Her shoulders shake once before she nods. So I just breathe with her, listening to the sound of the ocean through the balcony doors, the hum of the ship’s engines beneath us.
She doesn’t ask the questions I can’t answer.
And I don’t reach for the half-truths I’ve used in the past.
We just exist there, together, in that fragile truce neither of us names.
I reach back and switch off the light, but when I settle in again, she rolls over to face me.
Her knee hooks over my thigh. Her hand drifts from my shoulders, along my chest. Smooth. Familiar.
“Beckett…”
She says my name—soft, inviting—and it hits me low and hard. The want floods in with a rush of heat and memory and everything we’ve ever been. My body answers before my head can catch up.
Her fingers slide around my ribs and then she presses her hips closer.
But that ignites a twinge of pain, an unfortunate reminder.
I exhale, let it pass, but even without that little wakeup call, I know.
She’s not in a good place right now. She’s feeling more than a little lost, and going there, it would feel like taking advantage…
It would be a mistake. A delusional miscalculation.
I’ve tried fixing things like this before, convinced that closeness could fill in the holes, but… Nothing about this is right. Not yet.
So instead, I tuck her head beneath my chin, kiss her forehead.
She sighs, the tension easing, and her grip loosens just enough to tell me she feels it too.
Other thoughts try to push in—the deal, the pressure, everything waiting for me—but I shut it down.
For the first time in months, I feel like I’m right where I belong. Holding my wife, protecting her.
Like I’m finally moving toward her instead of away.
When I feel her breaths turn even, I kiss her forehead again, leaving my mouth pressed against her skin.
“Love you,” I whisper, because that won’t ever change.
And I need her more than she’ll ever know.
DAY 3, CABO SAN LUCAS
ASHLEY
When I wake up in Beckett’s arms, for a second I honestly think I’m dreaming. The suite is washed in morning light, and his arm is heavy around my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
For one dizzy moment, I let myself imagine this is a real vacation. A second honeymoon. The kind of romantic cruise people take when they want to find their spark again.
But we’re only pretending—or supposed to be. Even though last night everything felt a little too real.
I still don’t look away. I lie there studying him up close. His lashes are ridiculously long. His jaw is rough with stubble. And for the first time, I notice a few silver strands threading through the dark hair at his temples. They weren’t there a year ago, and a part of me wonders if they’re not a result of the year he’s spent shutting me out, of all those secrets he’s been keeping.
And ironically, they look… good on him. Mature. Distinguished.
I roll onto my side, reaching for my phone—but my gaze catches on his instead. The new one.
