21. Mended Hearts
21
Mended Hearts
LEIGHTON
Everything about Ollie’s suite felt decadent. From the thick drapes to the secluded rooms and plush bedding, no expense had been spared. It was beautiful—but it had nothing on the view. About thirty minutes later, I pushed the curtains back, revealing a straight shot to Tampa Bay, glittering under the moonlight. I was standing in nothing but Ollie’s shirt, which I’d swiped from his meticulously organized drawers while he tucked the kids in.
There was something deeply soothing about watching the water while waiting for him. And I wondered if it was possible to drown in the smell of him, because just the scent clinging to this shirt had me salivating and desperate.
“Stunning,” I muttered, only for the door to creak behind me. I turned to find Ollie leaning against it, clicking the lock into place as his eyes scraped over my bare legs. When his bottom lip rolled between his teeth, I swore my vagina purred in anticipation. That was one of the things I loved about this man—his intent was always written all over his face.
“Yes, you are,” he said simply, and my soul sang at the sincerity in his voice. He shrugged out of his hoodie, dropping it at the end of the bed as he prowled toward me—nothing but lean lines, defined muscles, and modest hints of ink. When he stopped just short of touching me, I pressed my palms to his chest as his hands melted onto my face.
“Missed you, Trouble. Desperately.”
“Same.”
“Let’s agree to never do that again.”
“I like that plan.”
He dipped down to steal a kiss, hands sliding down my neck, over the curve of my breasts, my waist, my hips—until they slipped beneath the hem of the shirt. Goosebumps erupted as his fingers found my bare ass and Ollie exhaled like it pained him.
“Your skin is so soft.”
“And your hands feel incredible.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s very good for me.”
“Indeed.”
My gaze snagged on the tiny red nick beneath his jaw, just below the bob of his Adam’s apple. I ghosted a finger over the mark, smiling as he offered, “Shaving.”
“You mean you weren’t held at knifepoint?”
Something flickered behind his eyes before he smirked, brushing a loose wave off my forehead.
“Not recently, no.”
“ Recently? ” I squeaked, eyes going wide.
A low rumble of laughter shook his chest. “Relax, baby. Nobody’s ransomed me in ages.”
“That’s not funny,” I bit out, only to lose my breath when he spun me in his arms, aligning my back to his chest and guiding us both to face the window.
“Would you get ‘em for me, killer?” he murmured at my ear, his fingers sliding over my chest and neck.
“Maybe?” It came out as more of a puff than a word, and I melted when he slipped one hand beneath the neckline of his shirt. His warmth skimmed over my clavicle, down to cup one breast. I gasped, my head tipping back onto his shoulder as he began to sway gently with the music he must’ve queued up earlier.
And as I let my weight rest against him, something clicked. Official title or not, I wanted all my dances to belong to Oliver Hart.
A whimper escaped when he pulled his hand away, but it didn’t last. He scraped both palms over my ass, then lifted the shirt up and over my head, leaving me completely bare in the dark.
“I prefer you this way,” he said, husky and low, as he tossed the shirt aside. “You should never wear panties again.”
I laughed, breathless, my stomach flipping as I stared down at the marina. We were high enough up that the scattered few people below looked like ants. High enough that no one could see us—not really. Still, the idea sent a thrill racing up my spine as Ollie trailed his fingers across every inch of skin with a feather-light touch.
Chest tight. Throat thick. Goosebumps everywhere.
He leaned in, breath warming my neck—but he didn’t touch. Like he was just breathing me in. Maybe it was the scent of my tropical shampoo or my vanilla body wash. Maybe it was me. Some wild chemical thing he needed the way I needed him.
His fingers skimmed my sides and I swore my nipples could cut glass.
“I fucking love how responsive you are, Leigh,” he rasped, still not touching me where I wanted. The anticipation made my thighs clench—something he clearly noticed. He slipped one palm over my belly and nudged a knee between my legs. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful, baby.”
I did. I let my focus drift from the world outside to our reflection in the window—two silhouettes bathed in moonlight, pale skin glowing like ghosts against the glass. His hand greedily covered my belly, like he needed to claim it. The other trailed up to my throat, wrapping around it like the most erotic necklace I’d ever worn.
“I love you, Leighton Alexandra.” His hand slipped up to cover my mouth. “I don’t need you to say it back. Don’t need you to rush. I just need you to know it.” He traded his hold for a fist in my hair. “We do everything at your pace, okay?”
I nodded, heart hammering, molten heat pooling low in my belly as he pinned me tighter to his chest.
“I was terrified I’d lost you after our argument Sunday.”
“Not really an argument,” I whispered.
“Bickering match?”
“Spat?”
“Spat,” he agreed with a smirk—and then his hand slid lower, cupping my mound. Even in the blurry glass, I saw his eyes darken.
“I’ve only been more terrified once. And both times, I thought I lost you.”
He didn’t need to say more. That accident haunted both of us.
“I just don’t want to be one more obligation you regret.”
“Leighton.” He sighed, like my words physically hurt. “You’re the only decision I’m absolutely sure of. My name, the company, all of it—that was expected. But you? You’re just for me. Mine. I get to be selfish, just this once. And baby, I want to be right here.”
And then his fingers slid between my folds. I shuddered as he growled, “You’re soaked . Tell me that’s mine. Tell me this is for me .”
“It’s not for me, handsome.”
He chuckled, a devilish smile blooming. “Honestly? I couldn’t blame you if you wanted to fuck yourself. Look at you .”
“Little preoccupied with the god behind me.”
“A god , huh? That’s one hell of an upgrade.”
I gasped as he slipped one blunt finger inside me, the sudden intrusion somehow amplified by watching him in the glass. “ Hmmna .”
“I don’t think that was English, baby.”
I laughed—barely—before it caught on a gasp. His fingers sank into me and the sudden stretch sent a jolt through my core. The reflection made it worse. Better. All-consuming. And when he curled those fingers just right, pressing deeper, my knees nearly gave out. Ollie held me steady, circling my clit, then slipping in a second finger, dragging pleasure through every nerve ending like it was an art form.
“Can…can they see us?” I panted.
“Would you like that?” he whispered. “Would you like the whole city to watch me pleasure you until you soak my hand?”
“I…um.” My panted attempt at forming words turned into a hard swallow as an unexpected rush of need mixed with adrenaline.
Did I…did I like that idea?
“Would you like it…” he whispered, sliding his sticky fingers over my ass before slipping them between my cheeks, thumb pressed against my asshole as his fingers plunged even deeper into my pussy. “I think you would . I think you’re so fucking wet because you like the idea of them watching me ruin you. Watching as I make you shake until your cum is dripping down your legs. Watching as I slide my cock into that sweet cunt and fuck you until you shatter for me all over again.”
Those filthy words ignited me from within. Before it should’ve been humanly possible, my knees buckled. Ollie wrapped his free hand around my waist to keep me from crumpling as tremors of pleasure ripped through me, my legs shaking with each wave he coaxed from me. But he didn’t stop. He fucked me with his fingers through each wave, dragging it out until all I could do was lean against his chest. Instead of easing, he fucked me harder. His free hand slid down my stomach until he reached my clit, circling it in rapid motions. My eyes rolled back in my head as my mouth dropped open.
“Quiet, Leighton,” he rasped, and I swallowed the scream building in my throat. “Good girl.”
By the time I could breathe again, I shoved at his hand. Every inch of me was vibrating like one exposed nerve ending.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured, kissing down my neck, easing his fingers out. He brought them to my mouth. I opened, no hesitation, and the look on his face when I sucked my release from his skin nearly undid me again.
“I need to see you,” he said, turning me in his arms. When my back hit the glass, I hissed at the chill, but he was already moving—reaching for his pants, then turning to the luggage.
“Where are you going?”
“Condom.”
I grabbed his wrist. “You can’t get me more pregnant, Oliver.”
His eyes flared. “Are you serious?”
“I trust you.”
“I’m clean. I always play it safe, but?—”
“I believe you. Now come fuck me.”
He showered me in a smile that took my breath away, then closed the distance. Without another word, he hooked one of my legs over his hip. The fat, dark head of his cock sent my body shaking as he rolled it over my clit—once, twice—then pushed inside with one deep, steady thrust that had me slamming back into the window.
He clamped a hand over my mouth. His other cupped my ass as he pressed kisses down my jaw and throat, his cock twitching inside me. For all his filthy words, when Ollie looked into my eyes, his rhythm turned reverent. Every stroke was a reluctant turn of a page in a book he didn’t want to finish.
Ollie slowed his motions to press a kiss to my mouth, each movement delicate, a forbidden prayer whispered against my skin. Steady, intentional, methodical strokes pulled against my innermost walls as he searched my eyes. For what, I wasn’t sure, but his intensity had the bridge of my nose burning. My nails scored over his shoulders as I wrapped my leg around his hips, pulling him closer.
He growled as he pumped into me. Literally growled —the sound deep and carnal—his fingers tightening where he gripped my waist and threaded into my hair. Then he fucked me harder. Rougher. His mouth found mine as he pulsed inside me, holding me tight, like the release ripped something from his chest.
When Ollie opened his eyes, they seemed to search me for an answer to a question I didn’t hear. My mother’s advice played in my mind—if you’re in, make sure he knows it.
Holding his intense gaze, both of our chests heaving, I nodded. The man smiled, softly, tentatively, like I’d given him what he needed even though he didn’t know how to ask for it.
“I love you too, Oliver Hart.”
Oliver
January
Leighton and I spent New Year’s Eve locked in a towering Orlando hotel Hart Investments held shares in, watching fireworks explode over the city.
By nine a.m. on the first, we were wheels up and headed back to Emerald Bay on our jet, with Matilda running up and down the aisle snapping photos of us with the Polaroid camera Leigh gave her for Christmas. Apparently, they were taking up scrapbooking together—and the absurd array of glitter, specialty paper, something called washi tape, and ribbons in every color known to man currently charged to my card was all in preparation for “proper scrapbooking adventures.”
Based on the gleam in Leighton’s eye, I had a feeling that was just the beginning.
On Monday, we met with the new cardiologist who’d be monitoring her for the foreseeable future. Thankfully, the doctor was fully confident that Leighton could carry the baby to term safely. She recommended an induction to avoid the unpredictability of spontaneous labor, but aside from that—and a few follow-ups—there was no need for daily medication or constant visits unless symptoms appeared. Leighton was elated.
Week two of the new year brought a note taped to my front door. A QR code and a scribbled message in Mattie’s handwriting: Scan me .
I sighed, humoring her, and scanned it.
A video clip from Taken played—Liam Neeson growling Good luck —and nothing else.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
Inside the door, I found a fully loaded Nerf gun and a pair of safety goggles waiting like an offering. Grinning, I grabbed both, kicked off my shoes, and shouted, “You’re all toast!”
A screech rang out from Mattie. A war cry from Beau. And absolutely no sound from Leighton, which worried me more.
I rounded the staircase into the living room just in time to see Mattie’s ponytail disappear into the kitchen. Beau barreled at me, firing wildly. Once we were both out of ammo, I hoisted him over my shoulder and crept forward—only to be ambushed by the girls with what had to be a foam-dart bazooka.
The entire kitchen was littered with little blue and orange darts by the end of it. Mattie and Leighton were limp with laughter on the breakfast bench, my girls shrieking as I tickled them to pieces.
But it was week three that locked itself in my heart forever.
The kids were staying with Grey and Alice for the weekend, and I picked Leighton up at the crack of dawn from her apartment. Two cups of coffee—one half-caf—and breakfast burritos waited on the console. She climbed into the passenger seat looking murderous.
“Worth it, I promise,” I vowed, handing over the goods.
By the time we made it to the first stop, a scenic overlook three hours north, she’d fully commandeered the radio. The second she stepped out and took in the coastline, her face lit with awe.
“Jesus, the view is insane,” she breathed, taking it in.
“Right?” I breathed, watching the sun glint off her tan skin and play in those slate eyes.
“It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, the ocean is always stunning.”
“Oh,” I chuckled, still locked on her profile. “I was talking about you, Trouble.”
She rolled her eyes, fished out her camera, and motioned for me to turn around. A second later, she jumped on my back, legs locked around my waist. I held her steady while she kissed my cheek and snapped a Polaroid over my shoulder, presumably of us and the view. The film would take a few minutes to develop, so we wouldn’t know what we got until we hit the road again.
I didn’t set her down until we were back beside the car, where I stole a kiss before ushering her inside and glancing nervously at my watch.
Three hours later, we were on the outskirts of Pacific Grove when I made her blindfold herself.
“Kinky,” she said, tying the fabric around her head.
“You’re giving me ideas,” I muttered as I turned onto the road that led to the sanctuary.
“Good,” she replied. “We’ve got the hotel to ourselves. We’d better have ideas.”
Chuckling, I led her out of the car, through the eucalyptus grove, swatting her hands away every time she tried to cheat. “Just another damn second.”
At last, I swiped her camera from her bag and backed up a few paces. “Stay,” I said. She danced in place but didn’t peek.
Only when I had her perfectly framed did I whisper, “Now, Trouble.”
She tugged the blindfold down—and froze.
Even with the sun blazing through the trees, it wasn’t the light making her squint. It was the sight before her. Monarch butterflies, hundreds of them, drifting like orange and gold confetti through the trees behind her in the stillness of the grove. I snapped my photo. The hum of the camera printing the picture drew her shrink-wrapped eyes to me, just for a heartbeat. I smiled, jerking my chin up, redirecting her to the view above us.
They clung to the eucalyptus branches above and fluttered through the air like notes in a song only they could hear. The air was thick with that vaguely spa-like scent of the grove that tugged on memories of my childhood, standing right here with my mother.
I could see it the moment it hit her—the awe, the overwhelm—it looked like she’d taken a hit to the chest, staggering back a step as her hand came to hover over her lips. One word cracked out like a prayer.
“ Ollie .”
Everything we hadn’t said since Christmas was wrapped in that one breath. It wasn’t just the butterflies. It was us. It was the fear, the healing, the hope. It was her saying yes—without saying a single word.
Tears glinted in her eyes as she turned in a gentle circle, looking up like the whole world had shifted beneath her feet.
I stepped behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and rested my hand on her belly. My chin settled on her shoulder.
The view was breathtaking—but nothing compared to holding Leighton in that moment.
There was something sacred in these trees. Something I hadn’t felt since I was a boy, holding my mother’s hand in this exact spot. I never thought I’d feel that kind of magic again.
And then Leighton bulldozed into my life, and proved me wrong.
Nothing about this woman embodied these tiny creatures, and yet I saw them in the light she created everywhere she went.
She was bold in her love. In her joy. In her sense of adventure. She made the world more beautiful just by being in it.
“Worth it?” I whispered.
Yeah, I meant the trip. But beyond that, I meant the detour—hell, all of it. The hard conversations we hadn’t finished. The tangle of emotions I still had no fucking clue how to voice.
When she turned in my arms and looked up at me, it was like she could see it all written across my face. Like she thought I’d carved this place for her with my bare hands.
I would’ve, if I could.
“Absolutely,” she whispered.
Forgiveness. That’s what that word tasted like. Like I hadn’t imagined the bliss of the last few weeks. Like she was in this—for real—as much as I was.
“Leigh,” I breathed, voice thick, raw. “You’re perfect.”
She huffed a soft laugh, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile, but she didn’t argue—just dropped her gaze to her feet. More butterflies floated lazily around us, flitting from blossoms to shrubs like they hadn’t a care in the world.
“Far from it,” she murmured after a beat, swallowing audibly.
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
She shot me that look—dry and sweet all at once, a sarcastic challenge wrapped in affection. “Well, aren’t you generous.”
“Maybe,” I said with a small smile, lifting her camera and giving the printed photo a gentle shake—old habit, I guessed. “But I think you’re exactly what we needed.”
Her brows pinched, just slightly. “We?”
“Me and the kids,” I said quietly, barely above a whisper. “You mended our hearts without even trying. Just... by being you, Trouble. I don’t think you realize it, but you’re the first thing to make me feel whole in years. Maybe ever .”
The truth snagged in my throat. I didn’t talk about my parents. Or the way Greyson had always stood between me and the worst of it. Or the fact that it still haunted me how little warmth had existed in the elaborately decorated shell of a house we grew up in.
But she didn’t need the words. She didn’t need me to voice the fears telling me I was doomed to repeat it.
She just stepped closer, laid her hand gently over my heart, and offered the softest smile.
“I think you did that all on your own, handsome.”
“Of course, you do.” I laughed, cradling her chin between my fingers and tilting her face up. God, I loved her mouth. Her sharp tongue. That relentless, resilient heart. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and just... soaked her in.
Right here. In the one place I’d ever believed in magic.
“My kids are happy. You’re glowing. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
Luckiest damn man alive. That’s what I was.
Especially when she blinked, like she was fighting tears.
“Mom used to bring us here, you know?” I added.
“Yeah?” she asked, her smile still resting soft on her face.
“She said magic lived in the eucalyptus grove.”
It was one of the only times she ever loaded the three of us into the car on her own. She’d have the chef pack us snacks, and we’d drive six hours up the coast—stopping at every lookout and bathroom she could find. We’d blast music, pick up donuts and fries we weren’t usually allowed to have. And for a few fleeting hours, away from the cameras and our father’s shadow, she’d laugh with her whole chest.
Those were the only days I remember her being truly happy.
Leighton’s eyes softened like the memories tucked into her own chest were folding open. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“I think the magic lives in you , Trouble.”
I lifted her camera and stretched my arm out, tilting it up to catch the sky and the grove behind us—and caught her with a kiss.
If she ever glued anything into a scrapbook we’d want to remember forever, I hoped it was this.
When we pulled apart, she swayed her hips, biting her bottom lip before a wide grin broke free like she’d lost the battle to contain it.
I wanted all of her smiles.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I nodded and slipped her camera into the side pocket of her bag, tucking the two Polaroids in beside it before lacing my fingers through hers.
We wandered the grove together in silence, the hush broken only by the occasional gasp from another visitor.
After a few minutes, Leighton’s voice soft, she asked, “What are you hoping for?”
I turned toward her. “Today?”
“For the baby,” she clarified, her eyes trained on the trees. “Boy or girl?”
“Oh.” I smirked. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Well, apparently not, because I’m asking.”
I laughed. “A girl. Just like her mama.”
She tried—and failed—to hide her smile.
“And if it’s a boy?”
“Then he’ll love his mama just as much as Beau does.”
Because that boy of mine… he was a goner. Leighton held his little heart in her hand. Just like she held mine.
We slowed as a kaleidoscope of monarchs drifted down around us, spiraling in slow, mesmerizing arcs. One landed on her shoulder. She froze. Another touched down on her head.
Then another.
And another.
Leighton’s breath caught, her lips parted in silent awe. She didn’t move, like her body didn’t know what to do with that much joy all at once. And I—God, I just stood there and watched. Watched the woman I loved be cloaked in living magic.
My mom once said butterflies were hellos from beyond. From the people we’d lost.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she was somewhere in this silent parade, fluttering down to say hello to the woman I was determined to make my wife.
“I told you,” I murmured, barely above a whisper as I stepped closer. “You’re magic.”