Chapter 17 Soft. Reverent. Real.
Soft. Reverent. Real.
Coleman
The room is quiet.
Not in the way that used to make me feel like the walls were closing in. Not like the empty silence I lived with for years. This quiet is different—soft, warm, full of her breathing.
Remi’s curled against my chest like she belongs there. One leg slung over mine. One hand resting flat against my stomach. Her hair tickles my neck every time she exhales, and it’s killing me—in the best goddamn way.
I haven’t slept. Not a single minute.
I’ve just been lying here, staring at the ceiling, then back at her, then at the ceiling again like I’m trying to memorize what it feels like to have peace stitched into the night.
She’s asleep. Peaceful. Soft. Safe.
And I’m wrecked.
Because I kissed her. Finally. Kissed her the way I’ve wanted to from the second she walked into my kitchen like she owned the place and baked cookies that cracked my daughters open like glass jars.
But it wasn’t the kiss that undid me.
It was what came after.
Her voice. That tremble in it when she said she loved my girls. That she couldn’t risk hurting them. That she’d rather give us up than be another person who let them down.
She didn’t just kiss me tonight. She cracked me open… and crawled inside.
And now I’m lying here with a Remi-shaped hole in my chest that I didn’t know existed until she filled it.
God, I want her.
Not just in my bed, not just in my arms—I want her in every damn part of my life.
Her chaos. Her color. Her loud laugh and overpacked bags and ability to make a room feel alive just by walking into it.
I want her for more than just one night.
More than just the heat that still lingers on my skin from where she touched me.
I want her in my mornings. In my kitchen. In the backseat of my car, making the girls laugh on the way to school. I want her in the quiet, on the hard days, when everything feels like it’s falling apart and I don’t know how to keep holding the pieces together.
I want her love.
And I want to be the kind of man who earns it.
Which means I can’t keep being some cold, calculated version of a father just trying to get through the days. I can’t keep shielding myself behind structure and silence because I’m too afraid of screwing things up again.
I have to try.
To be better. Softer. Warmer.
For her.
Because she’s already done the impossible—walked into a broken house and made it feel like home again. Not just for the girls. For me, too.
And if she can do that without even trying, then what the hell am I doing letting her slip away?
I glance down at her. She stirs a little in her sleep, curling tighter into me like she knows. Like some part of her already feels the decision I’ve made.
I press a kiss to the top of her head.
Soft. Reverent. Real.
She doesn’t wake, but she sighs—and it damn near brings me to my knees.
I don’t know how to be the man she deserves.
But I’m going to learn.
Because she’s not just the risk.
She’s the reward.
And I’d rather fall flat on my face trying to be the man who’s worthy of her… than live one more day pretending I don’t already need her like air.
The sky’s still painted in early grays when I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her.
She is curled up like a dream I’m terrified will vanish the second I blink.
She stayed.
Not just in my house. In my arms. In that space between what we said and what we didn’t. And now she’s here—her scent on my pillow, her breath steady and soft against the blankets.
I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Every time I tried to let my mind rest, I thought about the way she’d whispered she couldn’t risk loving me—not because she didn’t feel it, but because she already did.
And now I’m standing in my kitchen, turning the coffee maker on like that’s going to fix the war going on inside me.
I pull down her favorite mug—the one with the music notes and guitar she used on her second day here, the one she said reminded her of her brother Matthew. I rinse it out, pour her coffee first, and set it on the counter like it’s a peace offering.
She loves breakfast. I remember that. So I start pulling things from the fridge. Eggs, bacon, bread for toast. I crack them slowly, methodically.
I hear her footsteps before I see her.
She walks in wearing a Soundgarden tshirt and sleep shorts, hair a mess, eyes still soft with sleep—and I swear to God, I almost ask her to stay. To skip whatever plans she made and just stay in this house for one more day. One more hour.
“Morning,” she says with a sleepy smile.
“Morning.” My voice is rough, low. I slide the coffee toward her. “Yours. Guitar mug.”
Her eyes light up just a little, like it means more than it should. “You remembered.”
I shrug. “You always talk about music when you’re holding it.”
She wraps her hands around it and leans against the counter. “You making breakfast?”
“You like breakfast.”
She grins. “You’re not wrong.”
I keep cooking. She sips slowly.
And then—quietly—she says, “I have to go to my parents’ today.”
I don’t flinch. Don’t let it show.
Even though the words hit like a cold wind through an open door.
I nod. “Okay.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow night. Before the girls get home.”
Another nod.
I plate the eggs.
She watches me for a second, brows pulling together. “What about you? Got any plans today?”
I hesitate. Only for a second. Then lie.
“Meeting Harvey later.”
Her expression softens. “Harvey. Is he the mechanic guy?”
“Owns a big tow business.” I clear my throat. “Good guy. Grew up with him, Langston, Nathan, Dean. We’ve been friends since college.”
“Oh, the rich boys club,” she teases, sipping her coffee.
I huff out a laugh. “Something like that. Langston started calling us the Kings of Lakeshore after sneaking us into Lakeshore Reserve our freshman year.”
She perks up, smiling around the rim of her cup. “Wait, that’s actually cute.”
I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t.”
“It totally was.”
I shake my head, smirking despite myself. “They’re still my people. Even if we’re all too busy now. Kids, work. Dean’s and Nathan’s coaching. Langston owns half of Lakeshore Street. Harvey’s still under cars. And me…”
Her voice is quieter. “Still trying to hold it all together.”
I glance up at her. “Something like that.”
We eat together at the island—quiet, but not awkward. Just… soft. Familiar. Her feet are on the rung of the stool. She swings one absently. Her hair keeps falling in her face, and she doesn’t bother fixing it.
She looks like she belongs here.
When she stands, I follow her to the sink. She rinses her cup, sets it down, and when she turns back around, I’m already reaching for her.
My hand brushes a loose strand behind her ear.
“Thanks for staying with me last night,” I murmur.
She blinks up at me, breath caught. “You’re welcome.”
I take one step closer.
“I’m going to miss you,” I admit, voice low, almost a whisper.
Her lips twitch like she wants to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I lean in and kiss her cheek—just barely—but my lips linger. Because I don’t know how else to say what I’m feeling without begging her not to walk out that door.
She doesn’t move.
But I do.
Before I say something that makes her second-guess everything, I turn and head for the back door.
“I’m gonna check on the yard,” I say over my shoulder, voice rough.
She doesn’t stop me.
She just watches me go.
And I step out into the morning sun, hoping like hell I can keep pretending I didn’t just fall in love with her in the middle of my kitchen.