Only us.
And I intended to make every second count.
25
ELLA
For a long time after, neither of us moved.
Sunlight had shifted across the bedroom floor, sliding from pale morning into something warmer, brighter—midday light that made everything feel too exposed and too real after the cocoon of sheets and skin and breath.
Kane lay on his back, one arm under his head, the other draped lazily across my hips where I’d sprawled half over him without remembering how we’d ended up like this. My cheek rested against his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady under my ear.
It was heaven.
Finally, my mind wasn’t racing.
No panic about what I should do next.
Just warmth. Quiet. The faint smell of soap and sex and Rose’s lavender detergent.
I listened to his breathing.
To the city outside.
And let myself exist in the rarest thing grief gives you?—
A pause.
Eventually, reality seeped back in.
Sabine’s smile.
The crayon drawing.
Rose laughing in that framed photo.
My sister holding a baby I hadn’t known existed.
My chest tightened slowly, grief threading back in, softer this time but heavier somehow. More complicated.
Kane’s thumb moved lazily against my hip.
“You’re thinking again,” he murmured.
I smiled faintly against his skin. “You say that like it’s optional.”
“For you?” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Apparently, not.”
I tilted my head to look up at him. His eyes were still closed, face relaxed. Without tension, without that constant readiness coiled beneath his skin.
He looked younger like this.
Safer.
Which was ironic, considering what I knew about him.
“What happens now?” I asked quietly.
