Inside the main house, the smell of coffee hangs thick.I follow it into the kitchen and find Dove sitting beside Frankie at the island.
Dove’s honey-soft eyes instantly connect with mine, and my chest loosens.
“You’re home.”Frankie hurries toward Kody.
Dove blinks slowly, her shoulders caving inward in that quiet way she does when she’s out of gasoline.It’s nearly morning, and neither of us slept.
She doesn’t protest when I scoop her up and carry her out, back across the walkway, into the guest house, and up the stairs to our bedroom.
I set her down gently, and she remains standing with her back to me, the tension in her neck warning me that a conversation is coming.
“You want to sit?”I ask.
“No.Just… Tell me.”
So I do.
I tell her every word Jag and I exchanged.Every look he threw at me.Every moment we stood too close.Every second neither of us pulled away.The way he put my thumb in his mouth as if testing to see if I’d burn or break.
I tell her he has the journal and a choice to make before I return.
Her shoulders hitch with each detail, and her breathing tenses like she’s trying not to shake.
“I didn’t kiss him,” I finish quietly.
“I did.”She turns toward me, her expression vulnerable.“Do you hate me?”
“Never.”I step into her space.“If anything, I love you more for it.”
“Why?”She frowns.
“Because I saw you two tonight.I saw what you used to be together, what you still are, the way he looks at you, the way you respond without meaning to.”
Her breath catches.
“It gave me a glimpse into your past.”I touch her chin, lifting it.“I saw your pain in that kiss, what it cost you to allow it, and what it took from you when you pulled away.It showed me more about who you are, what you need, and what you’ve been missing.”
Her lower lip trembles, not with fear or guilt.With relief.
And a tremor of something else neither of us is brave enough to name yet.
We peel off our clothes in tired silence.She shuts off the lights, and I lock the balcony door.
When we finally crawl under the blankets, she curls into me, legs tangled with mine, cheek tucked against my chest.My arms wrap around her on instinct.
But neither of us drifts off.Her breathing doesn’t even.My pulse doesn’t slow.The night doesn’t soften around us.
After a long stretch of shared darkness, she whispers, “I know you’re not asleep.”
“Neither are you.”
She lets out a breath that shakes.Then she starts talking.
“Jag was nine when our parents married.I was a baby, but I remember flashes of him in those early years.When our parents were still alive.I remember him hiding under the bed with me during their arguments, just to keep me company.And slipping extra dessert onto my plate when no one was looking.He was protective, even then.”
I stroke her back, slow circles, silent encouragement.
“When we lost them, everything changed.”She takes me through her life without stopping, from that first year on the streets to the night she ran after Jag in a wedding gown.
