Chapter 15
Sophia
Sophia didn’t sleep.
She tried.
God, she tried.
She lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling as sunlight crept slowly across her walls, turning from pale gray to soft gold to warm honey. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Reyes’s face. Heard his voice. Heard that last word he whispered. Elena.
And then Grim.
The way he shut down. The way he shut her out. The way he looked at her like he wanted to say something and then closed himself off instead.
She tossed and turned for hours, sheets twisting around her legs, her chest tight with a knot she couldn’t untangle. The sheets felt too warm. The room felt too small. Her thoughts were too loud.
The sunlight creeping through her curtains only made it worse. Warm, honey-gold stripes across her bed, soft and gentle in a way she didn’t feel. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word of their argument.
You won’t give me anything.
How am I supposed to trust someone who won’t trust me?
Her throat tightened. She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes, willing the ache behind them to ease. It didn’t.
Eventually she gave up.
She pushed the blankets aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her body felt heavy, like grief had settled into her bones overnight. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked down the hallway, the house quiet in a way that made her feel even more alone.
She needed something warm. Something grounding. Something to keep her hands busy so her mind didn’t spiral.
She stepped into the kitchen and froze.
Grim was there.
Standing at her counter. Barefoot. Broad shoulders filling the space. Making coffee like he’d done it a hundred times in her kitchen.
He didn’t look surprised to see her. He didn’t look away either.
He just held her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“You’re still here,” she said softly.
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
“I have the day off,” she said. “You don’t need to stay.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t leave.
He poured her a mug, set it on the table, and sat across from her, like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there.
The silence between them wasn’t sharp like last night. It was heavy. Fragile. Waiting.
Sophia wrapped her hands around the warm mug. “You can go, Maddox.”
He flinched at the name, not in anger but like it hit somewhere deep.
He looked like he was about to shut down again, jaw tight, shoulders locked, the same wall she’d hit last night.
He exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping, and said something she never expected. “I grew up in houses that weren’t mine.” His fingers tightened around the mug until she thought it might crack.
Sophia froze. For a moment, he seemed to retreat behind that wall again, the one she’d hit last night, but then something in him gave way.
Grim stared at the table, jaw tight. “Foster homes. Group homes. Couch to couch. I never stayed anywhere long enough to unpack.”
Her heart squeezed.
He swallowed hard, eyes distant, not unfocused but remembering.
“I was thirteen the first time a family sent me back. They handed me a black trash bag,” he said quietly.
“Told me to put my things in it. I didn’t have much — a couple shirts, a broken watch, a book I’d found at school.
I remember the sound of the bag more than anything.
That plastic crackle. Loud. Final. Like I was being thrown out with the rest of the trash.
The foster mom told the caseworker I was too angry.
Too quiet. Said the other kids were scared of me. ”
Sophia covered her mouth, breath catching.
Grim’s voice stayed low, steady, but she heard the fracture beneath it. “I hadn’t done anything. That was the problem. I didn’t react. Didn’t cry. Didn’t fight. Just… waited. Like I knew it was coming.”
Sophia felt tears prick her eyes.
“They told me they’d find somewhere else,” he said. “But I already knew the truth. Nobody wants the kid who doesn’t know how to be wanted.”
Sophia’s heart cracked. She’d spent her whole life being wanted too much — needed too much — and he’d spent his being wanted by no one.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Didn’t know what I wanted to be. Didn’t think I’d live long enough to figure it out. So I joined the military. Figured if I was gonna die, might as well be for something.”
Sophia’s breath hitched.
“They put me in demolitions. I was good at it. Too good.” His voice cracked, barely, but she heard it. “I had a family there. Brothers. Real ones. First time in my life I belonged anywhere.”
Sophia’s eyes burned.
“Then they died,” he whispered. “All of them. Same day. Same blast. And I walked out of it. Not completely whole, but alive.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I didn’t know who I was after that,” he said. “Didn’t know how to be alive when they weren’t.” He swallowed. “Stone found me. Or maybe I found him. Doesn’t matter. He gave me a place. A purpose. A family again.”
Sophia wiped her cheeks. “Maddox…”
He finally looked at her. Really looked.
And she saw it — the boy he’d been, the man he’d become, the scars he carried, the weight he lived with. She saw the loneliness. The guilt. The fear of being known. Her heart broke for him. For all of it.
She pushed her chair back and stood. He watched her, tense, unsure, like he expected her to walk away.
She didn’t.
She walked around the table, slid onto his lap, and straddled him gently, her knees bracketing his hips.
His breath caught, a sharp, involuntary sound.
Her hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing the rough line of his jaw. “I see you.”
He closed his eyes like the words hurt.
“I want you,” she whispered. “Not the version you think you have to be. You.”
His hands hovered at her waist, unsure, trembling, a man who could break bones with a flick of his wrist, shaking because she was touching him gently.
She leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Slow. A promise, not a demand.
He inhaled sharply, his hands finally settling on her hips, warm and steady and reverent, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he held too tight.
She felt the heat of his palms through the thin fabric of her shirt, the way his fingers flexed like he was memorizing the shape of her.
Her fingers slid into his hair, and he let out a low, broken sound, the kind a man makes when he’s been starving for touch and finally gets a taste.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in the same rhythm.
Sophia whispered, “You’re not alone anymore.”
Grim’s voice was barely a rasp. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“You don’t have to know,” she said. “Just stay.”
His fingers tightened on her hips, pulling her a little closer. “I’m trying,” he whispered.
And for the first time, she believed him. Trying wasn’t the same as knowing how. But for now… this was enough.
Sophia didn’t move at first. She just stayed there on his lap, her forehead resting against his, breathing him in. The warmth of him. The steadiness of him. The way he held her like she was something fragile and fierce at the same time.
But the ache in her chest, the exhaustion, the grief, the long night, pulled at her, tugging her somewhere softer.
She slid her hands down his shoulders, slow, deliberate, and stood. Grim’s hands stayed on her hips for a heartbeat before he let go, eyes tracking her like he wasn’t sure what she was about to do.
Sophia reached for his hand.
He froze.
She didn’t pull. She didn’t speak. She just laced her fingers through his and stepped backward, giving him the chance to follow or stay.
He followed.
She led him down the hallway, her pulse loud in her ears, her body humming with something warm and overwhelming. When they reached her bedroom, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding his hand.
Grim hesitated on the threshold — just for a second — like he was checking himself, checking her, checking the moment.
Then he stepped in.
Sophia sat on the edge of the bed and tugged him down beside her. He came willingly, his thigh brushing hers, his breath uneven in a way she’d never heard from him before.
She turned toward him, cupped his jaw again, and kissed him.
This time it wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t careful.
It was hungry in a way that surprised her, not because she didn’t want him, but because she hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone made her feel anything that wasn’t duty or exhaustion.
Grim kissed her back, one hand sliding to the small of her back, the other curling around her hip, pulling her closer until she was half in his lap again. Her fingers threaded into his hair. His lips parted against hers, deepening the kiss, heat rolling through her in a way that made her dizzy.
She shifted, leaning into him, her body pressing along his, wanting more, wanting him.
Grim broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.
“Sophia,” he rasped, voice rough, strained. “You worked all night.”
She blinked, breath unsteady. “I’m fine.”
“Not tonight,” he murmured. “You’re running on nothing.” He shook his head, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You’re exhausted. I’m not letting you make decisions like this when you’re running on fumes.”
His eyes held hers, dark and steady, and something shifted in the air between them. He lifted his hand to her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone with a tenderness that made her breath catch.
"You're exhausted," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."
No one has ever said those words to her. Not like this. Not like he meant it.
Sophia nodded in answer.
His hand slid from her cheek down her shoulder, over her collarbone, his knuckles grazing the thin fabric of her sleep shirt. He watched her the whole time, checking, waiting, giving her every chance to stop him.
She didn’t.
He eased her back onto the mattress, her hair fanning across the pillow. He followed her down, propping on one elbow, his body a warm shield beside her. His hand trailed lower, over her stomach, the fabric of her shirt bunching under his palm.
As fingers found the waistband of her panties, he paused. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"I won't," she whispered.
His hand slid lower, fingers pressing through the thin cotton, finding the heat of her. Sophia's breath jumped. Her hips shifted, a reflexive search for more pressure.
He traced her through the fabric, slow, deliberate, learning the shape of her arousal. The cotton grew damp beneath his touch. The knowledge sent a flush across Sophia’s skin.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled her panties down her thighs, slowly, watching her face the whole time. She raised her hips to help him, and he slid the fabric free, letting it fall somewhere beside the bed.
His hand returned to her bare center, his fingers sliding through her slickness, gathering the wet heat.
Sophia gasped, her back arching slightly.
"Easy," he murmurs. "Let me take care of you."
His middle finger circled the sensitive bud of her flesh. The pressure perfect, not too much, not too little, like he was reading her body with every touch.
Sophia's hands gripped the sheets. Her breath came in shallow pulses.
His finger slid lower, slipping inside her, slow and steady. She cried out softly, her hips rolling into his hand.
Grim added a second finger, stretching her gently, his thumb finding her again, pressing in tight circles.
"Let go," he whispered. "I've got you."
The rhythm of his hand unhurried, thorough, each stroke pushing her higher. The heat built in her belly, coiling tighter and tighter, her breath turning to soft, broken sounds she couldn’t contain.
Sophia was close. She could feel it rising, a wave gathering behind her ribs.
He didn’t stop. He didn’t rush. He worked her through it, his forehead resting against her temple, his breath warm against her skin.
"Come for me," he breathed.
And she did.
The release crashed through her, her body shaking, her cry swallowed against his shoulder as he held her through every pulse, every tremor. His fingers worked her through it, slowing only when she stilled, when her breathing started to even out.
Grim pulled his hand away with deliberate care, and she heard it, the soft, wet sound of him bringing his fingers to his mouth.
Sophia opened her eyes in time to see Grim close his lips around them, his eyes on hers, dark and satisfied.
"Sweet," he murmurs.
Sophia's cheeks burned, but she was too boneless to feel anything but warm and claimed.
Grim shifted, pulling her against his chest, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other sliding under her pillow.
Sophia thought she fit against him like she'd been made for that space.
She exhaled, the tension in her body finally loosening. She rests her head against his shoulder, her hand splayed over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
She shifted her hand down his chest, moving lower to his waistband. He grabbed her hand gently, moving it up and pressing a soft kiss to the top.
"Sleep," he murmured, “don’t worry about me.”
Her cheeks warmed, not with embarrassment, but with something tender. Protective. Gentle. Maddox Hale, who could level a man with one hit, was drawing a line for her.
She smiled. “Being a gentleman?”
His expression softened, barely, but enough to undo her.
“First time in my life,” he said quietly.
Grim pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head — barely there, barely a breath — but it settled something deep inside her.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
She closed her eyes.
For the first time since the argument, since Reyes died, since everything fell apart, she felt safe enough to let go.
Grim held her closer.
And Sophia let herself drift.