Chapter Twenty-Eight
Corbin
Jules sleeps quietly beside me, her breathing soft and even in the pale glow of the morning light sneaking through the curtains.
I haven’t slept. Not in three days. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is smoke and flames.
And the sickening thought of what could have happened if she hadn’t made it out in time.
I could have lost her.
The thought alone twists something sharp and unbearable in my chest.
The apartment didn’t burn to the ground, but smoke ruined almost everything. Tate’s things. Jules’ things. Now they’re both here living under my roof. Something I’ve wanted for so long, but not like this. Not because of fear and loss.
She stirs next to me, a soft sigh slipping past her lips as her hand reaches blindly for mine in sleep. As soon as our fingers touch, I thread mine through hers, holding on like I’m terrified she’ll disappear if I don’t.
Something tightens deep in my chest, a mix of relief and longing.
Yesterday, when they let us into the apartment to see what could be salvaged, the first thing Jules did was rush into her bedroom.
She emerged minutes later with her wedding band.
The gold and diamond one I gave her the day I promised to love her forever.
She slipped it onto her right hand and hasn’t taken it off since.
I haven’t asked her why she kept it. Why she’s wearing it now. Maybe I’m scared of the answer.
Or maybe I already know.
But more than anything, I don’t want to push her. She’s been running on empty—anxious, shaken, barely holding herself together. And every night since she’s been here, she falls asleep tangled up in me like I’m her anchor. Like I’m the only thing keeping her steady.
And I guess… maybe I am.
What I don’t know is how to explain any of this to Tate.
Why she’s in my bed. Why I’m holding her when she wakes up shaking and breathless. Why neither of us can seem to let go.
Maybe because we never really did.
Maybe because we love each other. Always have.
I hear Tate’s small feet padding across the hallway, the sound soft but certain. And for a second, I’m torn. Stay here with Jules, wrapped up in the only peace I’ve felt in days, or get up and be the dad Tate deserves.
The bedroom door creaks open, and Tate pokes his head in, his blond hair sticking up on one side. I gently pull my hand from Jules’ and tug the covers a little higher over her shoulders. She shifts, murmuring something in her sleep, but doesn’t wake.
The ache to lean down and press a kiss to her forehead nearly undoes me. But I force myself to pull away, taking one last glance at her peaceful face before I step into the hall and close the door softly behind me.
Tate looks up at me, his little brow furrowed. “Is Mommy okay?”
I kneel so we’re eye level, resting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s okay, bud. She’s just resting.”
His frown deepens, but then he brightens a little. “We should make her an omelet,” he says, like that’s all it’ll take to make the world right again. “They’re her favorite.”
I smile, ruffling his messy hair. “Yeah? Well, let’s make her an omelet. And pancakes, too.”
Tate’s eyes light up, and he takes off down the stairs, his little feet thudding with purpose. I follow behind, feeling like I’m leaving half my heart in that room with Jules.
In the kitchen, we settle into a rhythm—whisking eggs, mixing pancake batter. Tate stands on a chair beside me, concentrating hard as he stirs, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in focus. I guide his hand when he struggles to flip a pancake, letting him take the lead as much as I can.
Butter hisses on the skillet, the smell of pancakes and bacon filling the air. For a few minutes, it feels almost normal.
But I can’t stop thinking about her.
When the food’s nearly ready, I hear her footsteps on the stairs, soft and hesitant.
And then she’s there, standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing one of my flannel shirts that hangs loose over her curves, her legs bare, her curls wild and messy from sleep.
She looks beautiful and fragile in a way that makes my heart twist.
Tate doesn’t hesitate. He runs right to her, wrapping his little arms around her waist. She smiles and smooths a hand over his hair, leaning into him like she needs his strength just as much as he needs hers.
I turn away, busying my hands by plating pancakes and bacon, but I can’t stop watching her out of the corner of my eye.
Tate takes his plate and heads to the table, already humming as he digs in.
And then Jules is beside me, closer than I expect. She doesn’t check to see if Tate’s watching. Doesn’t hesitate.
She just reaches for me.
Her arms slide around my waist, and she presses her face into my neck. The feel of her there makes me close my eyes for a second as I wrap her up tight.
She clings to me like she’s afraid to let go, her fingers curling into my back.
Across the room, Tate glances up, his blue eyes wide as he watches us. But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps eating, his head tilted slightly like he’s trying to understand what’s happening.
“How’d you sleep?” I murmur, running my hand up and down her back in slow, steady strokes.
She exhales, her lips brushing my neck. The softest kiss. It sends a shiver racing down my spine.
“Not good,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say gently. “You were tossing and turning all night.”
“I can’t shut my brain off,” she admits, pulling back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, but there’s something fierce behind them, too.
“I’m worried about you, Jules.” I tuck a stray curl behind her ear, my fingers lingering at her jaw.
She searches my face, as if looking for something. Maybe a reason to hold it together. Maybe a reason to fall apart.
“As long as I’m with you,” she breathes, “I’m fine.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t have to be fine. Not for me.”
Her hand slides up to my chest, her fingers curling in the fabric of my T-shirt. “But I am.”
And I know she means it.
At least right now.
“Let’s eat,” I say quietly to her, watching the way her fingers tremble as they push her curls behind her ear. “Then we’ll all head to the coffee shop for the afternoon.”
She nods, swallowing hard as she takes a slow, steadying breath. “Thank you for letting me be here. With you.”
There’s something about the way she says it like she’s still unsure if she belongs here, like she’s waiting for me to change my mind. That makes my chest ache.
I know Tate is watching us from the table, watching everything, like he always does when something feels different. I know I shouldn’t push it. Shouldn’t confuse him. But I can’t help myself.
I step closer to her, cupping her face gently in my hands, and press a soft, careful kiss to her lips. Like she’s breakable. Like I’m afraid if I don’t hold her now, I’ll lose the chance.
Her breath stutters as she melts into me for just a second before I pull away.
“Wherever I am, Jules,” I murmur, my thumb brushing along her jaw, “there’s always a place for you there.”
Her face softens, eyes glimmering in a way that makes my throat tighten, and she gives me a quiet, grateful smile.
She lets me go, and I turn to the stove to grab a plate. I pile an omelet high and spoon salsa on the side before handing it to her.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely carrying as she takes the plate from me and heads to the table, sliding into the chair next to Tate.
I exhale slowly, willing my heart to calm, before piling a few pancakes on my own plate and joining them.
As I sit down and glance between them—Jules picking at her eggs, Tate chattering about snakes and school like it’s just another morning—I feel something inside me shift.
Like a lock clicking into place.
They’re both here. At my table. In my house. Where I’ve always wanted them to be.
But as I watch Jules stir her eggs absentmindedly and glance at me from beneath her lashes, I wonder— how long ?
How long until she runs again? How long until she decides she’s ready to stay?
I’m not sure which answer will come first.
But right now, I’ll take this moment—this morning—and hold onto it with both hands.
***
Jules keeps herself busy behind the counter, moving from task to task like she’s afraid to stand still.
I sit in a booth tucked away in the corner, my laptop open but my focus frayed.
Tate is content, building a new LEGO set beside me, while Sarge pointedly ignores my presence as if doing so might make me disappear.
“What are you working on?” Connie’s warm voice breaks through the fog as she refills my coffee.
“Business plan,” I answer, rubbing a tired hand over my face.
“Self-employment not all it’s cracked up to be?” she guesses with a small smile.
“Actually,” I exhale, “it’s going too well. I’m trying to figure out if I should expand or start turning down clients.”
Connie chuckles, giving me a knowing look. “Seems like life’s finally throwing you some daisies, Corbin.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, taking a long sip of coffee.
Her gaze softens as she leans in slightly. “How’s Jules holding up?”
I glance toward the counter where Jules wipes down the same spot, lost in thought. “Doing her best, I think. It’s a lot.”
Connie nods thoughtfully, glancing over at her, too. “You know,” she says gently, “sometimes life has a way of forcing two stubborn people together when they won’t do it on their own.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. “I think we’re figuring it out in our own way.”
“Hmm,” Connie hums, unconvinced as she walks back to the register.
Tate stretches beside me. “Dad, I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”
“Alright, bud. Go ahead,” I say, ruffling his hair.
As I turn back to my laptop, a shadow darkens my screen. I glance up to find Sarge standing there, arms crossed like a brick wall I’m supposed to climb over.
“You planning to camp out in this booth all day?” he asks, voice edged with that protective big brother bite.
“Until Jules is ready to leave,” I say evenly.
“She should be staying with me,” Sarge says, more gentle this time, but firm.
I’m tired. Too tired to play his games today. “Okay.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
I close my laptop slowly and meet his stare head-on. “I’m not doing this with you, Sarge.”
“She’s all I’ve got,” he reminds me, like I’ve somehow forgotten what Jules means to him.
“I know.”
“Then you know if you break her heart again—”
“I got it ,” I cut in sharply. “For the record, I don’t plan on breaking anything.”
His eyes narrow. “Because you’re such a stand-up guy, right?”
“No,” I say firmly, standing to meet him eye to eye. “Because I love her.”
Something flickers in his eyes—a crack in that stone wall—but he covers it with a smirk. “So you say.”
Tate returns just in time to break the tension, sliding back into the booth.
“What are you doing?” Jules’ voice cuts through the room like a whip as she walks over, her eyes narrowing at her brother.
Sarge straightens, a little guilt in his stance. “I was just leaving.”
Jules gives him a sharp look, her shoulders tight with frustration.
“Connie?” I call, stepping away from the booth and toward the counter. “Mind keeping an eye on Tate for five minutes?”
“I’ve got him,” Connie says, casually moving closer with her own coffee in hand.
I turn to Jules, reaching for her hand. “Come on.”
She groans but lets me tug her toward her office. “What are you doing?”
I close the door behind us and lock it before turning to face her.
“Corbin?” she laughs, a little breathless, a little wary.
“I’m giving you five minutes to breathe,” I say as I cup her face and press a slow, soft kiss to her lips. She melts into me, her arms winding around my neck as she leans into the touch she so clearly needs.
I back her toward the desk, feeling her hands slip into my hair, her fingers tangling as if she’s clinging to me like a lifeline.
She lets out a shaky laugh, her body perched on the edge of her desk as I stand between her knees. “What are you doing?” she murmurs against my mouth.
“You need a break,” I whisper, kissing along her jaw, her pulse pounding under my lips. “You need to let someone take care of you for once.”
Her head falls back slightly, and I take that as permission.
My hands slide under her skirt, fingers brushing along her thighs. “You need to relax , Jules.”
She lets out a soft moan as I lean in, her hands pulling me closer.
“Corbin,” she breathes, half a protest, half a plea.
“It’ll take five minutes,” I murmur as my fingers slip under her panties and find her already wet, ready for me.
Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her head tipping forward to rest against mine. “What if someone hears us?”
“Then we’ll keep it quiet,” I say, my fingers stroking her expertly as she lets out a muffled moan into my neck. “But right now, I need to remind you you’re not alone.”
“God, Corbin,” she gasps, her hips rocking gently against my hand.
I kiss her again, deeply, hungrily, and I know she won’t argue because she needs this as much as I do.