He leans into it like he can’t help himself.Like the touch is safer than words.“Monty,” he says quietly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be soft with me when she’s asleep between us.
“Yeah.”
His gaze flicks toward her.Then to me.Then away.
There’s fear.
“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he admits, voice low, eyes on the sheet between us.
I swallow hard.“We’re taking care of each other.”
His huff of laughter is small.Broken.“You know what I mean.”
Yeah.I do.
Because I’ve been avoiding this conversation the same way I’ve avoided mirrors most of my life—by staying in control, my eyes turned elsewhere.By keeping busy, keeping useful, keeping my hands full, so I never have to stop long enough to look at myself too closely.
Callaway rubs a hand over his face, jaw tight with something close to fear.“Tonight, you can just ...be,” he murmurs.“This.In here.With her.With us?—”
He doesn’t finish, but I know what he’s saying.
And before I can stop myself, I take his mouth.
It’s desperate—“please understand me” kind of desperate.I kiss him like it’s the only language I trust right now.If I try to speak, the words will fracture before they ever make it into the air.
He kisses me back.It’s not with heat or hunger.But with a trembling tenderness that undoes me.His hand comes up to my jaw, thumb brushing beneath my eye like he’s memorizing my whole face in the dark.
Like he’s trying to say,I missed you.I still want you.I never stopped.
And this ...this can be enough for tonight.I hope.
It’s a truce and a promise.A breath held between two hearts that know the shape of each other, even after all this time.
Because Callaway Winthrop has always lived somewhere just beneath my skin.
The pulse I followed without ever admitting I was chasing it.
The heat I didn’t know how to carry without scorching myself.
The name I never said out loud, but built entire versions of myself around.
And now—with Vesper asleep next to us, her hand curled over his ribs, almost close enough to brush my hip—it feels like the world has stopped spinning long enough for me to feel what’s real.
They’re real.
I press my forehead to his, breath mingling, skin warm.His fingers brush mine in the space between.I’m scared too.Scared that I’ll step into this with both feet and find I’m still broken.That I’ll want this with everything I have and still fail at it.That I won’t be enough—not for her, not for him.
I keep my hand on his neck, grounding both of us.My thumb moves in slow circles at his nape, and I make myself say it anyway.
“I’m working on it,” I whisper.“One day, I want to mean it when I say I don’t care if I lose my spot on the team?—”
My voice breaks, just a little.
But before I can recover, he speaks.Quiet.Clear.
“Losing you or her ...I couldn’t live with that.Not again.”
I stare at my hands for a second, knuckles pale where I’ve been gripping the edge of the blanket like it can hold me together.My voice barely makes it out.
