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I slide my hand around her neck, and as she tightens her arms around my waist, I feel like I’m back where I’m supposed to be.

I’m home again.

I’ve been home for weeks, sure, but the times I truly feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be are the times when she’s in my arms, when my lips are on hers…when we’re making confessions and having the hard conversations.

She still loves me.

I still love her.

What else is there?

It’s all that matters. Her, me, and the baby. We can be a family, and as I deepen our kiss, as my tongue brushes hers, I feel it with every fiber of my being.

I push my hips toward hers, the sure signal that I want her, want this , and she seems to want the same thing too. I want to see her, to feel her, to make love to the woman she is now, history and scars and all. I want to stand by her side as she grows this baby, and I want to hold it in my own arms whenever she’s ready for me to—whether that’s in the delivery room so I can be by her side for it all or once she’s back home.

I want to create a family with her.

I want to be as involved in this baby’s life as she wants me to be, and I hope she feels it too, that she wants to create the next generation with me, that we can raise this child together as we make more to join her.

And it all starts now, with this kiss that feels like it’s leading somewhere for the first time in forever.

I start the slow walk toward her bed, and she moves step for step with me. My chest tightens and my dick perks up. Finally, after all this time, we’re moving to the place I’ve dreamt of since the last time we were together.

The back of her legs hit softly against her bed, and she seems to wake from a trance.

She freezes, and then her hands move to my chest.

Not again .

She sets her palms there and gently breaks apart from me. “I—um…I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” I ask, my voice raspy and unrecognizable.

“I can’t do this. I’m—I don’t want to hurt the baby…”

“You won’t,” I say. “It’s safe to have sex while you’re pregnant.”

She ducks her head a little. “Yeah, I know that physically it’s fine. Emotionally, though…” She trails off, and then she sighs and ducks away from me. She’s too far away now, and I feel the divide between us widening again. She’s putting her wall back up, and I can guess why even before the words come out. “I just can’t. I…you’re married, Tristan. I can’t be intimate with you until that’s no longer true.”

I blow out a breath as I walk over to her dresser. I rest my palms on it and lean forward a little.

So I’m willing to take on this baby fathered by another man as my own, but she isn’t willing to be with me until my sham of a marriage is legally over despite the fact that it’s been over in every other way that matters for over two years now?

I’ve been understanding. I get it. She’s been through a lot, and she’s been hurt by married men who were unfaithful.

But she keeps leading me to the water and then not letting me take a drink, and it’s beyond frustrating.

My dick screams for release. My chest is tight with regret—regret for not chasing her down and finding her seven years ago, regret for marrying Savannah, regret for not pushing harder for a divorce before now.

I keep saying I’ll wait for her, and I will.

She will be worth it.

But that doesn’t make the wait any less frustrating or the journey any less difficult.

“I fucking hate her,” I whisper. I glance in the mirror hung just above the dresser, and I see her studying me in the reflection. “Savannah, I mean. I fucking hate her. I hate how she can manage to ruin everything good in my life even when she’s fifteen hundred miles away.”

She clears her throat, obviously not sure what to say to that.

“I hired a new lawyer to work together with my original one,” I say softly. “He came highly recommended by Jack Dalton, and he’s familiar with Savannah. I didn’t officially switch lawyers since doing so would start the proceedings completely over again, but Richard is unofficially in charge of my case now. And he is a shark. He will get this done and dusted so I can move on with my life. From what I hear, if I get a sympathetic judge and there’s not much else on the docket, this could go through in as little as a few weeks.”

Her eyes look hopeful as they lift to mine.

I turn around to face her. “And the second I have word it’s final, you’re the first person I’m telling. Not because I think it means that we can finally have sex or whatever, but because you’re the person I want to share all my news with. The good and the bad. You always were, and I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to pick up the phone to call you and tell you something only to remember that I didn’t have your number and I couldn’t get in touch with you.”

“Oh Tristan,” she says softly, and then she moves swiftly toward me, crashing into me as she presses her body to mine. I wrap my arms around her as her cheek meets my chest, and I press a soft kiss to the top of her head. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, and I’m not sure why she’s apologizing. Maybe because she feels bad for making me wait. Maybe because she’s a little older now, a little wiser now—maybe she understands what blue balls are now.

Or maybe it’s none of that at all. Maybe it’s for disappearing without a trace only to show up again seven years later like we never missed a beat.