“Thanks,” Jaime said.
I echoed it a second later. The hallway felt too bright, too loud after everything we’d been through. The carpet muffled our steps as we made it back to the room.
The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in with the familiar scent of soap, dog, and something distinctly ours now.
Pampi lifted her head from her crate, her tail thumping weakly once before she flopped back down, clearly deciding that whatever chaos we’d brought home could wait until after another nap.
Cooper informed us Tony had a grand time babysitting her.
Jaime huffed a tired laugh. “Traitor.”
“She’s exhausted,” I said. “Takes after us.”
Neither of us bothered with small talk. I peeled off my clothes slowly, joints protesting, and stepped into the bathroom withhim. The shower sputtered to life, steam curling up to fog the mirror almost immediately.
The water was too hot, but neither of us complained.
Jaime leaned his forehead against mine under the spray, eyes closed, his hands resting at my waist more for balance than intent. I let my own head tip forward until it touched his shoulder, breathing him in.
Soap. Skin. That faint, familiar scent that told my wolf everything was finally right.
We washed each other without rush or expectation. Fingers tracing bruises. Palms lingering over healed skin. Careful, reverent touches that spoke of relief rather than hunger.
By the time we turned the water off, we were both wrung out.
We barely made it to the bed before collapsing onto it, limbs tangling automatically, like this was a habit we’d had for years instead of something brand new and fragile.
Jaime shifted onto his side, pulling me close until my head fit perfectly beneath his chin. We were both too tired for anything else, but we were also content in a way that went bone-deep.
I stared at the dim ceiling for a moment, listening to his breathing even out, then cleared my throat softly.
“Jaime,” I began.
“Mm?” His arm tightened slightly around me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “about before. About… not talking. Letting my head get in the way.”
He was quiet for a beat, then pressed a gentle kiss into my hair.
“It’s done,” he said. “It happens.”
“I don’t want it to happen again,” I murmured. “I don’t want to assume things or pull away when I should lean in.”
Jaime exhaled slowly, his hand sliding up my back in a soothing pass.
“Then we don’t let it,” he said. “We talk things out.”
Something in my chest loosened, warm and aching all at once. I shifted closer, fitting myself more securely against him.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Sleep crept up on us quietly, no sharp edge to it this time. Just warmth and safety. The steady weight of Jaime’s arm around me and the knowledge that when I woke up, he’d still be there.
18
JAIME
