I turn her in my arms, her spine settling against my chest. “I’ve missed having you in my arms,” I murmur into her hair.
She tilts her head just enough to look back at me, a smile playing at her mouth. “It sounds like you can’t live without me.”
“I can’t,” I say easily. “I’ve already decided how I’m going to make up for lost time when we get back to Deep Cove.”
“Oh?” she asks amused.
I rest my chin near her temple. “I’m taking you out to dinner…maybe Wave and Wharf. Then we’re going back to my house for a movie on the couch, all cuddled up.” My hands tighten around her waist with all the fierceness I feel for her. “I’ll run you a hot bath then I’ll strip you out of your clothes, and we’ll soak in the tub together. After that, you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying the night. No negotiations.”
Our car pulls up, headlights washing over us, but neither of us moves right away. I turn her in my arms to face me instead, my arms wrapping around her waist. “And when we get to the hotel tonight, I’m going to drop to my knees, slide your panties down your legs, and feast on you until you come all over my face.”
Her breath stutters and she smiles like she’s already picturing it.
“Get in the car, Winters,” she says, disentangling herself from my bear hug and slipping her fingers through mine again. “Before we do something reckless in public.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I grin, opening the door for her like a gentleman, because I plan on being anything but when I have her alone in my hotel room.
FORTY-ONE
THREE WEEKS LATER
Madeline
Jesse is sprawled against the headboard, one knee bent, shirtless with a paperback open in one hand. I’m tucked into his side, cheek resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart while he reads aloud with the seriousness of someone narrating a crime documentary.
He pushes his glasses up his nose. “And then he shuts down emotionally instead of communicating like a functioning adult—” He pauses, scowls at the page. “I hate him.”
I smile into his chest. “Some men need an entire novel to figure it out.”
“True,” he says, flipping the page. “But this guy has had, like, seven chances to say how he feels and instead he’s brooding. Again. That’s not romantic, that’s how a guy loses the girl.”
I laugh softly, tipping my face up to look at him. He’s barefoot, wearing a pair of basketball shorts, hair still damp from the shower, looking ridiculously hot. The fact that he’s reading my romance novel makes my chest feel too full.
Three weeks ago, this man stood in front of my parents anddidn’t flinch. I didn’t know what it would feel like to have someone choose me out loud. Not privately. Not in whispered reassurances behind closed doors. But publicly, calmly, with certainty. Jesse didn’t raise his voice or puff out his chest. He didn’t insult or threaten. He just drew a line. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t the one shrinking to keep the peace.
The memory still makes something warm unfurl beneath my ribs.
The night that followed lives in my body like a secret I carry. We didn’t sleep. We didn’t leave the room. It felt like circling back to where everything began in room 712, but this time without fear and without pretending. Without holding pieces of ourselves back. We spent the night talking and kissing and making love until the morning sunlight sliced through the curtains. We never said the words I love you, but that’s what it felt like. I knew that night with a certainty that didn’t surprise me that I love him. The only thing that stopped me from saying it was fear. It wasn’t fear that Jesse wouldn’t love me back, just the fragile, learned fear that good things don’t always stay.
Jesse turns another page, muttering, “If he hurts her again, I’m throwing this book out the window.”
I trace idle shapes on his stomach then over the ink on his ribs. “You’re very invested.”
“I’m invested because I don’t understand why fictional men refuse to say how they feel,” he says, then glances down at me. “Also, because I’m reading it with you.”
Life hasn’t been simple since the gala. Jesse’s dad is out of the hospital now, moved to a rehab facility Jesse found up the coast where he’s getting physical therapy and real support for his sobriety. Jesse doesn’t sugarcoat it. Some days are hopeful. Some days are hard. But for the first time, it feels like there’s a plan that doesn’t rely on Jesse carrying everything alone.
His brothers came to the hospital once. Right after their dad woke up, when he was finally aware and talking. Ford, Wes, andNoah stayed for maybe half an hour, long enough to see him sitting upright, and then they left. I can see it in each of them—the push and pull, the bruised history they’re still trying to work through. It feels like they want to want a relationship with him, but they’re having a hard time forgetting about the past. They’re figuring it out in real time, deciding what they can handle, what they can forgive, and what they’re not ready for yet. And that’s okay. For the first time, it feels like everyone is allowed to move at their own pace—especially Jesse.
As for my parents, there’s been nothing. No calls, no messages, no dramatic press releases or carefully worded ultimatums. Just silence, and for once that silence doesn’t feel like a punishment. It feels like space. I don't know what comes next with them, or if anything ever will, but I’ve stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m not bracing myself anymore. I’m choosing to be where I’m wanted, where I’m safe, and I’m letting the rest stay unanswered for now.
A week ago, I’d been looking for a phone charger in Jesse’s bedside table and when I pulled open the drawer, I froze. Inside, tucked neatly beside a tube of ChapStick, was a stack of the sticky notes that I’d left on his desk or slapped on his folder since I started at Cove. Some were folded in half and others were flattened out like he’d smoothed them with his palm. Every single one had my handwriting on it. “Stop smirking or I’m going to commit a felony,” one read. “Remember the presentation slides! Also, your cologne is distracting,” read another.
When Jesse walked into the bedroom from the bathroom, towel around his waist, I held up a few in the air like they were evidence. His eyes flicked to the notes. He’d smiled sheepishly. “I like how you write,” he said simply. “They’re like a time capsule. Like having little pieces of you with me.” My mouth was on his in an instant and minutes later I was coming hard on his cock.
Tonight, he pulls me down until we’re forehead toforehead, his hands in my hair before he kisses me. We kiss and kiss, and with each second that passes, a strong sense of calm settles over me. We’ve been through so much already, and we are still here together. Strong and steady. “Mads,” he whispers, reaching for his glasses to take them off. I stop him before he does.
“Leave them on,” I tell him. He smirks, knowing the effect they have on me.
