Chapter Twenty-Six
Corbin
I pull open the bottom drawer of my bedside table and take a slow, sobering breath. I haven’t touched this drawer in two years. Not since the day Jules left her engagement ring on the kitchen counter and walked out the door without so much as a goodbye.
I remember standing there, staring at that ring like it was some kind of final verdict.
Like everything we’d built—the life, the marriage, the dreams—was sealed inside that small circle of gold.
I didn’t know what to do with it. So, I took off mine, too, and placed them together in the back of this drawer, as if leaving them side by side would somehow hold onto the idea of us.
It felt wrong to separate them. Still does. But it felt worse to throw them away. Like letting go of hope entirely.
Maybe, deep down, I thought we’d figure it out. Maybe I believed there was still a chance to find our way back to each other. And now… now, I think we just might be on that path.
I pick up the rings, rolling them between my fingers. Hers, delicate and stunning, an emerald-cut diamond set in warm yellow gold, catching the light even in this dim room. Mine, a simple gold band, solid and weighty, like the promises we once made.
Jules had a wedding band too. Small diamonds all the way around. But she didn’t leave that one behind. I’ve always wondered why. Did she keep it because she couldn’t let it go? Did she need the money? Or maybe, like me, she just wasn’t ready to give up completely.
I’m not naive. I know we’re not there yet, there’s still so much to work out between us. But since Friday—since that date five days ago—she’s all I think about.
We’ve been texting every day, all day, like we’re in college again. Like we’re starting over. And in a way, we are. It feels new and familiar all at once. Like coming home and stepping into a different house. One that holds the same foundation but has been gutted and rebuilt stronger.
The thing about Jules is that she’s never stayed the same. She’s always growing, evolving, becoming someone new, and I love every version of her. I think I always will.
And that’s the truth, isn’t it? I’ve been in love with the same woman for twelve years… but she’s been a hundred different women in that time. Stronger, wiser, braver. And every single one of them is still the only person I want to spend my life with.
I stare down at the rings in my palm, my thumb brushing over hers with a reverence I don’t fully understand.
Maybe someday, these won’t be tucked away in a drawer. Maybe someday, they’ll be on our fingers again.
But until then, I keep holding on.
My phone dings, pulling me out of my thoughts. With a reluctant sigh, I slide the rings back into the drawer—nestled together the way I wish we were—and gently close it.
I reach for my phone, knowing exactly who it is.
Jules: I can’t wait to see you.
A slow smile tugs at my lips as I immediately type back.
Me: It’s going to be hard to not kiss you all night.
Her reply is almost instant.
Jules: It’s been five days.
Like I don’t feel every single hour of those five days.
I hesitate for only a second before typing the words I’ve been holding back since I woke up this morning thinking about her.
Me: Stay with me tonight, Jules.
Three dots appear, and I hold my breath like a lovesick teenager, waiting.
Finally, her reply lights up the screen.
Jules: What about Tate?
I start to type, ready to say we’ll figure it out, but before I can hit send, her next message comes through.
Jules: I can always sneak out early tomorrow morning .
I exhale, a rush of something warm and right filling my chest.
Me: Sounds like a plan.
Jules: Leaving here in five. See you soon.
I set the phone down, my thumb brushing my bottom lip as a grin spreads across my face.
She’s coming over.
And this time, I’m not going to let her go.
***
Jules is wearing a delicate flower crown nestled in her curls, her auburn hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. The plum-colored, long-sleeved dress she’s wearing hugs her in all the right places, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Our eyes lock the second she walks through the door, but I force myself to shift my attention to Tate before I do something reckless, like pull her straight into my arms without caring who’s watching.
Instead, I kneel as Tate barrels toward me, launching himself into my chest with all the strength his little arms can muster.
I hug him tightly, holding on a little longer than I probably should, but I’ve missed him more than I want to admit.
It’s only been two nights apart, but it feels like longer.
Another reason—maybe the biggest reason—why I want to make this work with Jules. I want my son under my roof every night. I want all of us under one roof again.
“I’m gonna go check on Yuri!” Tate exclaims, already wriggling out of my arms and running toward the stairs.
“I fed him this morning,” I call after him with a grin as I stand. “So, he should be full and happy.”
Jules watches him go, her lips tugging into a smile, but when her gaze shifts back to mine, there’s a softness there that steals my breath all over again.
She scrunches her nose, playful and skeptical. “Do I want to know what you fed him?”
I laugh under my breath and shake my head. “You really don’t want to know,” I say as I glance toward the staircase to make sure Tate’s out of earshot.
Then, before I can think better of it, I cup her cheek, my thumb grazing her skin as I lean in to kiss her. She melts into me, her palm resting against my chest like it belongs there, and maybe it does. I keep the kiss soft, slow, but it takes everything in me to pull back.
Wednesdays are about Tate.
Her lips curve as she lets out a quiet sigh, her hand trailing down my arm until her pinky loops with mine. The smallest touch, but it feels like everything.
“Dinner smells amazing,” she murmurs, her eyes searching mine like she’s trying to memorize the moment.
“I made one of your favorites,” I say as I lead her into the kitchen, brushing my hand along hers, reluctant to let her go.
She tilts her head, grinning. “Street tacos?”
I smile as I head toward the stove. “With that green sauce you like,” I add, glancing back to see her beaming.
Her smile grows softer, her eyes shining with something that looks a lot like affection. “How do you remember the smallest details?”
I grab the tray of tacos and look over my shoulder at her. “When it comes to you, Jules, I remember almost everything.”
She leans against the counter, crossing her arms with a playful glint in her eye. “Almost?” she teases, arching a brow.
I chuckle, stepping closer, lowering my voice. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out what I’ve forgotten.”
Her breath hitches just slightly—enough for me to notice—and in that moment, I know I’m not the only one remembering everything.
We sit down at the table, but Tate is unusually quiet, pushing food around on his plate, eyes downcast. Jules and I trade glances as we pepper him with questions.
“How was school?” I try.
“Anything fun coming up for Thanksgiving break?” Jules adds.
“Want to do something special?” I offer.
But all we get in return are vague, one-word answers. It's not like Tate to be this withdrawn, and I can see it’s wearing on Jules, too.
Finally, Jules sets her fork down with a soft clink and sighs. “Tate, what’s going on? Why are you so quiet tonight?”
He glances at me, and I can see a storm brewing in his blue eyes, so much like his mom’s.
“I don’t know if I want to say,” he mumbles.
“Why not?” I ask, my chest tightening.
Tate exhales hard and pushes his plate away. “I think Mom had a boy over.”
The air leaves the room. Jules’ eyes fly to mine, wide and panicked.
“What are you talking about, bud?” she asks carefully.
“There was a jacket,” Tate says, his brow furrowed. “On the dining room table.”
Jules’ face flashes with understanding, and a wave of relief. It’s my jacket. The one I gave her to wear when I dropped her off after our date.
“That’s mine, bud,” I say smoothly. “I must’ve left it when we had dinner last Wednesday night.”
Tate studies me, chewing on his lip. “The black one?”
“Yeah,” I nod, offering a soft smile. “Been wondering where I left it.”
Tate relaxes a little. “Oh. Okay.”
Jules lets out a quiet breath, but I can still see the tension in her shoulders.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” I ask, trying to ease us back to normal.
Tate perks up immediately. “What did you make?”
I stand and start gathering plates, shooting Jules a quick wink. “Homemade ice cream.”
“Is it cookies and cream?!” Tate nearly shouts, his grin wide now.
Jules and I both laugh.
“It is,” I confirm.
“That’s my favorite!” he cheers.
We share bowls of ice cream, Tate chatting a little more freely now, and when he asks if we can watch a documentary on snakes, Jules makes him agree to shower and get in pajamas first. He runs up the stairs, leaving us alone to clean the kitchen, like old times.
We move side by side, washing and drying dishes, our hands brushing occasionally in ways that make my pulse race.
Jules runs a hand through her curls as we finish up, her eyes widening. “Oh my gosh, I forgot I’m still wearing this.” She tugs at the flower crown in her hair with a sheepish smile.
I lean against the counter, watching her with a smirk. “It’s Wednesday,” I remind her.
She giggles, trying to untangle it. “I completely forgot.”
“Here, let me,” I offer, stepping closer. She freezes as I gently work the crown free from her curls, being careful not to tug too hard.
“Gentle,” she teases, squirming a little as I carefully unwind a strand.
“I am being gentle,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intend as her hands steady on my waist.
She glances up at me through her lashes, a soft smile playing on her lips.
“You still haven’t told me why you wear these every Wednesday,” I say as I work loose another strand.
She grins. “Because life is short, and you should wear a flower crown because you can,” she says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I laugh, brushing a curl behind her ear as my thumb lingers on her jaw, stroking it gently.
Before I can say anything else, Tate’s voice breaks the spell.
“What are you guys doing?”
Jules jumps slightly, her hand flying to her chest. “This was stuck in my hair,” she says quickly, taking the crown from me.
Tate grins as he looks between us. “You ready to watch snakes?”
Jules sighs like she’s bracing herself. “I think so.”
We follow him into the living room, where he instructs me to sit on the corner of the couch, and makes sure Jules sits right beside me.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. And I think Jules does, too.
But we don’t fight it.
Tate climbs into Jules’ lap, snuggling close as he queues up the documentary.
“I wore my snake pajamas,” he tells us proudly, wiggling around.
My arm slides casually behind Jules on the couch, fingers finding their way into her curls. She leans into me without hesitation, her arm brushing my side, and for a moment, it feels like everything I’ve wanted is right here in this room.
Neither of us is really paying attention to the TV, but we stay like that—content, wrapped in each other’s presence.
When Tate finally falls asleep, limp in Jules’ arms, I stand and carefully lift him, his small arms circling my neck in his sleep.
Jules turns off the TV and follows me up the stairs, her hand brushing my back as I carry our son to bed.
Once he’s tucked in, Jules moves to his side, brushing the blond hair from his forehead and pressing a kiss there. Something about watching her— this Jules, soft and motherly—makes my chest ache in the best way.
When she steps away, I reach for her hand and pull her close, my arms wrapping around her from behind as we stand in the doorway watching Tate sleep.
She leans back into me, fitting perfectly against my chest like she always has.
I press a kiss to her temple and whisper in her ear, “Come to bed with me, baby.”
She turns to look at me, her eyes soft but filled with something fierce, like maybe she wants this just as badly as I do.
And without a word, she nods.
And I know— I know —this time, we’re not just finding our way back to each other. We’re finally finding our way home.