“We both know the statistics. I’m lucky if I live to see fifty. I’ve made my peace with that.”
Mostly.
Some days.
Other days, the weight of it wears on me.
“The best thing for me to do,” I continue, forcing a brightness into my voice I don’t entirely feel, “theonlything for me to do is live in the present. Because making plans for a future I know I won’t be a part of? It’s too hard.”
The line goes silent, and I sense she wants to argue with me.
But she knows better.
And she also knows the reality of my situation, despite her hopes I’ll somehow defy the odds.
“So I’m just going to keep living in the now. Collect moments. Collect joy. Collect really, really good orgasms.”
It’s silent for a beat. Then Emily snorts a laugh. “Well, if this grand philosophical acceptance includes mind-blowing sex, I fully support it.”
I giggle, the heaviness easing just enough. “It absolutely does.”
“Good.” She’s silent for a beat. Then she asks, “You’re okay, though?”
“I’m okay,” I assure her.
And not to make her feel better. But because I feel okay. Better than okay.
Not fearless.
Not invincible.
But choosing joy anyway.
And right now joy looks a lot like a beagle demanding a pup cup and a single dad who promised to punish me later.
I’m more than okay with that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
HAYDEN
I’mawake before my alarm.
That part isn’t new. Sleep and I have had an uneasy relationship for years now. I usually lie in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, waiting for obligation to drag me upright.
This morning is different.
There’s a restless energy in my chest. Not regret. Not grief. It’s something warmer.
Something…happier.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and head downstairs, telling myself it’s to enjoy the quiet before the kids wake up.
In reality, it’s because I want to try to steal a few minutes with Rowan.
The house is mostly dark, the sun just beginning topeek over the horizon. And when I turn the corner into the kitchen, something loosens in my chest at the sight of the brunette by my coffee maker, preparing herself a cup.
This quiet domestic scene — Rowan wearing an oversized t-shirt, her dark hair rumpled from sleep — feels dangerously intimate.
