And just like that… I can’t.
I can’t drop a truth grenade in the middle of this moment. Not when he’s here, open, aching.
“Maybe this is you doing it right,” I whisper.
He pulls me tighter. His chin rests on top of my head. I hear him exhale.
We stay that way. No sound. No pressure. Just skin and truth and something real forming between heartbeats.
CHAPTER 20
ALAINA
The morning after the storm, we pretend
Pretend we’re just two grown-ass people who got caught in a blackout and needed body heat.
Pretend last night wasn’t... everything.
He makes caf, grunting and shirtless, like nothing’s shifted.
I watch him from the hallway, clutching a blanket around me like armor.
“Don’t burn the beans,” I say, voice croaky.
He smirks. “I’m not a complete animal.”
“Debatable.”
He brings me a steaming mug without comment, like he’s done it a hundred times.
Maybe in some other life, he has.
It doesn’t feel like a one-night thing.
Not when he fixes my son’s broken toy hoverdrone while humming off-key. Not when he reaches for my hand across the couch and doesn’t let go even when the movie ends.
And definitely not when his thumb brushes along my wrist and he mutters, “You always run this warm?”
I don’t answer.
Because if I do, I might say something stupid likeStay forever.
That night, after my son’s asleep and the dishes are stacked like a sad little tower in the sink, he’s still here.
He shouldn’t be.
I should’ve made him leave hours ago.
But I don’t.
“Long day,” I say, flopping onto the couch.
He nods, sitting beside me. “You work too hard.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“I’d help. You just won’t let me.”
