“Okay,” she says simply.
“Okay?”
“I’m all in too.” She reaches up, touches my face with fingers that are slightly trembling. “Even though it scares the hell out of me.”
“Good scared or bad scared?”
“Good scared. I think.” She pauses, “It’s just been a long time since someone chose me. Chose us. Usually people run when they realize how complicated things are.”
“Their loss.” I cover her hand with mine.
“Kiss me,” she says softly.
I don’t need to be asked twice. I kiss her slow and thorough, trying to pour everything I can’t quite articulate into it. She responds immediately, melting against me, making my head spin and my heart race.
“Bedroom?” I suggest against her lips.
“Bedroom,” she agrees breathlessly.
This time, there’s no desperation driving us, no crisis pushing us together. We take our time undressing each other, exploring with growing confidence and familiarity. She’s less hesitant now, more willing to show me what she wants, to ask for what she needs.
When we finally come together, it’s with a rightness that feels inevitable—like we’ve been building toward this moment for longer than we’ve known each other. I watch her face as we move together, memorizing every expression, every sound she makes.
“I love you,” she whispers afterward, the words so quiet I almost miss them.
They hit me like a perfect pass—unexpected but exactly what I needed to hear.
“I love you too,” I tell her.
She tilts her head to look at me, something vulnerable and wondering in her expression. “Really?”
“Really.” I brush damp hair back from her face. “Think you’re stuck with me now.”
“Good,” she whispers, settling back against my chest with a contentment that matches my own. “I like being stuck with you.”
I hold her close, listening to her breathing slow toward sleep. Tomorrow there’ll be more legal battles, more complications, more of Evan’s attempts to control and intimidate. But tonight, we’re here. Together.
And that feels like enough to build a whole future on.
19
GOLDA
I’ve worna path in this courthouse linoleum, and if I keep pacing like this, I’m going to wear a hole clean through to the basement.
“You’re making me seasick,” Jessica says from her chair, not looking up from her legal pad where she’s been making the same notes for the past twenty minutes. “Sit down. Drink your coffee. Try to remember how to breathe.”
“Can’t sit. Can’t breathe. Coffee tastes like dirt mixed with anxiety and regret.” I make another lap past the conference room table, past the motivational poster about justice, past the window that looks out onto the parking lot where I can see Evan’s black sedan sitting like a threat. “What time is it?”
“Same time it was two minutes ago when you asked. And three minutes ago. And five minutes ago.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“Neither is you pacing a trench in government property.”
The door opens and I jump like someone fired a starter pistol. But it’s just Dex, back from his coffee run, looking annoyingly calm and put-together in a dark suit that actually makes me think of things that I shouldn’t be focused on right now. His hair’s perfectly styled, his tie straight—he lookslike someone who belongs in courtrooms and boardrooms, not like someone whose girlfriend is about to lose custody of her children.
“Any word yet?” he asks, setting a paper cup in front of me that smells better than the sludge I’ve been choking down.
