Chapter Twenty-Six
Lorelie
“Kids asleep?” I whisper ask when Patrick unlocks the door.
He nods, confused, tilting his head just enough for the hallway light to shine over one side of his face.
I smile. “Well… can I come in?”
A breathy laugh escapes him as he pulls the door wider. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, I step inside, close enough that he has to step back, then reach behind me and shut the door with a soft click.
“I missed you,” I whisper, feeling exposed.
His eyebrows lift. “Yeah?”
I nod and tug him closer by the front of his shirt.
Patrick braces his hands on either side of my head against the door, caging me in without touching me. The warmth of him hits me first, then the look on his face, like he’s not sure how to react.
I bite my lip, slowly nibbling the skin.
His eyes drop to my mouth instantly.
He studies the way I worry the soft skin between my teeth, like he’s memorizing every detail. His gaze flicks up to mine, searching for hesitation, asking for permission without saying a word.
I don’t hesitate.
My fingers curl tighter in his shirt, pulling him in just slightly.
He leans in, his breath hot against my skin. Then, with one gentle sweep of his thumb, he traces the outline of my lower lip.
A shiver runs straight through me.
He gives me more than enough time to pull away.
But I don’t.
Not even close.
I tilt my chin up, invitation written all over me, and whisper, “Patrick…”
And he finally closes the last inch between us. The first touch of his lips is a question, soft and searching against mine. I sigh into his mouth, and that small sound is all the permission he needs.
The pressure deepens, his lips parting slightly to fit more perfectly against my own. His hand, which had been braced against the door, comes up to cup the back of my neck, his fingers tangling gently in my hair.
The hold is possessive but not demanding, a silent reminder that he has me. His other thumb, sweeps along my jawline, a slow, burning path that makes my skin tingle.
He tastes just like I remember, clean and mine. The kiss becomes a slow, languid dance. I meet his exploration with my own, my tongue brushing against his in a tentative caress that sends a jolt straight down my spine.
I pull back, breathing heavily, while my lips tingle. Patrick rests his forehead against mine, his breath just as ragged as mine.
“Well,” he drawls, voice low and smug in the cutest way, “you really missed me.”
I huff a tiny laugh. “I really did.”
He pulls back to his full height, stretching, and lets out a dramatic groan.
“God, I forgot how tiny you are,” he says, rubbing his lower back like having to bend to kiss me was a burden.
“You’re just huge,” I shoot back.
His eyes sparkle, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t need to. The grin says everything.
I roll my eyes at him. “Classy.”
He smirks, still not saying anything.
“Have you eaten?” I ask, brushing my hands down the front of his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles my fists left behind.
He nods. “You?”
I nod too. “So…” I murmur, fingers still lightly gripping the fabric of his shirt. “You stayed in my bed; can I stay in yours?”
His smile spreads slow and lopsided and it absolutely lures me in.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand gently. And with a gentle tug, he leads me deeper into the apartment, toward the bedroom I’ve never seen.
I’ve been in the kids’ room when I dropped them off, but Patrick’s room? Never.
A weird little thrill flickers in my chest. I definitely never imagined seeing my husband’s bedroom for the first time just shy of our seventh anniversary, but hey, silver linings, right?
And maybe… just maybe… he won’t be here for long.
The girls were right. I have been kind of an indecisive asshole. And while I am not ready for him to move back in tonight…
I am ready to commit.
“Ooh,” I say when we step inside. “My boyfriend’s tidy.”
“Boyfriend,” Patrick repeats softly, like he’s tasting the word. He closes the bedroom door behind us.
I glance around the small room, definitely not the master. It’s barely big enough for a bed and a table which I’m guessing is his nightstand. Milo and Agnes have the bigger room. Of course they do.
My heart squeezes.
Then I spot a suitcase propped in the corner.
“Is that a suitcase?” I ask, pointing.
Patrick rubs the back of his neck. “Oh. Yeah. I’ve been meaning to get a dresser.”
“Don’t,” I say without thinking. Then softer, “Why waste the money? You’re gonna move home soon anyway.”
His head snaps up, eyes wide. “I am?”
“Yeah, of course.” My voice comes out calm even though my heart is racing. “Patrick… I know I’ve been here and there and not giving you a real answer. And it’s not fair to you.”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I can wait.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” I take a breath. “The truth is… I don’t need time to learn to trust you. I already do.”
Patrick’s lips press together, his throat bobbing as he nods once. Then twice. Then several times, like he’s holding in emotions.
I smile. “Are you gonna cry?”
He exhales hard. “No.”
I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist. His chin drops to the top of my head as he pulls me in tight, much tighter than I expected. When I try to pull back after a few seconds, his arms clamp around me like steel.
“Not yet,” he breathes, voice low and rumbly against my hair.
So, I don’t.
Patrick
I stretch, yawning so wide my jaw cracks. My arm shifts and-
“Ow,” Lore mumbles. “My hair.”
“Shit, sorry.” I untangle my fingers from her curls, gently rubbing the spot I must’ve tugged. “Sorry, baby.”
She doesn’t answer, just burrows deeper under the covers and presses her face against my chest like she’s trying to fuse into me.
“It’s 6:30,” I say, voice still thick with sleep. Just to be sure, I squint at the clock. “Yup. Six-thirty.”
Lore groans like she wants me to shut up. “I don’t have work till twelve.”
I slide my hand along her bare forearm, tracing lazy circles. “Milo has school. How do you wanna handle it?”
Usually, she’d take him to school and drop Agnes with my dad after feeding her, just to see the kids when it’s not her week.
She makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a dying animal. “Do they come in here?” she mutters.
“No,” I say. “Why would they?”
“Well,” she mumbles into the pillow, “how about I just hide in here until you leave?”
The pillow shifts as she pushes it up enough to peek at me with one sleep-puffed eye.
“That is… unless you’re not okay with leaving me alone in your apartment.”
I brush her hair out of her face, letting my fingers linger.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She gives me a wicked, hushed little whisper: “I’ll snoop.”
I laugh under my breath, lean in, and kiss her quickly.
“Snoop away.”
Right on that, the bedroom door creaks open.
I jerk back. Lore ducks under the covers so fast she makes an air bubble.
Milo stands in the doorway, hair sticking up in every direction, rubbing his eyes with a fist.
“I’m hungry,” he mumbles.
My heart thuds as I deflate the comforter. Picking up the baby monitor, I can see that Agnes is still asleep. Thank God. Milo must’ve slipped out without a peep.
I swing my legs off the bed, standing quickly and blocking Milo’s view of the suspicious Lore-shaped lump under the blanket.
“Come on, buddy,” I whisper, ushering him toward the hallway. “Let’s get some breakfast going.”
He shuffles out, yawning, and I close the bedroom door just enough to give Lore cover while not making it obvious I’m hiding something.
Time to act like a parent… and pray my six-year-old doesn’t notice the woman hiding in my bed.
By the time I slide a plate of eggs and toast in front of him, Milo is awake enough to give me a heart attack.
“Where’s Mommy?” he asks, stabbing his toast. Literally stabbing it with his fork.
“Wha-?” I stall like a complete idiot, nearly dropping the spatula.
He sighs dramatically. “I’m gonna be late for school.”
“Oh. Uh… I’ll take you today,” I say quickly, wiping my palms on a towel. “Mommy had… work.”
He makes a face, scrunching his nose as he tries cutting toast with the fork, which, why does he always do that?
“She’s always working,” he mutters.
“Hey,” I say gently, sliding into the chair beside him. That’s not true.”
“It is,” he grumbles, still not looking at me. “Everyone’s mommy comes to school and class and Mommy doesn’t.”
My chest squeezes. God, Lore would break if she heard that. She tries so damn hard.
I lean forward on my forearms, lowering my voice like I’m letting him in on a secret.
“Well… Grandpa comes. And me. And Uncle Harvey.” I soften my tone. “And Mommy does too, bud. Just not every day.”
He lifts the piece of toast, the whole thing, with his fork and bites into it. I bite back the urge to feed him the forgotten eggs myself and crouch next to his chair so we’re eye-level.
“Milo,” I say softly, brushing his hair off his forehead, “your mommy has a really important job. Alright? She saves people. People who are hurt, people who need help.” I smile, tapping the tip of his nose. “Just like a hero.”
Milo pauses mid-chew, thinking hard. His little brows pull together in worry.
“Like you?” he asks in a small voice.
My breath catches.
I smile, brushing my thumb over his cheek. “Better,” I say quietly. “Way better.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth or just being a dad.
Then he nods decisively. “Okay. Mommy’s a hero. But you’re… you’re my daddy.”
And just like that, I’m done. Finished. Emotionally obliterated.
I pull him into a proper hug this time, pressing my chin to his messy hair.
“Yeah, bud,” I whisper, voice thick. “I’m your daddy.”
When I let go, he looks perfectly satisfied with himself, grabs another toast with his fork, and says around a mouthful.
“Can I have juice?”
I stand, ruffling his hair. “Yeah. Juice coming right up.”
Leaving Milo to his breakfast and his juice, I head down the hall to grab Agnes, only to stop dead when I reach the crib.
Empty.
Before the panic can even form, I spin toward my room.
And there she is.
Lore is sitting against the headboard, hair messy from sleep, shirt pushed up, nursing our daughter like she does every morning.
“Hey,” she whispers when she sees me. “Sorry… she was crying, and I didn’t want to mess up her feeding.”
I glance back down the hallway to make sure Milo isn’t wandering in, then close the door halfway.
Lore shifts, gently detaching Agnes. “I’m done,” she murmurs, and passes our daughter into my waiting hands. “Burp her?”
“Yeah,” I say, voice embarrassingly low.
I pat her shoulder in a lame attempt at casual… but my eyes betray me instantly.
Because Jesus Christ.
My wife’s bare breasts are right there.
For the first time in almost a year.
And they’re exactly as I remember. Actually, better. Fuller from breastfeeding, soft, unreal. My mouth literally dries.
And these are absolutely not thoughts a man should have while his tiny daughter is draped over his shoulder, letting out a monstrous belch.
Agnes lets out a second one, louder.
Lore snorts softly. “Just like her daddy.”
“Not funny,” I mutter, shifting the baby and trying and failing to stop staring like a creep.
Lore smiles down at her shirt, pulling the fabric back into place. “You gonna survive over there?”
No. Not even a little.
But I force a shrug. “Totally.”