Chapter 32
SAM
“Sam?” Olivia’s voice carries softly from the front door, followed by the shuffle of shoes and the low murmur of her kids’ voices echoing through my loft.
I splash cold water on my face, letting it sting. The chill brings me back, if only for a second. Meeting my own reflection in the mirror, I barely recognize the man staring back—tired eyes, an empty expression that hasn’t quite mended since Bas died.
On a long, shaky breath, I steel myself, digging deep for what little energy I have left. They’re here. I can do this.
It’s been five weeks—five long, disjointed weeks since his death. Olivia’s been here every weekend since. She never waits for me to ask. She just…shows up. It’s how she loves—quietly, steadfastly.
Truth is, I haven’t been capable of much. I cook, I work, I sleep. Repeat. But with her here, even for a few days, the air in my home feels different—warmer, lighter. Still, today feels different. I’m not sure I’m ready for all of them.
“Hey.” My voice is rough as I step out of the bathroom.
They turn in unison—Olivia, Drew, and Paige—three different versions of solace, each smiling at me with something I haven’t seen in a while. Uncomplicated kindness.
Paige’s eyes are bright and curious and Drew’s a little uncertain. And Olivia…she looks at me like she always does, like she sees the man underneath the grief.
She crosses the room first, slipping easily into my arms, and the tension in my body breaks on contact. Her warmth, her scent, the way she fits. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed. She tilts her chin up and brushes her lips against mine, a soft, fleeting kiss that says I’m here.
“Hey.” Her smile is small but real.
Before I can respond, Paige launches herself at us, her hug sudden and tight. It’s dramatic, yes, but also…perfect.
Her arms circle both Olivia and me, and I can’t help but chuckle, the sound foreign but good. I breathe her in—vanilla shampoo, something floral—and for the first time in days, my chest eases.
“Hey, Paige. I’m glad you’re here.”
She looks up, eyes wide and sincere. “I’m so sorry about your father. Mom told us about him. I wish we’d met him.” Her voice falters, unsure if she’s said the wrong thing.
I cup her cheek and glance between her and Drew, who’s hanging back near the doorway. “He would’ve loved meeting you. Both of you.”
Drew offers a small, awkward smile, but it’s genuine. “Thanks for having us.”
I nod, emotion pressing against my throat. “I’m glad you’re here.”
And as I say it, I realize it’s true.
Having them here—Olivia, Paige, Drew—feels like the first real step forward. Like a little light breaking through the fog.
We’re spending the weekend at Alec’s. He and I could both use the distraction. Maybe a bit of laughter, a few reminders that life is still happening around us.
Maybe, for the first time in weeks, I can breathe again.
Like a hurricane, the four of us descend on Alec, full of noise, movement, and a kind of beautiful disorder I didn’t miss until this very moment.
At first, he looks utterly bewildered, standing frozen in the kitchen doorway with a half-empty coffee mug, eyes darting between Olivia’s chatter and the kids’ laughter. But slowly, he begins to thaw.
The stiffness in his shoulders eases, his mouth lifts into something resembling a smile, and before long, he’s laughing—really laughing—the sound echoing through the house like a heartbeat returning to life.
It’s good to hear. It’s good to feel.
By the afternoon, we’ve settled around the kitchen table with a deck of cards and a couple of open beers. With a deep, hearty chuckle, Alec leans across the table and ruffles her hair. She shrieks, squirming and laughing, trying to fix the wild mess he’s made of it.
“Young lady.” Alec slaps his cards onto the table. “I think you cheated.”
“I did not.” Outrage colors Paige’s cheeks yet she’s grinning. “You’re just a sore loser.”
Olivia laughs softly beside me. “Sorry, Alec, but Paige is a card shark. She comes by it honestly. My father taught her everything he knew.”
“Ah, so it’s hereditary.” Alec waggles his brows as Paige gleefully sweeps all the poker chips toward her side of the table.
Drew leans back, handing me a beer before taking a sip of his own. “Although…” He smirks. “She has been known to cheat.”
Color floods his sister’s cheeks. “Drew, shut up. That was one time. I was ten and I said sorry. I haven’t done it again.”
Olivia bursts out laughing, Drew joining in, clearly relishing her embarrassment.
“Well, now you’ve got to tell us,” I say, grinning. “You can’t drop a bomb like that and not share. What happened?”
Paige groans, crossing her arms. “Sam, it was just one time, I swear. I was playing with Popzie, and I was losing. So I just, um…”
“She was counting cards.” Drew’s tone drips with amusement.
“Was not. I don’t even know what that is.” Paige fumes, glaring daggers at him.
Alec is laughing so hard tears stream down his cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re terrible at lying,” he manages between chuckles. “Come here.”
He tugs gently on her wrist and pulls her to sit beside him. She doesn’t fight it. Instead, she rests her head on his shoulder as he sighs, a soft, weary sound that carries both joy and sorrow.
The sight undoes me a little.
As I watch them, something twists deep in my chest. I wish Bas were here. I wish he could’ve met Olivia’s kids, seen the way Paige’s quick wit could light up a room, or how Drew’s quiet steadiness reminds me of Alec when he was younger.
Bas would’ve loved them.
And maybe that’s what hurts most—the things he’ll never get to see, the laughter he’ll never share, the simple, ordinary moments like this that somehow mean everything.
Damn, I hate regrets. I hate wishing for what can never be.
Alec leans back in his chair, still grinning. “You’ll have to teach me, Paige. Maybe I’ll finally win a hand around here.”
She giggles, basking in the attention.
For the first time in weeks, the house is alive again. There’s laughter, warmth, and that easy rhythm of family that Bas always loved—unruly, loud, but full of life.
I glance at Olivia across the table. She’s watching the scene quietly, her smile soft and full of something that looks a lot like peace. When our eyes meet, she reaches across and threads her fingers through mine.
And in that small, unspoken gesture, I realize this—this noise, this light, this chaos—is exactly what Bas would have wanted.
Our weekend together feels like something out of a dream. The laughter, the shared meals, the small moments of joy that come between the heaviness. The kids surprise us one night by cooking dinner, and it’s surprisingly delicious.
Alec, too, has moments of real joy—laughter, wide smiles—something I haven’t seen from him in what feels like forever.
But all too soon, it’s time to say goodbye. Drew has a long drive ahead of him, back to school, and they’ll be leaving early in the morning. I’m not ready for it to end. I never am, especially now.
It’s four in the morning, and the house is silent. They’re all asleep, and I’m wide awake. My mind is too full, too scattered. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days.
I drizzle olive oil into the hot pan, the sizzle and pop grounding me, bringing my attention back to something simple. The comforting sounds of cooking fill the space, and I turn on my heel to scoop the mirepoix into my hand, letting the onions, carrots, and celery fall into the skillet.
The scent of it—so familiar and rich—takes me back, a task I’ve done too many times to count. It’s mindless, in the best way. But the moment her touch skates along the bare skin of my back, the world tilts.
“That smells so good,” Olivia’s voice whispers from behind me, sultry and warm, pulling me back from the haze of cooking. “What are you making at this hour?”
She doesn’t ask me why I’m awake. She knows. She’s been here before, found me in the stillness of the night, cooking, thinking, lost in my thoughts. I don’t have to explain myself to her—she knows.
I turn off the burner and set the spoon aside, moving toward her.
Her warmth envelops me as I pull her into my arms, holding her close.
Her body presses against mine, and I feel the heat rise between us instantly.
Her lips find mine, soft at first, then urgent, as if we’re both starved for the connection.
“I was making soup.” My breath’s warm against her neck as I bury my face in the curve of her shoulder. “But now I’ve lost interest. I think I’d rather make something else.”
“Oh? What are you in the mood for?”
My hands wander to her ass and I pull her even closer. “You. I want to make love to you.”
Her breath hitches, but I can’t help myself. I trail kisses down her neck, nibbling at the soft skin there, my fingers inching beneath her shirt.
“Although…” I pause, my voice thick. “I think I’d rather devour you. You don’t need any seasoning. You taste perfect just as you are.”
As I press against her, my hands explore her body, feeling her every curve, every inch of her warmth. She responds in kind, her hands finding their way to my chest, tugging at my shirt, desperate for more contact.
Her legs wrap around my waist, and I lift her, carrying her to the kitchen chair, my body fully alive with need and desire for her.
She straddles my lap, kissing me hard, pulling me closer, deeper, as if she can’t get enough of me. I try to control myself, my hands trembling as I reach for the hem of her shirt. But then I stop, holding her wrists gently.
“Wait.” My voice is strained, barely a whisper.
She pauses, eyes wide with uncertainty, and I can see the question in her gaze. Why the sudden hesitation? Why the shift?
I don’t know what comes over me, but I feel it right there, in this quiet moment. A need to say the words.
The truth I’ve been holding back, the weight of it pressing against my chest.
“Olivia.” My voice comes out rough, thick with emotion. “I love you.”
I touch her cheek, my fingers trembling as I caress her skin. The words are too big, too powerful, and yet somehow, they’ve never felt more right.
She freezes, her eyes searching mine, her breath shaky. “I… um…” Her voice falters.
Before she can finish, she pulls me to her, fingers threading through my hair at the nape of my neck, yanking me to her mouth in a kiss that’s wild, desperate, as if she’s trying to claim me all over again.
Her tongue meets mine, hard and demanding, pushing everything else aside.
And I let her. I let her take control. I need this just as much as she does.
The kiss deepens, and everything—every thought, every doubt—vanishes. There’s nothing left but us, tangled together, lost in the quiet, frantic rhythm of our need. The world outside no longer exists.
I cup her ass and she rocks into me. My cock throbs painfully, and as much as I’m caught up in my desire for her, it isn’t lost on me that she hasn’t responded to my raw declaration.
As she works her tongue against mine, her hard nipples rub and tease my chest through the thin fabric. Her body trembles as I run my hand under her shirt, the pads of my fingers dancing across her abdomen, up to her breasts.
Palming their heaviness, I lightly pinch her peaks, rolling them between my finger and thumb. Her head tips back, her breathing ragged as she bites her lip to stifle her whimpers of satisfaction. I love watching her lose all inhibition.
Amidst my soft, delicate kisses to her jaw and lips, she peeks at me through the fan of her dark lashes. Lifting her, I carry her to the bedroom where I show her how much I love her, how important she is to me.
She may not have said it, but the love is in her eyes. I feel the love in the way her body responds to me, in the way she gives herself to me, welcomes me into not only her body but also her heart and soul.
She’s stolen my heart, and every time she leaves, she takes it with her.
I need her to stop leaving.
I need her to stay.