15. Tender Moments
Chapter 15
Tender Moments
Liam
S unlight casts a warm glow across Hannah’s naked body as she lies curled against me on her living room floor. My fingers trail lazily up and down her spine, savoring the silky smoothness of her skin. She fits perfectly in my arms, her head tucked under my chin, one leg draped over mine. Just like she always has.
The quiet intimacy of the moment floods me with memories—stolen kisses behind the auto shop, fevered touches in the back of my truck, lazy Sunday afternoons spent just like this out at the lake. My heart aches thinking of all the years we lost, all the moments we could have shared if I hadn’t been such a stubborn, prideful idiot.
“This feels familiar,” Hannah murmurs against my chest, her breath warm on my skin. “Remember that time in high school when my parents went to drop Harper off at college?”
A chuckle rumbles through me. “How could I forget? They were only gone one night and trusted you to stay home alone.”
“Big mistake.” She laughs softly, the sound making my heart skip. “We spent most of that night right here on this floor.”
“The carpet was newer then.” I run my hand over the worn fibers beneath us. “Though I seem to remember we made it to the bed eventually.”
Her fingers trace patterns on my chest as she smiles. “After round three, maybe? Everything’s a bit hazy now.”
“Round four, actually.” I press a kiss to her temple. “And then your parents came home early the next morning and nearly caught us.”
“God, that was terrifying.” She props herself up on an elbow to look at me, eyes sparkling with mirth. “You had to climb out my bedroom window in nothing but your boxers because you didn’t have time to dress before my dad was knocking on my bedroom door.”
The memory makes me grin. “Probably gave Mrs. Haas quite a show when I ran down the road. She was always out watering her garden at the crack of dawn.”
“Is that why she could never look me in the eye after that?” Hannah’s laugh fills the room, bright and beautiful. “I always wondered.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, marveling at how natural this feels—lying here with her, sharing memories and laughter like no time has passed at all. But time has passed. Years of it, filled with mistakes and regrets that still weigh heavy on my conscience.
“You know what I’ve never been able to figure out?” I say after a moment. “What that stupid fight that caused us to break up was even about. The one that started this whole mess.”
Hannah’s brow furrows as she thinks. “I honestly can’t remember either. Just that I was so angry at you.”
“Angry enough to say yes when Charlie asked you out,” I say quietly, the old hurt flickering in my chest even now.
She drops her gaze, fingers stilling on my skin. “I knew it was wrong the moment I did it. I just... I wanted to hurt you like you’d hurt me. Though now I don’t remember what you did to hurt me so badly.” A bitter laugh escapes her. “And then you told me to go for it, that Charlie could give me everything you couldn’t.”
“Because I was hurt too.” I cup her cheek, tilting her face back to mine. “And too proud to admit how much it killed me seeing you with him.”
Tears well in her eyes. “I kept waiting for you to fight for me. To tell me I was making a mistake. But you just... let me go.”
The pain in her voice cuts through me like a knife. “I was a stupid, immature kid who thought I was doing the right thing.” My thumb catches a tear as it falls. “I convinced myself you deserved better than what I could offer—a life beyond this small town, beyond living paycheck to paycheck while I tried to keep the shop afloat. Keep food on the table. For seven young boys, Grams, and my dad.”
“All I ever wanted was you,” she whispers. “The rest didn’t matter.”
I pull her closer, pressing my forehead to hers as guilt and regret twist in my gut. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. For everything.”
She sniffles softly. “I’m sorry too. For not being honest with you about Cam.”
The mention of our son sends a fresh wave of emotion through me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask gently. “All these years—”
Hannah shifts in my arms, curling closer as if seeking comfort. “I didn’t know at first. It happened just two days before my wedding and then Charlie and I...” She swallows hard. “The timing made it impossible to be sure.”
My arms tighten around her instinctively. “But you figured it out eventually.”
She nods against my chest. “Charlie seemed to know from the moment Cam was born. He was always so distant with Cam, even when he was just a tiny baby. And then as Cam got older, started looking more like you—” Her voice catches. “The first time Charlie hit me, Cam was only three months old.”
Rage burns through me at her words. The thought of that bastard laying hands on her, hurting her while she cared for our son is unbearable. “Hannah.”
“Your features started showing up in him—your eyes, your smile.” Her fingers trace the line of my jaw. “Charlie never touched Cam, thank god. But he took it out on me instead. Every single day for twelve years.”
“Jesus.” I press my lips to her forehead, trying to pour all my love and protection into the gesture. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
She shifts uncomfortably. “I was terrified. Charlie had so much power, so many connections. And after a while, I just... survived. Kept my head down, tried to avoid the next beating, focused on keeping Cam safe.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I didn’t let myself think beyond that.”
Guilt crashes over me in waves. While I was nursing my wounded pride, building walls around my heart, she was enduring hell at the hands of a monster. A monster I’d practically handed her to.
“I should have been there,” I say roughly. “Should have protected you both.”
“You’re here now.” Hannah lifts her head to meet my gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears. “That’s what matters.”
I capture her lips in a tender kiss, trying to convey everything I can’t put into words—my love, my regret, my promise to never let her go again. She melts into me, her body soft and pliant against mine as the kiss deepens.
When we finally break apart, I brush my nose against hers. “I swear on my life, Charlie will never hurt either of you again.”
A small smile curves her lips. “I know, but if he does, you’re not allowed to blame yourself.”
“No promises, but I’ll try.”
The weight of our conversation settles around us like a heavy blanket, but there’s peace in finally speaking these truths aloud. In sharing the burden of our past mistakes.
“We should probably get dressed,” she murmurs, though she makes no move to leave my embrace. “Can’t lay here all day and let Cam find us like this when he gets home from school.”
I glance at my watch and groan. “Shit, you’re right.” But I can’t resist pulling her closer for one more kiss, savoring the soft press of her lips against mine.
She laughs against my mouth. “I’m serious, Liam. I don’t want to scar our son for life.”
Our son . The words send a thrill through me, even as my chest tightens with lingering guilt. I watch as Hannah stands and gathers her clothes, admiring the graceful lines of her body. She catches me staring and throws my shirt at my face.
“Stop looking at me like that or we’ll never get dressed.”
I grin and pull my shirt on. “Can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”
A blush colors her cheeks as she slips her t-shirt over her head. Even after everything, she still doesn’t see herself clearly. Doesn’t recognize her own strength and beauty. But I’ll spend every day showing her if she’ll let me.
I help Hannah gather the scattered clothes from around the living room, both of us rushing to dress. Aside from not wanting to get caught by Cam, there’s work to be done. We can’t leave the paint out like this and let it dry.
Hannah disappears into the bathroom to fix her hair while I collect my tools from where I’d dropped them by the front door. The wrench and screwdriver mock me—reminders of work I’d intended to do before getting thoroughly distracted.
“Your shirt’s on inside out.” Hannah calls from the hallway, amusement clear in her voice.
I glance down and curse, quickly yanking it off to fix it. “Thanks for telling me before Cam got home. He’d never let me live that down.”
“He’s observant like that.” She emerges from the bathroom looking fresh and put-together, though her lips are still slightly swollen from our kisses. “Gets it from you.”
“Pretty sure he gets all his best qualities from you.” I cross to her and pull her close, unable to resist stealing one more quick kiss. “Including that stubborn streak.” I tease.
She swats my chest playfully. “Oh please, you’re the most stubborn person I know.”
“Maybe that’s why we work so well together.” I rest my forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her arousal and the evidence of sex. It makes me wish I had time to toss her over my shoulder and take her upstairs for another round. “We’re equally hard-headed.”
She laughs at my admission before she retreats from my embrace. I watch her as she gets ready to start painting again and it’s a reminder that I should get to work as well. Seeing her like this—happy, carefree—is a reminder that we’re on the right path. Toward a future together, as a family.
I won’t screw it up. Not this time.
This time, I’ll get it right.
The paint roller makes a satisfying sound as it glides across the wall, transforming the space into something that fits Hannah’s personality better. My muscles flex with each stroke, finding a rhythm in the repetitive motion. The morning’s activities with Hannah left me energized rather than drained, and I’m channeling that energy into getting these walls done before dinner time.
Hannah works beside me, focused on cutting in around the window trim. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. There’s a smudge of paint on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and wipe it away. Just watching her—confident, determined, slowly reclaiming her space—makes my heart swell.
“You missed a spot.” I tease, nodding toward a patch near the ceiling.
She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “I was getting to that.”
“Sure you were.” I step closer, deliberately invading her space. “Want me to get it?”
“I can reach it.” She stretches up on her tiptoes, proving her point even as she wobbles slightly.
My hands find her hips automatically, steadying her. “I know you can. But you’re also allowed to accept my help.”
The words carry more weight than I intended, and I feel her tense slightly under my touch. For a moment, I worry I’ve pushed too far, said too much. But then she leans back against me, just slightly, and my breath catches at the trust in that simple gesture.
“I know,” she says softly. “It’s just... hard sometimes. Learning to let people help.”
I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the faint scent of her lavender body spray mixed with paint fumes. “I’m a patient man. Take all the time you need.”
She turns in my arms, paint roller forgotten as she looks up at me. The vulnerability in her eyes makes my chest ache. “Are you though? Patient enough to deal with all my baggage? My fears? Charlie?”
“Hey.” I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever comes next—Charlie, court dates, nightmares—I’ve got you. We face it together. You and me and Cam. That’s what family does.”
Tears well in her eyes, but before she can respond, the front door slams open.
“Mom! I’m home!” Cam’s voice carries through the house, followed by the thud of his backpack hitting the floor.
Hannah quickly wipes her eyes before she spins around to face her son. Cam stands in the doorway, face lighting up when he sees me.
“You’re here!” He grins, then takes in the half-painted walls. “Awesome! Can I help?”
I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Better change out of your school clothes first, bud. Your mom will kill me if we get paint on them.”
He’s already pulling off his hoodie. “I’ll go put on old clothes. Don’t finish without me!”
We watch him bound up the stairs, both smiling at his energy. When I look back at Hannah, the tears are gone, replaced by something softer, warmer.
“He adores you,” she says quietly.
“Good thing the feeling’s mutual.” I brush a kiss across her lips.
Cam thunders back down the stairs in old jeans and a ratty t-shirt, practically vibrating with excitement. I hand him a small roller, showing him how to load it with paint without dripping everywhere.
“Like this?” He demonstrates the technique, tongue poking out in concentration.
“Perfect. Now remember, long, even strokes.” I guide his hand, helping him find the right pressure. “Not too much paint or it’ll run.”
Hannah watches us from her perch on the stepladder, a soft smile playing on her lips as she works on the trim. The afternoon sun streams through the windows, catching the floating dust and paint particles in its golden rays.
“Dad, look!” Cam calls out, proudly showing off his freshly painted section. The word ‘Dad’ still gets me in the best possible way. “Is this good?”
“You’re a natural.” I ruffle his hair, earning a mock-annoyed groan. “Better than your old man, that’s for sure.”
“Please.” Hannah scoffs. “I remember you painting sets for the drama club in high school. You were always the neatest painter.”
“Yeah, well.” I dip my roller in more paint. “Some skills you never forget.”
We fall into an easy rhythm—Cam taking the lower sections, Hannah working on the trim, and me handling the higher parts. The radio plays country music softly in the background, and occasionally Cam breaks into enthusiastic air guitar solos, paint roller raised like an instrument. His joy is infectious, and soon we’re all singing along, probably butchering the lyrics but not caring one bit.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, surveying our work. The walls look damn good, if I do say so myself. Fresh paint changes everything, makes the whole room feel lighter somehow. “Well, I should unload that porch swing and head home to clean up before dinner. Don’t want to track paint all over your table.”
Cam’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Why? You can shower here.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We have two bathrooms. The one upstairs and the one in Mom’s room.”
Hannah’s cheeks flush pink as she busies herself gathering up paint supplies. “Cam’s right. You’re welcome to use my shower after me.” She looks down at her paint splatter clothes. “Just let me clean up first.”
“Yeah?” I glance between them, something warm spreading in my chest at how casual they both are about this, like I belong here.
“Up the stairs, first door on the right.” Hannah nods toward her bedroom. “Clean towels are in the cabinet under the sink.”
I hesitate for a moment, then lean in to kiss her cheek. “Thanks. Won’t be long.” I watch her as she heads up stairs to shower first. Then I get to work cleaning up the paint mess. After that I run outside, unload the swing and set it on the porch. I’ll worry about hanging it for her later.
I grab my bag from the truck—the one I packed with a change of clothes just in case—and head upstairs, finding her bedroom with ease. I know exactly where it’s at. This used to be her parents bedroom.
She’s already finished cleaning up and downstairs in the kitchen. It’s a bit disappointing. The thought of taking a shower with Hannah makes my dick twitch.
Walking into Hannah’s bedroom feels strangely intimate, more so than our earlier activities downstairs. This is her private space, and being invited in speaks of a trust I don’t take lightly. The room is simply decorated but distinctly her—soft colors, family photos, a well-worn quilt I recognize from her childhood on the bed.
The en-suite bathroom is small but functional even if a bit outdated, it could use an update. I strip off my paint-stained clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water sluice away the sweat and paint. Hannah’s shampoo sits on the shelf, and I can’t resist using it, wanting to carry her scent with me.
When I finally emerge, clean and refreshed, I find my bag where I left it by the bed. I almost didn’t pack these clothes, not wanting to be presumptuous but now I’m grateful for it as I pull on fresh jeans and a t-shirt.
The sound of laughter draws me downstairs to the kitchen. Hannah stands at the stove, stirring a pot of what smells like marinara sauce, while Cam sits at the counter doing homework. The scene hits me hard, making my throat tight with emotion. I want this. Every day. So fucking bad.
“Something smells amazing,” I say, walking up behind Hannah to peek over her shoulder.
She jumps slightly, then relaxes back against me. “Just sauce for the spaghetti. Nothing fancy.”
“Smells fancy to me.” I wrap my arms around her waist, unable to resist nuzzling the soft spot behind her ear. “Need any help?”
“You could start the salad.” She suggests, tilting her head to give me better access so I can kiss her neck. “Everything’s in the fridge.”
I reluctantly release her to gather ingredients, though I can’t help stealing glances as I work. She moves around the kitchen with graceful efficiency, adding spices to the sauce, checking the pasta water, all while helping Cam with his math homework. It’s a dance I could watch forever.
The simple act of preparing dinner together feels profound somehow. We work in tandem, bodies moving around each other with practiced ease despite our years apart. When our hands brush reaching for the same knife, electricity crackles between us. Even mundane tasks like chopping vegetables take on new meaning with her beside me.
“Here, taste this.” Hannah holds out a spoonful of sauce. I lean in, letting her feed me, and groan appreciatively at the explosion of flavors.
“Perfect.” I declare, licking my lips. Her eyes track the movement, darkening slightly and I can’t resist leaning down and kissing her on the lips.
“I’m right here,” Cam mutters without looking up from his homework.
Hannah blushes furiously while I laugh. “Sorry, buddy. Just appreciating your mom and her cooking.”
He rolls his eyes in that uniquely pre-teen way. “Sure you were.”
The easy banter, the shared smiles, the comfortable silences—it all feels right in a way I never expected. Like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place after years of trying to force the wrong fit.
I find myself watching Hannah as she moves around the kitchen, captivated by the subtle grace in her movements. She’s always been beautiful, but there’s something different now—a quiet strength that shows through even when she’s doing something as simple as stirring sauce or reaching for plates.
Yet I don’t miss the way her eyes dart to the windows periodically, checking the darkening road outside. Each glance reminds me of the shadow Charlie still casts over her life—over all our lives. The thought makes my jaw clench, protective instincts surging.
Without conscious thought, I move behind her again, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close. She stiffens for a split second before melting back against me with a soft sigh.
“We’ll figure this out,” I murmur against her hair, meaning so much more than just dinner preparations. “I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”
I feel the shudder that runs through her at my words, the way her carefully constructed walls start to crack. When she turns in my arms, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
Time seems to stop as we stand there, the air growing thick with tension and possibility. The urge to kiss her is overwhelming, and I don’t fight it. Leaning down, I capture her lips with mine, pouring all my promises into the contact.
The kiss starts gentle but quickly deepens as she responds, her fingers curling into my shirt. I hear Cam groan in the background but I don’t let that stop me. I kiss her like she’s mine. He needs to see how a man is supposed to treat a woman.
And for a moment, everything else fades away—the bubbling pots, Cam’s presence, our complicated history—leaving only this moment, this connection.
When we finally break apart, both breathing heavily, I see it in her eyes—that flicker of hope I’ve been waiting for. It’s small, fragile, but it’s there.
“Thank you,” she whispers, and I know she means it for more than just the kiss.
“Always,” I reply, pressing my forehead to hers.
The timer beeps, startling us both. Hannah turns back to the stove while I finish the salad, but something has shifted between us. Each brush of hands, each shared glance, carries new weight—new possibility.
“Cam, clear your homework please.” Hannah calls. “Dinner’s ready.”
He scrambles to pack up his books as I help Hannah carry dishes to the table. The sight of the three of us sitting down together makes my heart swell almost painfully. This is what I’ve wanted for so long without even knowing it. Not just Hannah, but this. Family. Home.
The conversation flows easily over plates of steaming spaghetti and garlic bread. Cam chatters about school, his new friends, and the science project he’s working on. Hannah interjects occasionally with questions or comments, but I can see her soaking in every word, every laugh, like she’s storing them up against future darkness.
I catch her watching me sometimes, a soft look in her eyes that makes my chest tight. Each time our gazes meet, that spark of connection flares brighter, stronger. Whatever comes next—court dates, Charlie’s threats, the long road of healing ahead—we’ll face it together.
This is just the beginning.