Chapter 19 #2
“Long day. We had a massive shipment come in and Chanda wanted it processed before the transport arrived.” She kicked off her boots and flexed her feet with a groan. “I’m seriously considering amputating everything below the ankle.”
“That seems extreme.”
“You’re not the one who’s been standing on concrete for ten hours.”
He guided her to the couch and sat her down, then lifted her feet into his lap and began massaging them with careful pressure. She melted against the cushions with a sound that made improper thoughts flood his mind.
“You’re amazing,” she murmured. “Have I mentioned that recently?”
“Not in the past several hours.”
“Well, you are. Amazing and perfect and I’m keeping you forever.”
Anya made gagging noises from the kitchen where she’d started preparing dinner. “You two are disgusting.”
“You’re just jealous,” Corinne said without opening her eyes.
“I absolutely am not.”
“Jarrek thinks we’re romantic.”
“Jarrek is weird.”
Selik continued working the tension from Corinne’s feet and calves, feeling her gradually relax under his hands. This had become their routine—she came home exhausted, he helped her recover, and together they created something that felt remarkably like peace.
Dinner was simple but satisfying. They ate together at the small table, Mikoz in his high chair attempting to feed himself with messy enthusiasm. Anya dominated the conversation with stories about her day, and Corinne interjected with amusing observations about the facility workers.
He mostly listened, content to absorb their voices and presence. His family. His purpose. His reason for continuing to draw breath.
After the children went to bed, he and Corinne sat on the deck under the two moons. She’d changed into comfortable clothing and her hair hung loose around her shoulders, still damp from washing.
“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she asked quietly. “Building a life here.”
“Does that trouble you?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She sighed. “I miss Earth sometimes. I miss coffee and bookstores and stupid things like automatic doors. But I wouldn’t trade this for any of that.”
“You would trade it to return Anya to her world.”
“I don’t know that either.” She looked up at him. “But she’s adapting better than I expected. She’s making friends, she’s learning new skills, and she seems genuinely happy. Maybe this is enough for her too.”
Selik considered his stepdaughter—because that’s what Anya had become, whether they’d formalized it or not.
She called him by his name rather than any paternal title, but she sought his approval and trusted his judgment.
She came to him with questions about engineering and navigation, asked him to check her self-defense forms, and looked to him for guidance.
My daughter, he thought, and the grief of his loss mixed with the joy of this unexpected second chance.
“She is strong,” he said. “Like her mother.”
“Stepmother. And I’m not that strong. I’m faking it most of the time.”
“Courage is not the absence of fear. It is acting despite the fear.” He kissed the top of her head. “You are the strongest person I know, s’kara.”
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the waves and the distant sounds of the colony settling for the night. Somewhere nearby, someone played music—a stringed instrument that created haunting melodies.
“Tomorrow we will take the boat out,” Selik said. “I want to show all of you what I do, and Mikoz needs to become comfortable with water.”
“He’s not even a year old.”
“Old enough to begin learning. Cire children are taught to swim almost as soon as they can walk.”
“He’s going to drown.”
“He will not. I will be with him the entire time.” He felt her tension and gentled his voice. “Trust me, Corinne. I would never allow harm to come to our son.”
Our son. The words still felt new, still carried weight and wonder.
“I know,” she said softly. “I do trust you. It’s just… everything feels so fragile. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What shoe?”
“It’s an expression. It means waiting for something bad to happen.” She turned in his arms to face him. “We’ve been here three months and nothing’s gone wrong. No Council agents, no bounty hunters, no disasters. It’s been almost peaceful, and that scares me.”
He understood her fear. He felt it too—the constant vigilance, the awareness that their happiness existed on borrowed time. But dwelling on potential disasters was pointless.
“We cannot control what comes,” he said. “We can only prepare and adapt. And we have done both.”
“Very philosophical for a fisherman.”
“My grandfather was fond of sayings. ‘The tide comes regardless of worry, so save your energy for rowing.’”
She laughed, the sound warming him more than the afternoon sun ever could. “That’s actually pretty good advice.”
“He was a wise male.”
They stayed on the deck until the chill drove them inside.
He checked the locks—a habit he couldn’t break—and made certain the security system he’d installed was armed.
Then he joined Corinne in their bedroom and helped her out of her clothing with hands that knew every curve and hollow of her body.
She kissed him with heat and need, and he responded with everything he had. This—being with her, inside her, claiming her as she claimed him—was as close to a spiritual experience as he’d ever come. The bond between them felt more real than anything else in his life.
Mine, his instincts insisted as they moved together. My mate, my heart, my future.
Afterward, she dozed against his chest while he stayed awake, watching the moonlight paint patterns on the ceiling. He should sleep. Morning would come early and they had a full day planned.
But sleep felt like wasting precious time, and he wanted to memorize every detail of this moment—the weight of her against him, the sound of her breathing, the warmth of her skin, the faint scent of the soap she favored.
When he finally drifted off, his dreams were peaceful.