He can’t be more than six or seven; he loops his tiny arms around her neck like she’s something precious. She’s swaying gently, murmuring to him, her head tipped back as she laughs again, free, unfiltered, alive and the picture it paints steals the air from my lungs.
Time fractures, and it feels like I can't breathe.
I register movement at my edges, Theo, Elliot, Rowan, Caleb... but I don’t look at them. I know they’re watching me. I canfeelit. I can feel the weight of their attention, the unspoken realization passing between them.
I don’t care.
All I can see is her.
The way she cradles the boy is like it’s instinct. The way her body softens around him. The way she looks so utterly at ease doing something so ordinary and so rare in my world.
Something inside me opens.
It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.
But it is terrifying.
The song ends. Applause ripples. She bends to set the boy down, smiling as his parents’ approach. She slips back into her heels, steadying herself on a table at the edge of the dance floor.
I don’t remember handing the drinks to Theo.
I don’t remember deciding to move.
I just know that suddenly I’m crossing the room, every instinct sharpened to a singular focus.
Her.
My hand reaches out as she wobbles slightly, steadying her without thinking. She looks up at me, surprise flashing into something warmer, something deeper, and the force of it nearly brings me to my knees.
There’s too much in her eyes.
Want. Trust. Heat. Curiosity.
Hope.
I pull her into me without a word and start to dance, and the room dissolves.
Her body fits against mine like it’s always known where it belongs. My hand settles at her waist. Her fingers curl into my jacket. She exhales, slow and shaky, like this moment is affecting her too.
I was never taught how to do this.
My father taught me control. Distance. Precision. He taught me how to win, how to dominate, and how to never let anyone see the cost.
He never taught me how to feel.
Lucy does.
Every second with her is an invitation I don’t know how to accept without losing myself, and yet, with her, losing myself feels like breathing for the first time.
The song fades, and I lean down, my mouth near her ear. “Let’s go home.”
The shiver that runs through her is immediate. Visible. Goosebumps rise along her arms, and I feel a surge of something close to triumph.
The drive back passes in a blur.
We don’t talk.
We don’t need to.
