“I learned from it,” I say. “Not in a way that made me shut down. In a way that made me pay attention. It taught me to look for someone who actually shows up. Someone who’s here because they want to be.”
I take her hand, slow and careful. “Lauren wasn’t the whole world. She was one person who made terrible choices. She doesn’t get the right to define the rest of my life.” I pause, then add quietly, “And Darren doesn’t get the right to define yours either.”
I say his name like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing. Because he is. Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t pull her hand away.
“You’re not broken,” I say. “You’re cautious. There’s a difference.”
She sucks in a slow breath, her fingers tightening around mine.
“And I’m not naive,” I add. “I’m hopeful. Big difference there too.”
Her lips part, like she wants to respond but isn’t sure how yet. And that’s fine. I’m not asking her for anything immediate. I just want her to know the door is open and I’m not walking away from it.
We sit there like that for a long moment, our hands linked, the tree lights flickering softly through the room.
When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to push you away.”
“Then don’t,” I say.
She stares at me, breath held tight, and I see the exact second something inside her shifts. Not completely. Not all at once. But enough to open a door that’s been locked for a long time.
And that’s when she leans closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Will you stay tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’ll stay.”
She doesn’t move right away. Just looks at me with those dark eyes that have been guarding so much for so long. Then she stands, offering me her hand.
I take it.
She leads me to her bedroom, and when we reach the bed, she turns to face me. Her hand lifts to my face, palm warm against my jaw. I lean into the touch, and she kisses me.
Soft at first. Tentative. Then deeper.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt. I cover her hands with mine, slowing her down, and she looks up at me. I brush her hair back from her face, my thumb tracing her cheekbone, taking my time.
She reaches for the hem of my shirt and I let her pull it over my head. Her hands flatten against my chest, fingers splaying wide like she’s memorizing the feel of me. I do the same with her sweater, easing it up and off, my knuckles grazing her sides.
When I reach for the clasp of her bra, she doesn’t help. Doesn’t rush. Just watches my face while I undress her, piece by piece, like I’m unwrapping something precious.
Her breathing changes when I lay her back on the bed. Usually she’s the one pulling me down, rolling us over, taking control. Not tonight. Tonight she stays where I put her, her eyes locked on mine as I settle over her.
I bracket her face with my hands and kiss her slowly. Thoroughly. Like I have all the time in the world and nowhere else I’d rather be. I feel the exact moment her body relaxes underneath mine. I slide my hand down her side, over the curve of her hip, feeling the slight swell of her stomach under my palm. Our daughter. Right there between us.
She arches into my touch, her breath catching, and I take my time. Kissing her throat. Her collarbone. The curve of her breast. Learning her all over again, but slower this time. Paying attention to every small sound she makes, every place on her body that makes her gasp.
When I finally move inside her, her hands grip my shoulders and she breathes my name against my neck. I go slow. Steady. Watching her face in the dim light, seeing everyflutter of her eyelashes, every part of her opening up to me in a way she hasn’t before.
Her nails dig into my back and I kiss her, swallowing the soft sounds she’s making. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I feel the shift in her breathing that tells me she’s close.
“Jake,” she whispers.
I press my forehead to hers, keeping that same steady rhythm until she breaks apart beneath me, her whole body tightening around mine. I follow her over, burying my face in her neck, and for a long moment neither of us moves.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my hand tracing slow circles on her bare shoulder. The room is silent except for our breathing.
She’s quiet for a long moment, then her hand finds mine, threading our fingers together over her stomach where our daughter is growing. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. For the first time in weeks, I feel like we’re finally on the same page.
twenty-six
