“She’s going to run circles around your media schedule,” Ethan says, nodding toward her. “You ready for that?”
I watch her gesture as she talks, confident and precise, completely at home in herself.
“Always has,” I say.
Max crashes to the ground again and pops right back up, undeterred.
I laugh and take another sip of beer, feeling something settle deep and solid in my chest.
This isn’t luck.
Luck implies chance. Accident. Being in the right place without understanding how you got there.
This is intention.
Every hard conversation or moment I didn’t turn away. And every time I admitted I didn’t have it figured out and stayed anyway. This life wasn’t handed to me. It was built, slowly, with hands that finally stopped shaking.
This is what happens when you stop letting fear make your decisions.
Sarah
The house is quiet once everyone leaves. It’s my favorite part of the night. The dishes are stacked but not done. The chairs are crooked. There’s a single toy football abandoned near the edge of the rug, like Max forgot about it the second he walked out the door.
Jace locks up and moves through the living room with easy familiarity, kicking off his shoes before dropping onto the couch beside me.
His arm comes around me automatically and I lean into him without thinking. That still surprises me sometimes. How instinctive it is and how my body trusts him without hesitation.
There was a version of me who always waited for the shift. The moment someone pulled back. The subtle change that signaled I’d asked for too much or needed to make myself smaller.
That version doesn’t live here anymore.
Now, leaning in feels like muscle memory instead of risk.
“Successful cookout?” I ask.
He huffs. “No one complained. That’s a win.”
"Max almost tackled you,” I point out.
“Almost?” Jace says. “He got me. Full contact.”
I smile, rubbing slow circles over his forearm.
The TV is on, but neither of us is watching. The light from it flickers across the room, soft and low. Outside, the yard lights glow faintly, illuminating the grass where laughter lived earlier.
“You tired?” he asks.
“A little.”
“Good tired?”
I nod. “The kind where nothing hurts, but everything feels used.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “My favorite kind.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while. Not empty. Just full enough. Silence used to feel like something I needed to fill. Explain. Manage.
With Jace, it’s just space.
