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I keep reading, letting my voice stay soft and soothing, my fingers tracing absent patterns over the worn edge of the book.
By the time I reach the middle of the story, Robbie’s blinks are slow and long, his breathing evening out. His grip on Rexy loosens just a little, his body relaxing into the mattress.
I pause for a second, watching him, my chest tightening in a way I can’t fully explain.
I love this kid.
It’s something I’ve known for a while now, but in moments like this—when he’s soft and sleepy, trusting and small—it hits me all over again.
I tuck the book against my lap and reach out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His lashes flutter, but he doesn’t fully open his eyes.
“Do you want me to finish the story?” I ask softly.
He’s quiet for a moment, then shakes his head just the slightest bit. “You can finish it tomorrow.”
I smile. “Okay, buddy.”
I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Robbie.”
“’Night, Annie,” he murmurs, already half-asleep.
I take a slow breath and ease off the bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin and making sure Rexy is still tucked against his side. I step back, watching him for a moment longer before finally turning toward the door.
I flick off the lamp, leaving only the soft glow of the nightlight in the corner, and slip out of the room, closing the door behind me with a quiet click.
I exhale slowly, pressing my palm to the wood for just a second.
He’s asleep. Safe.
I just have to get to my room now.
That’s it.
If I can make it down the hall without bumping into—
I turn,and walk right into something solid.
Someone solid.
My breath catches as I step back instinctively, but a firm hand catches my elbow, steadying me before I can stumble.
Cole.
Of course.
I don’t look up at first, don’t want to see whatever expression is on his face. Instead, I focus on the way his fingers wrap around my arm, warm and strong, the heat from his skin sinking into mine. I focus on the way his chest rises and falls, slow and even, the faintest hint of his cologne lingering in the air between us.
I force myself to look up.
His green eyes meet mine immediately, dark and unreadable in the dim light of the hallway. His hair is still damp from earlier, the ends curling slightly at his temples in a way that reminds me of Robbie. He’s barefoot, wearing only a pair of dark sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders.
I swallow.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low, rough.
I blink, tryingto pull myself together. “Hey.”
His fingers flex slightly on my arm before he slowly lets go, but he doesn’t step back. He stays right there, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off of him.