Chapter 28
HARTLEY
The park feels quieter when we leave than it did when we arrived, though I know that’s probably just my head trying to make space for everything Stellan said.
The path curves away from the lake and back toward the parking lot.
Gravel crunches under our shoes. The wind skims the water behind us and carries the sound of someone laughing across the field.
Stellan walks beside me. His stride stays steady, shoulders loose, hands swinging lightly at his sides. I watch the movement out of the corner of my eye while I try to match his pace. Every few seconds my brain circles back to the same sentence.
I’ve been looking at houses.
Stellan glances over when he catches me staring. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer automatically, forcing my voice to sound normal.
The parking lot comes into view through the trees. Cars sit scattered across the asphalt, sunlight reflecting off windshields in bright flashes. Stellan unlocks his truck with a quick click of the key fob and the lights blink once.
Since I walked here, I slide into the passenger seat while he walks around the front of the truck. My hands rest in my lap while I watch him through the windshield. The sleeves of his shirt pull tight across his arms when he opens the driver’s door.
He climbs in and starts the engine. The truck idles for a second before he pulls out of the lot.
Neither of us says anything right away.
I watch his hands on the steering wheel. Strong fingers, short nails, a small scar near his thumb that I noticed weeks ago when he helped Alaska with a puzzle. His grip stays loose, confident, the same way he drives every time we go somewhere together.
My brain keeps replaying the conversation anyway.
Closer to my parents.
Maybe a yard.
Stellan reaches over and rests his hand on my knee, his touch is warm, casual, familiar.
I force myself to relax against the seat.
“School pickup is in fifteen minutes,” he says. “We should make it.”
“Yeah,” I reply.
The drive takes less than ten minutes. The building comes into view at the end of the street, bright murals painted across the brick walls, cartoon animals smiling across the windows.
Kids run across the playground behind the fence. Stellan parks along the curb and shuts off the engine.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod.
We walk up the path together and push through the front doors. Alaska spots us before we even make it halfway across the room. Her whole face lights up. She drops the plastic dinosaur she was holding and runs toward us with fox trailing behind her like a small red shadow.
I crouch down just in time for her to crash into me. Her arms wrap around my neck. Stellan kneels beside us and she reaches for him too, grabbing his sleeve and waving in quick excited movements.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says softly.
She points toward the cubbies, and Stellan nods like he understands what she’s saying.
For a few seconds the tension in my chest loosens.
Alaska grabs both our hands when we head back toward the door, her fingers curling around ours easily.
She swings between us while we walk toward the truck. I look down at the small hand holding mine as a thought goes through my head, and I let it.
This is temporary.
Don’t get used to it.
The drive back to the apartment is silent. Alaska plays with fox and taps on the window while Stellan glances in the rearview mirror, watching her. When we reach the apartment building she runs ahead toward the door, fox bouncing behind her again.
Inside, the space feels familiar; shoes by the door, Alaska’s drawings taped to the fridge, and the faint hum of traffic outside.
I start dinner while Stellan leans against the counter.
“Need help?” he asks.
“You can set the table,” I say.
He moves around the kitchen easily, grabbing plates from the cabinet without asking where they are.
Halfway through dinner I catch him glancing around the kitchen. Not in a distracted way, but more in a taking stock or measurements way. His eyes move from the counter to the cabinets, then to the window, then back again.
“I never noticed how tight the kitchen is,” he says.
“It works for us,” I reply.
He nods slowly.
“Yard would be nice for her someday,” he adds.
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth.
“Yeah,” I say.
Alaska dips her chicken into mashed potatoes and gravy, and watches us with quiet curiosity.
Later she sprawls across the couch while a cartoon plays on the television. The glow of the screen flickers across the living room while she slowly sinks deeper into the cushions.
Stellan sits beside me scrolling through something on his phone. He repositions his phone and for a brief second I see the screen.
Zillow.
He sets the phone down when he notices me watching.
“Movie’s almost over,” he says quietly.
I nod. “I should get her in the tub and bed.”
Bath time comes next. Alaska splashes water across the bathroom floor while I pretend to be attacked by rubber ducks. Her laughter fills the small room.
After pajamas and a bedtime story, she curls under her blanket and signs goodnight before drifting off.
The apartment goes quiet again.
Stellan locks the front door and flips off the living room light. We head to the bedroom together.
He falls asleep fast. His breathing slows within minutes, and I lie on my back staring at the ceiling.
My brain refuses to stop moving.
People leave.
The thought slides through my brain like it already knows the way.
Lance’s face flashes across my mind without warning. My brother laughing across the kitchen table, his voice on the phone the last time we spoke. The hospital room. The empty space afterward.
I turn my head and watch Stellan sleeping beside me. I stare at the way his chest rises and falls steadily, wondering if this peace will last or if he'll pull away soon, leaving me grasping at empty sheets.
I should have known better than to let myself get this attached, to start to build something around someone who might walk out the door without a backward glance.
I close my eyes, but images flicker behind my lids; conversations we haven't had yet, the ones where he says it's over and my heart races, palms growing damp against the fabric beneath me. I should have known better.
After a while Stellan shifts beside me, and his hand slides across the sheets until it finds my waist. I freeze for a second, part of me terrified this touch means goodbye, but another part clings to it, desperate for the stability only he provides.
"You're thinking too loud," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
I blink in the darkness. "Sorry," I whisper, my throat tight because apologizing feels safer than explaining the fear that he's already halfway out the door.
He pulls me closer before I can finish, his body curving around mine, solid and unyielding. His lips brush slowly across the side of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, and I inhale sharply.
"You're tense," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear, fingers splaying across my stomach.
"I'm fine," I lie, because admitting the truth means facing how much power he holds over me, how one wrong word from him could shatter everything.
He hums softly and his mouth moves lower along my collarbone, slow and deliberate, each kiss pulling a quiet sigh from my lips as heat builds under my skin.
His hand slides along my side, tracing the curve of my hip through the thin sheet, and I lean into it.
My body betrays the chaos in my thoughts, craving the way he makes the world narrow to just us in this bed.
"Come here," he whispers, voice dropping lower, laced with that quiet command I can't resist, and I let him pull me closer.
He shifts, his leg sliding between mine, and the contact sends a spark through me.
"You're not fine," he breathes, his thumb stroking my cheek, calloused from work but gentle now. I lean into that touch, my heart beating a little faster, part of me wanting to push him away.
I open my mouth to argue but instead I press my lips to his, soft at first, tasting the salt on his skin. He responds immediately, his hand cupping the back of my neck, deepening the kiss making my pulse quicken, drowning out the whispers of doubt.
Our mouths move together, unhurried, tongues brushing as the heat steadily builds. I feel his heartbeat under my hand, matching mine and thoughts flicker through my mind.
How lucky I am to have him here despite the risk.
He breaks the kiss first, trailing his lips down my jaw, nipping lightly at the skin, and I tilt my head back, exposing my throat. A low sound escapes me, not quite a moan but close as his teeth graze sensitive spots, sending warmth pooling in my stomach.
"Let me help," he says against my pulse point.
I nod, words failing me because his hands are everywhere now; sliding under my shirt, palms flat against my bare back, pulling me flush against him, his body a reminder that he's still here, still choosing this.
"I need you," I whisper, the words slipping out honest and raw, laced with the unspoken plea to stay, and he smiles.
His hands grip my hips hard, fingers digging into the skin there with enough force to leave faint marks, and I feel the shift in him; the way his body takes over, communicating what words can't. He rolls us slightly so I'm on my back, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
I look up at him, his eyes locked on mine as he leans down to claim my mouth again. The kiss is rougher this time, teeth nipping at my lower lip before his tongue pushes in, demanding.
My hands slide up his back, nails scraping lightly over his shoulders, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through our chests where they press together, sweat already starting to slick our skin in the warm room.
He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, marking me as his and I arch up, a gasp escaping as heat floods my veins. His hand moves between us, palming my cock, stroking firmly, and I buck into his touch.
“Stellan,” I breathe.