Fallon
Chapter forty-eight
Solitude
The cabin has always been a sanctuary for Billy and I, now it includes Cyrus and Liam. Almost two weeks of mountains, quiet mornings, and a life that doesn’t have cameras or headlines.
The kids are in the yard catching fireflies when Cyrus pulls up.
I spot the truck before I hear it, tires crunching up the gravel drive. My chest does that small, annoying thing it’s been doing more often lately—watching this man approach us never gets old.
Billy is the first to scream. “Dad!” Liam follows immediately, like it’s a competition. “He’s here! He’s here!” They both take off running like the man has been gone for years instead of hours.
I shake my head, laughing under my breath as I brush grass off my hands. “Traitors,” I mutter.
Fireflies blink up from the yard in little bursts of gold, drifting between the kids as they chase them. Billy shrieks when one lands near her hand. “I got one!”
“You did not get one,” Liam argues. “It escaped the trauma you would cause it by squishing it.”
“Fireflies don’t have emotions,” she says, offended.
I watch them instead of stepping in. Just…watch.
There’s something about the way they’re laughing out here, barefoot in the grass; it was worth the trip here to get to witness them. I realize I’m smiling. Not carefully. Not guarded. Just…smiling. The truck door opens and Cyrus steps out.
I melt at the sight of him. Tall, pressed uniform, stretched across muscles,. He catches the kids first, his big body eating the distance between himself and the kids. He ruffles Liam’s hair while Billy launches into a dramatic complaint about emotionally traumatized fireflies and snack shortages.
He laughs at her. Of course he does. I feel it in my chest before I even admit it to myself. That’s what gets me. It’s the ease he possesses while interacting with our kids.
I don’t realize I’m staring until his eyes find mine. And suddenly I’m not smiling at the kids anymore. I’m smiling at him.
He says something to them—something that makes Billy cackle and Liam argue immediately—and I watch them both drag him toward the cabin like they’re afraid he might disappear again if they don’t physically escort him inside.
I call after them, “Wash up! And no muddy shoes in my house!” Billy turns around, walking backward. “It’s not your house. It’s our shared emotional support structure!”
“It is absolutely my house,” I call back. Cyrus just grins at me over their heads, like he’s enjoying this too much. Then he’s ushering them inside. “To bed, the both of you.” The door shuts. And suddenly it’s just me and him. This yard isn’t big enough for both of us.
The fireflies glow bright before sizzling out all around us, crickets chirp, a light breeze ruffles my skirt. The tension leaks from my body as Cyrus approaches me. “You’re late,” I say, trying for normal. It comes out softer than I meant.
“Work,” he answers.
Of course.
I nod toward the hammock strung between the trees. “Let’s sit.” The hammock dips when he sits, then again when I follow. It rocks gently as we settle into it, him on his back, me wrapped around his imposing form.
For a while, neither of us speaks. Just crickets. Fireflies. And echoes of the kids inside. My shoulders finally drop. I don’t realize how tense I’ve been until I’m not anymore.
“Can we go home yet?” I ask quietly.
It slips out before I can stop it. Cyrus doesn’t answer right away. He just shrugs. I glance at him. “That’s not a real answer, you know.”
“It is,” he says finally.
I exhale through my nose. “No, it’s not. It means you’re letting me decide everything.” He turns his head slightly toward me. “That’s because it is your call.”
I look down at my hands in my lap. “I love the cabin. The kids and I have found a way to have fun, and I’m grateful to have the escape. But I need to get back to the real world.”
His arm shifts behind me, giving me a quick squeeze. “You’re not going back to deal with bullshit, though.” he says.
“I know.” A pause, then quieter, I admit, “I just don’t want this to become a forever thing.
” His hand brushes my arm once, slow and grounding.
“It won’t,” he says. “But I need you prepared before we step back into the thick of it. I thought this would blow over, and it does have its moments where I think it’s done.
But you have a persistent mother, and Jordan is thriving with the attention. ”
I turn my head to look at him. “And you?” A faint crease forms between his brows. “What about me?”
“How are you handling being the center of attention?” I ask.
“Fallon, the only person I’m concerned with is currently in my arms.” He exhales slowly. “I’m used to being exploited for clickbait. That’s not something I ever wanted for my family.”
But then he adds, softer, “We need to speak with lawyers about where we stand legally and what our options are.”
“I know. I’ve allowed them to get away with too much.
Those two women are too comfortable in their disrespect.
” My fingers drift to the edge of his shirt without thinking.
We sit there again. Listening to the night.
Letting the fireflies blink around us like they’re marking time.
“Come home and let’s put a stop to all this nonsense,” he whispers into my hair.
Finally, I nod. “Okay.”
His head tilts slightly. “Okay?”
“We’ll go home soon,” I say. “But not tomorrow. Not yet.” A small smile pulls at his mouth.
“That’s progress.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t get excited.”
“I’m always excited,” he mutters. That makes me laugh.
Our bodies shift, and I feel a bulge in his pants, pushing against my hips. “Cyrus,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?”
I don’t overthink it. I don’t stop myself. I just lean in and kiss him.
It starts soft—familiar in a way that makes my thoughts go quiet immediately.
His hand comes up to my jaw, tilting my head for better access, before he takes charge, deepening the kiss.
The hammock shifts under us as we move closer, the world narrowing down to heat and breath and the feeling of him here with me.
When we break apart, it’s only because I need air—not because I want distance. His forehead rests lightly against mine. “So,” he murmurs, voice low. “We’re not going home yet.”
I smile against his mouth. “Not yet.”
“If that’s the case,” he shifts my body, straddling him, the skirt I’m wearing rides up as his hands lock onto my thighs. “I want to see how perfect you look from this view.” He bucks his hips up, and I don’t think. We just do.