Chapter 34
Bash reminds me so much of JT at ten, it’s fucking eerie. Too smart for his own good, already picking apart the world and trying to understand where he fits in it. He has that mix of curiosity and confidence that makes you want to see what he turns into when he’s older.
After we finish eating—and I power through every dry-ass bite of that chicken with the performance of a man at a five-star restaurant—Bash slips away and returns with a tablet.
“Wanna see what I built?”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning forward. “Show me.”
He slides back into the seat beside me with easy familiarity, his skinny elbow bumping mine as he tilts the screen so I can see. It’s some kind of elaborate fort-meets-labyrinth hybrid, pixelated but impressive. He’s already got traps set up and little signs posted for imaginary intruders.
“I’ve been working on this for a week,” he says proudly. “It’s not done yet, though. I still need a booby trap floor and maybe a lava moat.”
“A lava moat is always a good move,” I say dead serious. “You got guard animals?”
“Working on a pack of fire wolves.”
“Smart.”
That gets a grin out of him, big enough to make me forget how skeptical he looked earlier.
I nod along as he explains the layout, but I can’t help stealing glances across the table. Sable leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching us. There’s this soft look on her face. Like she’s at ease. Like we fit.
I don’t think she even knows she’s smiling.
“Mom,” Bash says suddenly, practically bouncing off his chair. “Can we go outside? I wanna show Hex the playscape!”
Sable straightens. “I don’t know… I think Hex might be a little too big for it.”
I grin and turn toward her. “You better be talking about my stature, darlin’. ’Cause I’m all kid inside.”
She tries to hide her laugh but fails miserably. “You break it, I suppose you’ll have to buy us a new one. And I’m not talking plastic, Hex. We want the deluxe cedar model with the rock wall and the wave slide next time.”
Bash’s eyes go wide. “With the lookout tower?”
“Exactly,” Sable says, shooting me a playful warning look accompanied by a sexy wink.
I hold up my hands. “Deal. But only if I fall through the floor or get attacked by fire wolves. Otherwise, no promises.”
Bash’s already halfway to the door, barefoot and buzzing with excitement. “C’mon, let’s go!”
I stand, stretch, and glance once more at Sable. “You coming?”
She shakes her head, still smiling. “You two go ahead. I’ll clean up.”
I want to tell her to leave it. I’d rather we all go out and make fools of ourselves climbing plastic towers and dodging imaginary danger. But I know this moment matters too—her watching from the kitchen window, seeing us together.
Night has fully settled by the time Sable steps onto the back deck, barefoot, her hair tousled in that careless way that suggests her thoughts have been busy. Bash is hanging upside down off the monkey bars, narrating some epic ambush plan with his imaginary fire wolves.
“Hey, bud,” she calls gently. “Time to start wrapping it up. School tomorrow.”
He groans with full end-of-the-world agony. “But I’m not even tired.”
“You say that now, but I guarantee the minute you’re in bed you’ll be out like a light.”
He drops down with a dramatic sigh, then looks up at me. “Are you coming back?”
I glance at her, waiting for my cue. She meets my eyes, something warm flickering in those beautiful browns.
“Hex can come over any time he wants,” she says, voice soft but certain.
I almost offer to head out right then, to give them space for bedtime routines and all the rest of it.
But before I can get the words out, she adds, “Stay. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
So I nod, watching as she disappears inside with Bash, who’s already negotiating for one more chapter of whatever space-dragon book they’re reading together.
I move into her living room and settle on the couch. It smells like her, coconut and vanilla and something warm, like clean cotton and sun.
I lean forward. Inhale.
Lean back. Exhale.
Rest my hands on my knees. Breathe again.
It’s too quiet.
Not outside. Not in the house. In me.
Stillness doesn’t sit right in my chest. Never has. It means there’s time to think and remember. And I’ve spent years keeping myself busy, keeping sharp. Muting it out.
But here, in this house that smells like peace, I feel it.
The guilt. The history. The hands I’ve used to hurt people.
I look around at the throw pillows and the faint glow of the hallway they disappeared down. Maybe Ned is right. This was never meant for someone like me.
Men like me don’t end up in houses like this. They don’t get good women or quiet mornings or kids who smile at them like they’re safe.
We end up with regrets and criminal records and blood under our fingernails that soap can’t touch.
I’ve done bad things that don’t balance out with the good in her life, even with the right intentions. Things I wouldn’t want her to know. Things I don’t want to say out loud, because if I do, maybe she’ll look at me and see what I am, not who I’m trying to be.
And she’d be right to walk away.
The couch shifts under my weight. I stare at the blank TV screen like it might give me an answer. Nothing. And the familiar ache creeps in to say:
You don’t get to have this.
You’re not meant for soft things.
Give him an angel and he'll find a wing to break.
Eventually, her faint footsteps on the hardwood return, leisured like she’s letting the moment stretch. She ambles into the room bathed in the kitchen light, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and a sleepy-kind-of peace.
Sable drops down beside me without a word, tucking her legs up and curling into my side.
She presses her face into my chest and exhales, then pulls back just enough to kiss me.
Her lips linger like she wants me to know this one really means something, but also like she knows I need this kiss to stay upright.
I run a hand through her hair, brushing it back from her face. “You relieved?”
She smiles. “Immensely. I worked that up in my head to be a lot more stressful. You were amazing.”
“Bash is amazing,” I say. “Kid’s sharp.”
“You were too.”
I pull her closer than I probably should. Her hand presses against my chest, her thumb moving in small circles over my shirt. She notices my hesitation—of course she does. We are attuned.
“What is it?” she asks.
I pause, but I don’t dodge. I don’t lie. Not with her.
“I want to give you a good reason to choose me,” I say.
“You’ve rebuilt your life. You’re this grounded, bright, capable woman who doesn’t flinch when shit goes sideways.
And I’m... a man with too many bruised knuckles and a past I still haven’t figured out how to carry without it bleeding all over the future. ”
She stays quiet. Just listens.
“I used to tell myself the violence didn’t stick to me. That it didn’t count if I was doing it for the right reasons. But it gets inside you. Makes a home in the worst way. And the scariest part? Some days, I don’t even know who I’d be without it.”
Her thumb pauses on my chest.
“I want to be better for you. I am better with you. But there’s still this part of me that thinks one day you’ll wake up and realize I was just a detour. That I don’t belong here. Not with you. Not in a house that smells like pancakes and laundry.”
I lift a hand to her jaw, tilt her face toward mine so I can see her eyes.
“I’m falling in love with you,” I say, quiet but certain of my words. “Fast. And I can’t stop it. Even if I’m not the kind of man you were supposed to end up with.”
She pauses—just for a breath—but it lands heavy in the space between us.
Then she pulls back, just enough to look at me, eyes level with mine and clear.
“There was never a blueprint for that,” she says softly. “Not for me.”
I blink. Her thumb strokes across my cheek like she’s memorizing my face.
Her voice drops lower. “For a long time, I thought love had to look a certain way. Tidy. Predictable.” She shakes her head.
“But that wasn’t love. That was survival.
And I’m done just surviving. I realize I need a different kind of safe.
And that the safe I used to look for wasn’t the same as good. And it sure as hell wasn’t enough.”
She leans in to brush her warm mouth on mine.
“I want you. All of you. Not just the protector. Not just the man who shows up for me when things are messy. I want the man who thinks he’s too fucked up to be loved. The one who,” her eyes hold mine, “may not know how to sit still and be cared for.”
Her words hit me straight in the chest. I open my mouth to say something, but she’s already moving.
She shifts to straddle my thighs. My breath catches as her fingers find the hem of my shirt, slipping beneath it, palms grazing my stomach like she’s trying to touch every inch I’ve ever tried to hide.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” she whispers. “Not with me.”
Her hands move to my belt.
I still. Every nerve in my body goes tight.
“Sable…”
But she’s already unfastening the buckle, already lowering her mouth to my neck with a kiss that’s equal parts adoration and hunger.
I reach for her, but she catches my wrist midair and presses it gently back to the couch cushion.
“Let me,” she says.
Two words, and I swear something inside me fractures.
Because no one’s ever said that to me. Not like this. Not without expectation. Not without the edge of control.
She slides down to the floor, kneels between my knees, and unzips me. Her hands caress me like I’m not something to be handled but something to be praised. Her fingers are sure, freeing me from its fabric constraints.
My heart hammers. Nerves and anticipation mixing. Like I’ve never had this done before. Like I’ve never been the one given to.
Her mouth swallows my hard cock. Hot. Wet. Uninhibited.
She doesn’t look away. Not once. Her hands brace my thighs as she takes me deeper, tongue dragging with purpose, lips soft but firm.
Her tongue swirls where my head dips and meets my shaft.
I pant out a groan. My eyes roll back at the rhythm she sets.
It feels like worship and undoing all at once, and I feel it deep within me.
I clutch the couch, breath ragged, every part of me on fire.
“Sable…” Her name falls from my mouth like a sin I was born to repeat.
She hums low in her throat—fuck—and I feel it all the way down into my balls.
My vision blurs. I close my eyes and lean my head back. I clench my jaw. She pumps her mouth faster, taking me in, then adding in her hand like she’s trying to drown out every ugly voice I’ve ever carried inside with the pure pleasure she’s creating.
And I let her.
I let her.
My balls tighten. And I come undone with her name on my tongue, my hand tangled in her hair, and my claim in her, coating her mouth.
She pulls back slowly, wipes the corner of her lips with the pad of her thumb, and looks at me like she sees me.
Not the fighter. Not the protector.
Just me.
I’m still trying to breathe when she climbs back into my lap, straddles me like the world hasn’t just shifted beneath our feet. Her forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling.
“I choose you,” she whispers. “I want to give you the right place to land. The place you’ve always deserved.”
My chest splits open. I feel myself let go. I feel all of it. For once I’m able to loosen my grip on everything I’ve held tight.
I love this woman.
And right now, that’s everything.
We sit there like that for a long minute. Her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin. My hands tucked under her thighs, holding her there.
And then she speaks, voice soft but certain. “I have the court hearing next Friday.”
Her head stays resting against mine, but her body goes tense. Like she’s expecting me to falter. Or pull away. As if her problems could be too much.
“I’ve been trying not to spiral,” she murmurs, “but I keep thinking Ashley’s going to pull something before then. She’s been too quiet. It’s making me jump at shadows.”
I wrap my arms around her body, tighter this time. Protective.
Next Friday isn’t just her hearing.
It’s the night Stauder expects me to show up and fight. The fight I haven’t told her about yet.
“I’ve got you,” I say, low into her hair. “No matter what.”
And I mean it, with everything in me. But the weight of it isn’t lost on either of us. Because that promise doesn’t just mean Ashley. It means Stauder too.
Next Friday’s already circled in blood.