Page 67

Not loud.

Not broken.

Just… open.

Tears slipping silently down my cheeks, breath trembling in my chest.

And somehow, Cal knows.

His hand stills. Lifts. Falls again—once. Twice. Firm but steady.

Then one final swat, slower, like punctuation.

He doesn’t speak right away.

Just rests his palm on the curve of my thigh, warm and grounding.

And then, softly—

“Safety.”

The word sinks into me like a stone into water.

“You broke a safety rule, little one.”

I close my eyes, breath catching.

But he’s not angry. Not scolding.

Just… steady.

“You don’t run into the night. Not without shoes. Not without me.”

A little sob slips free. I try to swallow it. Try to bury it.

His hand presses gently to my back.

“But I know why you did.”

I shake my head. I don’t want him to say it. Don’t want to hear what it cost.

But he does.

And his voice is everything.

“I know it was love that made you run.”

Another tear slides down my cheek.

“And it’s love that brings you back.”

I lose it—not in panic, not in guilt, but in quiet, unshakable release.

My body folds forward, trembling with sobs that are soft but real, too full to hold in any longer.

It’s not hysteria. It’s not fear. It’s everything I’ve held back breaking loose in the safety of his presence.

A surrender without shame, a fall that feels like being caught.

And Cal moves instantly.

Lifts me like I weigh nothing.

Wraps both arms around me and pulls me into his lap, upright, close. His chest is warm and solid, rising with each deep breath until I’m breathing with him. I bury my face in the curve of his neck, trying to disappear into him.

But he doesn’t let me.

He strokes my hair, cups the back of my head.

His other hand comes up to my cheek, thumb brushing away every tear.

“You don’t have to hide, baby,” he murmurs.

I try to shake my head, but I can’t. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He hushes me. Rocks me gently.

“You did good,” he murmurs. “You took it all for me, brave girl."

He kisses the side of my head.

“God, I love you.”

The words hit harder than anything else. They make something ache in my chest in the best, worst way.

He kisses my cheek again.

“My girl. My sweet, strong girl.”

I melt into him, and he holds me like he means it—like I’m not too much, like I never was. His arms remain steady, sure, refusing to let go.

Not when my breathing evens out or the tears slow. Not even when my body softens completely against his. He just keeps holding me, like I’m something worth anchoring to, something worth staying for.

Not when my breathing evens out. Not when the tears slow. Not even when my body stills against his.

He just keeps holding me.

One hand smoothing up and down my spine in long, soothing passes.

The other is cradling the back of my head like he’s afraid I might slip away.

Eventually, he shifts. Not to break the moment, but to care for it.

To care for me.

“Let’s get you some water, baby.”

His voice is soft. Deep. Almost hoarse.

He lifts me with ease, keeps me close as he rises from the chair. I bury my face against his neck again. He doesn’t mind. Doesn’t ask me to move.

He carries me to the kitchen, sits me gently on the counter like I’m made of spun sugar, and presses a kiss to my temple.

“Stay,” he murmurs, brushing my hair back behind my ear.

I nod, dazed. Wrung out. But safe.

So, so safe.

He pours a glass of water. Cold. Perfect. Holds it to my lips until I take it in both hands and drink.

Then he pulls open the drawer by the sink, the soft scrape of wood and clink of metal grounding the moment as he rummages quietly.

When he turns back to me, there’s a soft cloth in his hand. Damp and cool.

He cups my face again. Dabs gently at my cheeks, under my eyes. Brushes away the last of the tears with such tenderness that it makes my throat ache.

“There she is,” he whispers.

I try to speak.

“I’m sor—”

He hushes me again, shaking his head, thumb brushing just under my lower lip.

“I know, baby. I know.”

Then—

“Let’s get you to bed.”

He lifts me once more—my legs curling automatically around his waist. I cling tighter this time, and he adjusts his hold without missing a beat, hands settling securely beneath me, like he's done this a hundred times.

Like carrying me is second nature. I tuck my face into the space between his collarbone and jaw. I can feel his heartbeat there.

Strong.

Steady.

Mine.

In the bedroom, he lowers me to the sheets with care. Pulls the blankets up around me.

He lays me down on the bed like something precious.

Emptied out in the way only he can do.

He pulls the blankets up around me but pauses, holding them there like he’s torn between tucking me in tight and giving me just one more moment of care.

“Wait.”

His voice is soft. Grounded.

“Let me see, sweet girl. Just for a second. Just to make sure.”

My breath catches, but I nod.

Slow.

Trusting.

I roll to my side as he gently folds the quilt back again. His hands are careful, easing the waistband of my pants down—not to inspect, not to linger, but to tend. To make sure I’m okay. To soothe the hurt he gave with the same hands that now offer only gentleness.

He exhales when he sees. A low sound. Not relief, not regret. Just something human. Something breaking and softening all at once.

“You took it so well for me.”

His hand glides over the curve of my hip. A touch without demand. Only warmth, only presence.

“My good girl,” he murmurs. "You did so well for Daddy."

Then he moves away for a moment. I hear the low creak of the nightstand drawer. The sound of a cap being twisted open.

He returns with lotion.

A soft, unscented kind.

He kneels beside the bed, pours a little into his palm, watches it glisten in the low light, then rubs his hands together slowly. The faint sound of skin against skin, the gentle sheen of warmth—it lingers between us before he touches me again.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says quietly.

I nod, eyes fluttering closed as his hands touch me again.

This time, they’re soothing.

Slow circles. Gentle pressure. His thumbs moving with reverence over every place his palm had landed.

He’s not trying to erase it.

Just to ease the ache.

To honor it.

My breath deepens. Muscles melting beneath his touch.

He murmurs as he works. Little things. Wordless ones, mostly. Soft hums of approval.

And when he finishes, he presses a kiss—warm and sure—to the small of my back.

Then gently redresses me. I let out a soft sigh as his fingers guide the fabric back into place, my body yielding beneath his hands.

Pulls the blankets up. Tucks them in around my shoulders like I’m something worth keeping safe.

Like I’m his to protect. Like no one’s ever tucked me in this way before, and maybe no one ever will again.

Because to him, I am.

The room is dim now, only the faint golden glow of the bedside lamp left on. It casts long shadows across the walls, catching on the curve of his jaw, the silver at his temples.

He watches me for a beat.

Then rises, moves around the bed.

And slips in beside me.

His arm slides beneath my head, pulling me gently to his chest. His other hand finds my waist. Holds. Anchors.

I go without hesitation.

Curl into him like I was made for it. Legs tangling with his. One arm stretched across his ribs. My cheek against the steady thrum of his heart.

He exhales, deep. The kind of breath you only take when something inside you finally lets go.

His hands find mine beneath the covers, and he brings them to his lips. His kiss is warm and deliberate, a soft press that lingers just long enough to make my pulse stutter. I exhale into the touch, my fingers tightening slightly in his—as if holding onto the promise he seals there.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

He’s not just saying it to comfort me, or steady me, or remind me.

He’s saying it because it overflows.

Because there’s nowhere else for it to go.

Tears sting at the backs of my eyes again, but this time, they don’t fall.

This time, I just press closer.

And whisper it back into the warm hollow of his neck.

“I love you too.”

He holds me tighter.

Tucks me in fully beneath the quilt and into his body. His nose brushes my hair. His fingers trace idle lines across my hip, my back, my shoulder.

Nothing rushed.

Nothing more needed.

Only this.

Only us.

The dogs settle in again—Luca’s tail giving one last sleepy thump against the floorboards, Cleo shifting with a soft huff, their warmth folding into the hush of the room like punctuation at the end of a prayer. The quiet is full. Whole.

And as I fall asleep there, wrapped in his arms, his love, his care, I know.

I was never too much. Never too hard to love.

And I’ll never have to run again.

This is what it means to come home.

His breath slows before mine.

I feel it in the way his chest rises and falls beneath my palm.

In the way his hold on me stays firm, even as sleep pulls him under.

But I’m still awake, just for a moment longer.

So I can memorize this.

The weight of his arm around me.

The low hum of his breath, steady against the back of my neck.

The lingering warmth of his kiss, still blooming soft on my temple, like a promise pressed into skin.

“I love you,” he’d said, and I believed him—not just tonight, not just now, but fully. Finally. I believe him.

Because real love doesn’t flinch. It doesn’t flee. It stays.

Even when it’s hard. Even when you’re sure you don’t deserve it—especially then.

I breathe him in one last time, soft and slow, and let my eyes fall shut. For the first time in my life, I don’t brace for what comes next. Because it’s him. Because it’s us. Because I’m not lost anymore, and I’m not alone.

I’m his.