Epilogue #2
Kit perched on the edge of the mattress, his duffel at his feet. He ran his hand over the quilt, the touch slow and thoughtful, like he was reading the pattern by braille.
“How do you feel now?” His voice was barely more than a breath, but his stare was hopeful. “I mean really.”
I sat next to him and picked at the rough edge of a seam, eyes landing on the lace at the window, fluttering with the movement of a gentle breeze.
“I feel . . . .” The word stuck in my throat. I couldn’t explain the emotion in one simple adjective. “I feel safer than I have in years.”
Kit smiled at that—small, but genuine. He scooted closer, letting his knees knock against mine. The bed creaked, but neither of us moved away.
“I’m glad,” Kit whispered. He leaned in, fingers combing through the damp strands of my hair where the humidity had turned it wet. His touch was light, but it burned in the best way. When I didn’t meet his gaze, he caught my chin with a single finger, tilting my head until our gaze locked.
His eyes turned soft. “You don’t have to say anything else, you know.”
I didn’t. I just wanted to feel.
He slid closer so our thighs touched. I’d never noticed how much smaller Kit was than me—how his frame fit against mine like the missing piece in a puzzle. His palm drifted along my collarbone, thumb tracing the new goose bumps there.
I let out a shaky breath, and he kissed my hand. A quiet, patient kiss, like I might vanish if he moved too fast.
I reached for him—slow, because even now, eight months later, I was afraid to want this so much—and rested my hand at his waist. His shirt was soft, the warmth of him radiating out, chasing the chill from my skin. He curled against me, burying his nose in my neck.
“Okay?” he whispered.
I nodded and that was enough.
His lips traced a line from my jaw to the corner of my mouth. I could taste the lemon bars and the sugar. Maybe the smallest trace of tears that hadn’t fully dried. I opened for him, the first kiss so gentle I thought my heart might stop, but the next was deeper. Hungrier. Needier.
Kit’s hand slid up under my shirt, splaying wide across my back. He was trembling, just a little, which made me brave. I leaned in, letting our bodies meet. Every point of contact felt more necessary than air.
I’d had sex before Kit, but I’d never had this—never the slow build, never the trust. Kit kissed me like he wanted to memorize every inch of me. He mapped my scars with his tongue, dragged his nails along my ribs, and when I hissed, he only smiled and did it again.
I rolled him onto his back, careful of the headboard, careful of everything. He gripped my shoulder, nails digging in, eyes wide and wild.
“You’re shaking,” he said, but he was trembling more.
“Not cold,” I told him, and it was true because it was summer in Indiana and it was stinking hot outside. I also wasn’t cold on the inside anymore. He’d made sure of that. He’d warmed me, made me less of a soldier and more of a human.
He snorted a laugh, then grabbed me by the jaw to pull me down for another kiss. We tangled, legs and arms and lips, the quilt cocooning us in color and heat.
I peeled off his shirt, then mine, and we lay there, chest to chest, while the last orange light of day slipped through the lace and painted us gold.
Kit’s fingers wandered, never content to settle in one place for long. He found the dog tags and thumbed them before tracing the scars that littered my chest. Then, he pressed a kiss to the hollow of my throat. I shivered but didn’t flinch.
He pulled back, searching my face. “Do you want to—?”
I kissed him before he finished, because I didn’t have words for yes, but I could give him everything else.
He guided my hand, patient and sure, until I was touching him the way he liked. I tried to be gentle, but I couldn’t hide how bad I wanted him—how bad I wanted to be known, not as a navy SEAL, not as a haunted shadow, but as a man who still had something worth giving.
Kit’s breaths came faster, his hips rolling into mine. I braced above him, letting him set the pace, and when he gasped, I felt the sound like a brand on my skin.
We took it slow because we could. There was no need to rush or fear interruption—there was only the rhythm of two hearts relearning how to beat.
When we finally came apart, sweat cooling on our bodies, he tucked himself against my side, head on my shoulder, one arm looped tight around my waist. I pulled the quilt up to our chins, and for a while, we just listened to the quiet.
The only sound was the faint snore of Mom from the other end of the hall having her afternoon nap.
“Still feel safe?” Kit asked, voice sleep rough.
I squeezed him closer. “Yeah. Because you’re here.”
He hummed, then tipped his head up and kissed me once more—so soft it made my eyes sting.
Kit’s breath warmed the crook of my neck. His fingers found mine beneath the quilt, lacing us together.
I lay there, holding him, letting myself drift after the long drive. For the first time in a decade, I wasn’t counting the exits or planning my escape. I was home, and I was loved, and that was enough.
By the time the lamp dimmed and darkness settled over the room, I’d forgotten about the world outside—the enemies, the debts, the ghosts.
There was only Kit.
And in the hush of the night, that was all I ever wanted.