Joshua gave a soft, contented whimper as he nestled his face against Colin’s chest. “Not a cock hound,” he grumbled, then leaned back and met Colin’s eyes. “Why did last night feel so different from when we made love at the hotel?”
Colin set his coffee mug on the counter and brought both arms around Joshua, holding him with deliberate tenderness. “Because this ishome,” he said softly. “A hotel could never give us that. Last night, we weren’t just trying to feel good—we were back in a sacred place. Letting it sink into our bones that we had our life back.”
Joshua’s arms tightened around him. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it—not just the house, but… us. Here. Like this.”
Colin’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Me too, bud.” He pulled back, meeting Joshua’s eyes. “We could be anywhere, and as long as we’re together, I’m OK.”
Joshua smiled and nodded, his fingers brushing the edge of Colin’s jaw.
Colin bent his head, kissing him slow and soft, a kiss that tasted like morning coffee and quiet devotion. “Butthis?” He gestured around them, shaking his head in a kind of wonder. “This willalwaysbe different. It’s the home we built together. It’s everything we are. Everything we love. Being here willalwaysbe special.”
Outside, sunlight filtered through the window, casting gold streaks across the kitchen floor. Inside, wrapped in each other’sarms, they stood still just for a bit longer. No courtrooms. No counseling sessions. No threats. Just the hum of the house, the rhythm of two hearts finding peace.
Together. Home again.
CHAPTER NINE
LINES IN THE SAND
Colin stepped into the quiet stillness of the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office shortly before dawn. At this early morning hour, the building held a hushed emptiness that had become his sanctuary—his chance to think, to breathe, to prepare himself before the world inevitably rushed back in. Right behind him, Sarah Mitchell turned toward her security station, clutching a large, steaming coffee in her hand.
“See you later,” she told him over her shoulder, moving toward her desk.
Colin nodded but didn’t reply. He paused, glancing down the shadowy hallways lined with silent offices, their doors half-open as if waiting. By eight-thirty, these corridors would be buzzing with nervous chatter and urgent footsteps. But right now, in these precious moments, they belonged solely to him and his restless thoughts.
He set his coffee and briefcase down, flicked on his desk lamp, and settled into his chair. The glow illuminated stacks of files and notes—remnants of a weekend spent poring over Elias Moreno’s statements and the FBI’s preliminary intel. Colin’s eyes lingered briefly on Moreno’s name, scrawled in bold, black letters. His jaw tightened.
It felt surreal, depending on the word of a criminal—a man who, not so long ago, he’d have prosecuted without hesitation. But now Moreno’s voice was key to ending something far worse—something Colin could barely think about without his heart twisting in his chest.
He glanced at the bookshelf beside his desk. Joshua’s framed photo sat there, his eyes warm and calm, offering silent reassurance. Colin reached out, touched the edge of the frame gently, and whispered, “I promise, bud. I won’t lose sight of what really matters.”
A soft tap made him tense. He looked up to see Sarah leaning against his open door and he relaxed, nodding her inside.
“What have you got?”
“Updated schedule.”
Colin sat back, nodding, lifting his coffee to his lips.
She placed the paper on his desk, the print neat and precise. “There you go.” She didn’t turn to go right away. Instead, she lingered in the doorway, arms folded, coffee still steaming in one hand.
“You sleep at all this weekend?” she asked.
Colin huffed. “Define sleep.”
Sarah arched a brow. “I’ll define it as something that requires horizontal surfaces and closed eyes. You manage either of those?”
He smiled faintly but didn’t answer. She stepped inside, shut the door behind her with a quiet click, and lowered herself into the visitor’s chair.
“You’ve got that look,” she said. “The one you get before a storm.”
Colin’s eyes flicked toward her. “Thereisa storm coming. We both know that.”
“I know.” She held his gaze, steady and unflinching.
They sat for a moment in companionable silence, broken only by the low hum of the desk lamp and the distant creak of the building settling.
“You remember that night in ‘21?” she asked finally. “When the courthouse bomb threat came through and we were the only two stuck in the building?”
