Chapter 38 Breath Between Worlds #3
I rested my head on his shoulder, and he let out a shaky sigh, like he’d been holding his breath for years. Maybe he had. Maybe we both had. All I knew was that for once, I wasn’t alone in my fear, or in my hope.
In a hushed whisper, Aiden finally spoke, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. “I never thought I’d feel like this,” he admitted, his eyes searching mine for understanding.
I squeezed his hand in response, feeling the weight of his words settle between us. “Me neither,” I confessed, my voice tinged with a vulnerability I hadn’t allowed myself to show in a long time.
Aiden’s gaze softened, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes. “I’m grateful for this moment, for you,” he murmured, sincerity lacing every word.
Tears welled up in my eyes at his heartfelt confession. “I never knew I needed this until now,” I whispered back, feeling the walls around my heart crumbling in the presence of his honesty.
We sat in silence once more, the warmth of our shared connection enveloping us like a protective cocoon.
As the fire crackled and popped, casting dancing shadows across the room, Aiden broke the quiet once more. “Do you think we can make this last?” he asked softly, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty.
I turned to look at him, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “I don’t know,” I replied honestly, feeling a surge of determination to at least try. “But I’m willing to find out together.”
And with those words hanging in the air between us, we leaned into each other once more, our lips brushing together softly.
It was a gentle exploration, a sweet affirmation of what we had just shared.
The world around us faded, leaving only the warmth of our connection.
I felt the flutter of hope ignite within me as our mouths moved in unison, each kiss a promise of solace and strength found in this fragile moment.
As the smallest flicker of belonging grew within me, I let my hands wander, hesitant at first, mapping the breadth of Aiden’s shoulders, the curve of his back, as if my fingers could memorize the topography of someone who’d just let me see him vulnerable.
His muscle was hard under my palms, but he didn’t tense, didn’t threaten to retreat; instead, he made a low sound in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, then gentled his grip at my jaw.
His hand threaded into the hair at the nape of my neck, slow and deliberate.
The calloused pads of his fingers sent a shiver down the length of my spine, and instinct kicked in: I pressed closer, letting my own hands rest against his chest, feeling the steady, quickened thump of his heart under the fabric.
I let myself want it. I let myself hope.
He pulled away just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, our noses almost touching. I could feel the stubble on his chin scratch my cheek, and it only made me want to close the gap again. I was the one to break, to move first; I kissed him with less caution and more hunger.
His free hand traced the line of my back, then down to the small of it, then lower still, until he found the edge of my hips and tugged me toward him. It was an invitation and a test all at once: he would only take what I gave.
I climbed into his lap without thinking.
My legs folded on either side of him, knees bracketing his hips, and the fire threw strange, beautiful shadows around us.
His hands came to rest at my waist, thumbs splaying wide as if to anchor me.
The new closeness made everything sharper: the heat of his body, the roughness of his jeans, the blunt, undeniable reality of how badly we both needed this.
He kissed my neck, and I could hear my own breath catch.
For a second, I was seventeen again, reckless and certain and alive. But I was also more than that now: mother, survivor, woman who’d learned to tell the difference between a fairytale and the kind of love that actually stays.
He pulled back a fraction, eyes searching mine for permission. “You okay?” he whispered, his voice raw and careful.
“I’m good,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly unsteady. “Better than good.”
He grinned, a real smile this time, and kissed my forehead, my cheek, the tip of my nose. I laughed, neither pretty nor demure, but real, and felt the last, fragile bit of fear melt away.
I wanted this, and I wanted him, and that was all the permission I needed.
We stayed tangled like that for a long time, not hurrying, just relearning the shape of comfort. When we finally let go, it was slow and reluctant, not wanting to break the spell.
I slid back to the couch cushion beside him and tucked my feet under his thigh. He kept his arm around my shoulders, fingers tracing lazy circles on my upper arm.
We didn’t say anything for a while.
Didn’t have to.
* * *
The next morning unfolded like a secret you weren’t supposed to notice: quiet, ordinary, almost soft.
We made pancakes from a dusty box of mix I found in the back of the cupboard.
Mateo ate four in a row, drenching them in syrup and giggling every time one stuck to the plate.
Aiden and I bickered good-naturedly over whether you could call them pancakes if they didn’t have chocolate chips, then spent most of the afternoon in the backyard, raking leaves into ridiculous, rival piles.
The hours passed with a kind of suspended grace, no one chasing us, no one calling, no wolves howling except the ones watching from the far tree line, content to let us play at normal for a while.
That night, Mateo snuggled under the covers in the guest bedroom he had claimed as his own, hair damp from a real bath, eyes already half-shut. I perched on the edge of the bed, tracing a loose strand away from his forehead.
“Mom?” he whispered, voice already slipping into the dreamworld. “Are we gonna stay here forever? Or is this another ‘for now’?”
I hesitated, not wanting to lie, but not ready to shatter the magic either. “We’ll stay as long as we need,” I said.
He nodded, eyes squeezing shut. “Ok.”
I tucked the quilt under his chin, bent low, and kissed the crown of his head. “You’re safe,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”
I watched him breathe, watched the lines of his face soften and the day slip away from his small shoulders. For a moment, I let myself believe that the worst was behind us, that the monsters could only get as close as the porch, that tomorrow could be just pancakes and forts and nothing more.
I stood in the doorway for a long time, letting the hush settle around me. The firelight from the hall painted the floor in gold, outlining the edges of my son, my heart, my reason for fighting.
Behind me, the world was waiting, sharp and hungry. But right now, in this stolen pause, everything was exactly as it should be.
I stayed there, anchored to the spot, letting myself hope.
Because if the storm was coming, I wanted to be ready to meet it.