes packing together. Me folding clothes properly while she gathers toiletries and decides what books to bring. The domesticity of it is soothing, grounding, a reminder that life is more than just violence and hunting.
It’s also this. Helping someone you love. Making sure they have everything they need. Taking care of the small details so they don’t have to.
“Cal?” Parker’s voice is soft as she emerges from the bathroom with her toiletry bag.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For— for this. For understanding. For not making me feel weak for choosing them over?—.”
“You’re not choosing them over anything, Parker,” I correct gently. “You’re choosing to be their mother so their fathers can focus without worrying about their needs. There’s a difference.”
She sets the toiletry bag in the suitcase, then turns to face me fully. “I love you. You know that, right?”
The words hit me square in the chest, warm and true and exactly what I needed to hear.
“I know,” I say, closing the distance between us. “I love you too, angel. So fucking much.”
I kiss her then—soft and slow, tasting tears and champagne and something that tastes like home. She melts into me, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair, and for a moment the world narrows to just this.
Just us.
Just the certainty that we’re in this together, that we’ll face whatever comes as a unit, that love doesn’t make us weak—it makes us stronger.
When we finally break apart, she’s smiling. Small, tentative, but real.
“The boys are probably wondering where we are,” she murmurs.
“Let them wonder for a few more minutes,” I say, pulling her closer until our lips touch again
When I finally pull away from her kiss, I feel her retreating, drawn back into the whirlpool of worry, fear, and guilt that hovers around her like a specter. But not tonight. Not after everything we’ve been through. I won’t let that happen.
I cradle her jaw, my fingers tracing the delicate line of her bone, and draw her into a kiss that’s slow and deep, like the first rain after a drought. A long, languid exhale of need rolls through her, echoing into my own body. She softens, melting against me like wax under a flame, her body remembering the shape of my hands, the pressure of my mouth, the weight of my desire. Herfingers find their way into my hair, and my heart kicks against my ribs like a wild thing.
I guide her backward, step by step, my hands never leaving her skin, as if she’s a sculpture I’m coaxing into form. We move through the dim bedroom, past the soft, rhythmic breathing of our boys curled against Jace, and the quiet silhouette of Silas on the chaise. The master bathroom door closes behind us, sealing us into a darkness that feels both safe and charged with potential.
The lock’s click is barely audible, but it’s enough to make something in her release, like a taut string finally snapping. The bathroom light is off, only the faintest glow from the vanity’s nightlight illuminating our shapes. Yet, I know this room like my own skin, my own soul. I know where she is, even when I can’t see her.
