“Neither do you,” I say.
He swallows.“What are we, then?”
The question lands like a hit to the ribs.
Because I can handle a fight.I can handle pain.I can handle the world calling me names.
I’m not sure I can handle wanting them and needing them and knowing there’s no clean way to do this in the life we live.
I stare at Vesper’s sleeping face.Her mouth is slightly open.She looks peaceful in my shirt like she was made to be cared for, like she belongs here even if her brain tells her she doesn’t.
Then I look at Callaway.
“We’re two men falling in love who chose her,” I say.“And chose each other.Even if we’re scared.”
Callaway’s eyes go glossy again, but he blinks it back.“And if the league?—”
“If the league makes it a problem,” I say, lowering my voice, “here’s what I can promise you.”
Callaway’s attention locks.
I press my thumb once into his wrist, grounding him the way I know how.“I’m not running.I’m not pretending you don’t matter.And if I fuck up—if I get scared and I say the wrong thing or I shut down—” My throat works around the admission.“I will come back.I will talk.I will not leave you alone in it.”
Callaway’s eyes soften like he’s been waiting to hear that exact sentence his entire life.
He nods once.Then, quieter—more fragile: “Okay.”
He shifts toward Vesper again, and I follow.
We slide under the blanket on either side of her, careful not to wake her.She stirs faintly, sighs, but doesn’t open her eyes.Just reaches for us without thinking.
She finds him first—her hand curling against his chest.
Then me—my fingers brushing hers, and staying.
Her body is still soft.Still small in ways that make the future feel impossibly close and impossibly far.There’s no curve to her belly yet.But we know.We feel it in the hush between breaths.In the way we both reach—at the same time—and let our hands rest over that quiet center of her.
Even though this little one isn’t ours—not really—we already love them.
Because they are hers.
And we love her.
This is going to be hard.
And I’m doing it anyway.For her, for him—for us.
ChapterForty-Four
Vesper
Darkness.Thick, total.The blackout curtains are working overtime, and I wake up with no clue what time it is.Only that I’m wearing someone else’s shirt.And that I’m not alone.
There’s the smell first.Sex and sin and whatever scent we left on the pillows that shouldn’t turn me on but absolutely does.Sleepy warmth clings to the sheets, soaked into my skin.My breasts ache—tender from hormones and from mouths that didn’t know how to be gentle.My thighs are sore in the best way.My hips hum.The center of me still pulses like memory.
Their mouths.
Callaway’s cock.
