Chapter 23 Evangeline #2
"Yes," I say before Hades can respond. "We can. We are. These kids have been through hell, but they're healing. We're all healing. And we're doing it together, as a family."
Mrs. Grant's expression softens. "I believe you. The children clearly love you both. The house is suitable, your finances are in order, and you've completed all the required training."
"So?" Hades prompts.
"So I'll be recommending full custody. The judge should sign off within the week."
Relief crashes through me so intensely my knees go weak. Hades' hand finds mine, squeezing tight.
"Thank you," I manage.
"Don't thank me. You've done the work. You've given these children a home." She stands, gathering her things. "I'll be in touch once the paperwork is finalized. Congratulations."
Hades shows her out. The moment the door closes, I collapse onto the couch, shaking.
"We did it," I whisper. "They're really ours."
Hades sits beside me, pulling me into his arms. "They were always ours, Angel. This just makes it official."
The kids thunder down the stairs, sensing the change in atmosphere.
"What did she say?" Mason asks. "Are we staying?"
"You're staying," Hades confirms. "You're ours. Officially and forever."
The room erupts. Sophie starts crying happy tears. Jake and Mason whoop and high-five. Emma hugs Lily tight.
And me? I just hold on to Hades and let myself feel it. The relief. The joy. The overwhelming gratitude that we made it here despite everything.
We're a family. Broken pieces that somehow fit together into something whole.
* * *
That night, after the kids are finally asleep, Hades finds me in our bedroom. I'm standing at the window, looking out at the darkness.
"Hey," he says softly. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just thinking."
He comes up behind me, arms wrapping around my waist. "About?"
"About how different everything is. A few months ago, I was engaged to someone else, living a completely different life. And now..."
"And now you're stuck with me and five kids."
I turn in his arms to face him. "I'm not stuck. I'm exactly where I want to be."
His eyes search mine. "Even after everything? The violence, the nightmares, all of it?"
I cup his face in my hands. "You saved me, Hades. Not just from Ethan, but from a life that was slowly killing me. You gave me purpose. You gave me love. You gave me a family."
"You gave me the same thing, Angel. Before you, I was just going through the motions. Now I've got something to live for."
He kisses me then, slow and deep. It's the first kiss like this since the warehouse. The first time I haven't flinched away from intimacy.
When we break apart, his eyes are dark with desire and something deeper. Love, maybe. Or need.
"I want you," he says roughly. "But only if you're ready. No pressure, no expectations."
Am I ready? My body still aches in places. My mind still carries the trauma.
But I'm also alive. And I want to feel alive in every way.
He looks at me like he’s holding back a storm, waiting for a sign. I give it to him, my voice low, trembling but certain.
“I’m ready,” I whisper, heart hammering beneath my ribs. “I need this. Need you.”
His brow furrows like he’s about to ask again, but all he says is, “You’re sure?”
I don’t answer with words. I pull him down into another kiss, deeper this time, hungry and deliberate.
My mouth opens for him and I taste the heat on his tongue, the breath he releases when I press my body flush to his.
His hands slide under my sweater slowly, reverently, fingertips brushing my skin like I’ll break beneath them.
Still, his touch is tender. Careful. His thumbs stroke along my waist like I’m something sacred. I shiver under him, not from nerves, but from the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s seeing every part of me and loving it all.
“Tell me if you need to stop,” he breathes into my mouth, lips ghosting mine.
“I will,” I promise, breathless. “But I won’t.”
We drift toward the bed like gravity’s pulling us there.
Every step crackles with tension, my skin already aching to be touched again.
I lift my arms so he can slide my sweater up and off, and his eyes drop to my chest, warm and wanting.
He kisses my collarbone, slow and soft, before reaching behind me, fingers fumbling with the clasp of my bra.
It falls away and I feel the air against my skin, and then his mouth, hot and gentle, pressing a kiss between my breasts. I gasp, hands tangling in his hair. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grope or grab. He maps me with lips and tongue, worshipful, like he’s learning me by taste.
He kneels to peel away my jeans, kissing the dip of my hip, then the inside of my thigh as he drags the denim down, inch by inch. When he sees the scar on my arm, the one I always try to hide, he pauses. Then he lifts my wrist like it’s delicate and brushes his mouth over the line of pale skin.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Every part of you.”
Tears well suddenly, not from hurt but from the unbearable softness of it. No one’s ever looked at me like this—like I’m something whole. Like I’m not broken, or used up, or wrong.
“I love you,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I’m so in love with you it terrifies me.”
He comes back up to me, mouth to mine again, gentler now. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”
He lays me down like I’m fragile and on fire at once, his body a shadow over mine. I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him closer, needing his weight, needing to feel him. His skin is hot and smooth against mine, the press of him grounding.
He kisses me everywhere; my neck, my shoulder, the underside of my breast, his hands never leaving my body. When he moves lower and finds the wet heat between my legs, his fingers part me slowly, stroking until my hips twitch up against his hand.
“Oh—fuck,” I breathe, my thighs trembling.
He circles his thumb over my clit, slow and rhythmic, his fingers sliding through the slick mess he’s making of me. I’m moaning now, soft at first, then louder, unrestrained. My back arches when he dips a finger inside me, and then another, careful but insistent.
“S’okay,” I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. “More, please. I need—”
He groans, deep and low in his throat. “God, Angel… You’re so wet for me.”
He shifts, lining himself up, and I feel the heat of his cock against me, nudging at my entrance. He pauses.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His eyes are dark, burning. His hand cradles the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek.
Then he pushes in.
The stretch is slow, steady, every inch of him sliding deep, and I feel it all. I whimper, overwhelmed, my nails raking his back as he bottoms out.
“F-fuck,” I breathe, forehead pressed to his. “You feel... God, you feel so good.”
He holds still for a moment, chest heaving. Then he begins to move, rolling his hips in a rhythm that makes me gasp, makes my toes curl, makes my whole body tremble. He rocks into me like he’s trying to show me something, like every thrust is a sentence he can’t say aloud.
You’re safe.
You’re mine.
This doesn’t have to hurt.
I wrap myself around him, thighs squeezing, arms pulling him closer, and let go. I cry at some point, tears sliding down my temples and into my hair, but it’s not from pain. It’s too much. Too tender. Too real.
He kisses the tears away without pausing, murmuring, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby.”
I lose myself in the rhythm, in the slick slide of his body in mine, the delicious stretch, the aching closeness. My moans rise, sharp and needy. “Ah, ahhh! Fuck, yes, right there, please!” Until I’m shaking, legs clamped around his waist, hips bucking to meet every thrust.
And when I come, it crashes through me like a wave, blinding, raw. I cry out his name, “Ronan!” My body clenches around him, pulsing, shuddering.
He follows me seconds later, groaning into my mouth as he spills inside me, hips jerking, every muscle tight. His whole body presses into mine, and I feel it—the heat of him, the weight of him, his heart racing against mine.
We collapse into each other, tangled, slick with sweat and breathless.
He doesn’t let go.
And neither do I.
"Okay?" he asks.
"Better than okay." I press my face into his neck. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being patient. For loving me even when I'm broken."
"You're not broken, Angel. You're healing. There's a difference."
Maybe he's right. Maybe I am healing, one day at a time.
With him beside me, maybe I can finally believe in a future that isn't defined by fear.
We fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other. And for the first time in weeks, I don't dream of warehouses or ropes or pain.
I dream of home. Of family. Of love.
I dream of everything we're building together from the ashes of what we lost.
And in the morning, when I wake to sunshine and Hades' arms still around me, I’ll know that this is real.
This is my life now. Our life.
And it's better than anything I could have imagined.