I carry her inside like I might lose her if I let go. Her arms draped around my neck, face tucked into my shoulder, legs curled around my want like belongs there–and she does. She does.
The door shuts behind us with a quiet click, and the apartment is dark except for the low kitchen light I always leave on. I don’t turn on any other Vint need to see her. I already know her by heart.
I don’t head straight to the bedroom. Instead, I stop in the hallway and press her back to the wall, just for a second, because I need to kiss her again. Not frantic this time–just full. Deep. Like an apology and a promise all wrapped into one.
She sighs into my mouth and lets me take her weight, lets me ground her. I think she knows I need it more than she does.
By the time we finally reach the bedroom, I’ve already peeled off her jacket, her sweater, and that stupid pair of leggings she said were too comfy to retire They hit the floor one piece at a time, soft thuds trailing behind us like evidence. By the time I lower her onto the bed, she’s bare, glowing in the dim light.
She stretches out, long and lazy, her hair a halo of ink on my pillow, eyes half–lidded and lips kiss–swollen,
“Staring,” she whispers, a tiny grin playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Can you blame me?” I sit on the edge of the bed and run the back of my knuckles down the slope of her thigh. “You’re unreal.*
She shifts closer, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Then get up here.”
I don’t need to be asked twice.
I strip fast, throw on a pair of sweatpants just to feel semi–human, and climb in beside her. She curls into me instantly, warm and soft and still faintly flushed from earlier. My arm wraps around her like instinct, her leg hooking over mine, skin to skin.
Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my chest. I can feel her slowing, grounding, her breath evening out with each exhale.
We don’t talk much. We don’t need to.
We already did all the talking. Hours of it. Lying tangled in blankets and candlelight, her head on my chest, my fingers brushing her arm, both of us catching up on everything we missed. Not just about the Vultures. Not just the pain and the fear and the shit we survived. Everything. Her dreams. My regrets. Her favorite books. The stupid way I like my eggs.
Talking to her doesn’t feel like talking. It feels like breathing.
Now, with her tucked under my arm, limbs tangled up like thread, 1 feel her sigh. It’s the kind of sound she only makes when she’s safe. The kind of sound that makes me feel like I did something right for once.
I brush her hair back. “You okay?”
She hums. “Better than okay.”
We’re quiet for a long time after that, just breathing in sync. Her hand rests over my heart, thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles. She feels like home.
I press a kiss to her forehead and close my eyes, but I don’t fall asleep.
Not yet.
Because there’s still that part of me–the one that’s always been wired for war, for consequence, for worst–case scenarios–that can’t believe she’s really here.. After all of it. After the lies, the danger, the miles I put between us thinking it would protect her. She still came back.
I shift slightly, pulling her tighter, burying my nose in her hair.
I know she’s asleep when her hand goes still, her breath deep and steady, lips parted slightly against my chest.
And I lie there, holding the girl I never thought I deserved, wondering what the hell I did right to have her here.
She’s it for me.
She’s the end of the world and the beginning of something I never knew I was allowed to have.
And I’m never letting her go again.
I keep my hand on her back, fingers gently brushing the slope of her spine. Her breathing is slow, her cheek resting just above my heart. I wonder if she can feel it thudding beneath her. It’s been doing that since the moment I saw her again–hell, since the day I met her.
Four days. That’s all we’ve got until she starts school again. Winter break is over, and she’s diving back into eighteen–hour days, auditions, rehearsals, classes. A schedule built on grit and exhaustion and muscle memory.
I can already picture her–hair up in a messy bun, tights twisted, sweater half–falling off one shoulder, eyes sharp with focus and lips pink from chewing on them between scenes. It turns me on and terrifies me at the same time, the idea of her pushing herself to the edge and back.
And I start my new job the same day. Contract signed, protocols briefed, security clearance updated. It’s official now.
Head of Tactical Field Design and Testing.
Not bad for a guy who didn’t think he’d ever wear a uniform again. But this time, it’s different. No combat. No deployments. I’ll be working with SEALs still, testing new strategy and gear designed for deep–cover teams. It won’t erase what happened to my old unit, won’t bring back the brothers I lost… but maybe it’ll help someone else live. Maybe I can keep someone else from waking up in the middle of the night drenched in guilt, wondering if there was a better
way.
And she supports it. She was proud. Told me I’d be brilliant at it. Even kissed me so hard I nearly forgot my name.
Then there’s the gala. Five weeks. That’s all the time she’s got left to master her routine, cement her place, carry the show.
It’ll be chaos.
And I love it.
I love all of it. The fullness of it. The fact that we’re building this thing together–this life. Mine and hers, Intertwined and messy and beautiful.
But of course, I think about more.
I think about… her.
A different version of her.
Barefoot in the kitchen, hair a wild mess down her back, skin glowing in the morning light.
Maybe wearing one of my old T–shirts, baggy over her thighs.
And maybe… maybe there’s a bump beneath that shirt.
Small, Barely there. But mine. Ours.
Yeah.
That thought?
It wrecks me.
It’s not the first time I’ve imagined it. The idea’s been gnawing at the back of my mind more and more lately. Seeing her with that little girl the other night? Watching the way she bent down and smiled and tucked that kid’s hair behind her ear like it was second nature?
Fucked me up in a way I didn’t expect.
Because I want that.
I want her like that.
With a baby. With our baby.
Jesus.
I bury my face in her hair and groan quietly against her scalp.
Now’s not the time. I know that. She’s just barely past the worst of it. School’s starting. She has a great career ahead of her. My new work is beginning There’s still so much chaos ahead. We’re not there yet.
But still…
God, the idea of her round and glowing and soft–mine in every way possible–makes me feel feral.
She shifts a little in her sleep, letting out a soft sigh, and I tighten my hold around her waist, letting her leg slide more firmly over mine. My hand curves protectively over her hip, then smooths up, feeling the rise and fall of her breath beneath my palm.
Yeah, not yet.
But someday?
Someday, I’ll ruin her in the most beautiful way.
And she’ll ruin me right back.
With a little girl who has her eyes, or a boy with that wild hair of hers.
Someday.
But for now… I hold her closer, kiss the crown of her head, and let her breathe easy.
Because right now, this–her wrapped up in me, asleep, safe–is everything.
And it’s more than enough.
