The Gravity of Us
The shop was a graveyard today, the calendar wide open and the tools gathering dust. For once, I didn't mind leaving the Charger project under its tarp.
My head hadn't been in the work lately anyway—not since Aubrey walked back into town, and certainly not since she broke down in my arms at the lake.
But this morning... this morning changed the stakes. Finding her pale and shivering, her small frame crumpled on the bathroom floor, had done something to me. It had burned away the last of my excuses. I couldn't just leave her like that. I couldn't pretend that being a "family friend" was enough.
Now, hours later, I was stretched out on Maggie's old floral couch.
Aubrey was curled against my side, a fragile weight that felt like it belonged there.
Her hair was still damp from the shower I'd coaxed her into after the second round of sickness finally subsided.
I'd made her toast, sat with her while she picked at the crusts, and then carried her right back here when the exhaustion finally won out.
She shifted slightly, her head resting heavier on my chest, the rhythm of her heart syncopating with mine. I brushed my hand through her hair, the strands soft and cool against my calloused palm.
"How you feelin', baby?" I asked, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room.
"Tired," she murmured, her voice muffled against my shirt. "Just... so tired."
I pressed a kiss to her temple, the scent of her lavender shampoo hitting me like a memory I hadn't known I possessed. "Then rest. I've got you, Aubrey. I'm not going anywhere."
Her fingers curled into the fabric of my T-shirt, hanging on as if I were the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth.
For a long time, we just stayed like that.
No words, no explanations, no "should-nots.
"
Just the slow, steady rise and fall of our breathing.
It felt too easy, too natural—as if I'd been built for this specific purpose: to hold her steady when she couldn't stand on her own.
Eventually, the shadows in the living room began to lengthen. I shifted, moving us toward the hallway. She protested weakly, murmuring something about how I shouldn't "waste my day" playing nursemaid.
I just shook my head, my grip on her tightening as I guided her toward her old bedroom. "I'm right where I need to be, baby girl."
A soft flush crept up her cheeks at the name, but she didn't argue. She didn't have the strength left to fight me, and I think, deep down, she didn't want to.
We ended up lying on top of her bedspread, the soft, white-noise whir of a box fan in the corner filling the silence.
She lay on her side facing me, her eyes heavy with sleep but still open, studying my face with a look of profound, quiet wonder—like she was trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
"You shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the fan. "You don't owe me this kind of care, Nick. You don't owe me anything."
I reached out, brushing my knuckles along the line of her jaw. My chest tightened at the way she instinctively leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat. "I don't give a damn about what I owe, Aubrey. I'm doing this because I want to. That's the only reason that matters."
Her lips parted, a small gasp escaping her, and before either of us could talk ourselves out of it, I leaned in.
I kissed her.
It was a slow, deliberate press of mouths—careful, reverent, and heavy with the weight of everything we hadn't said.
It lit a fire in my blood that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with a desperate, primal need to claim her.
She sighed into the kiss, her hand slipping up to rest against my chest, her fingers splaying over my heart.
For a moment, the walls of that room were the only boundaries in the universe.
When I finally pulled back, I pressed my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
"You make it real hard to stop, baby," I whispered.
She smiled—a faint, tired, but genuine smile—and I leaned in to kiss her again, just enough to feel her melt into me, her tension finally dissolving.
Eventually, she shifted closer, tucking her head under my chin and draping an arm across my waist. My hand slid instinctively to her stomach, resting over the flat cotton of her shirt.
I started rubbing slow, soothing circles there, over the small swell that wasn't visible to the world yet but carried the entire weight of our future.
She covered my hand with hers, her fingers interlacing with mine, her eyes finally fluttering shut for good.
"Nick..." she sighed, the word a soft exhale of relief.
"Shh," I murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Rest now. I'm right here."
Her breathing evened out into the deep, rhythmic cadence of sleep.
I held her like that for a long time, my palm warm over her belly, the reality of what this meant settling into my bones.
I was falling for a woman carrying another man's child, betraying my best friend's trust, and complicating a life that was already a wreck.
But as my own eyes drifted shut, I realized for the first time in years, I wasn't dreaming about the ghosts of my past. I was dreaming about the life currently breathing against my chest. And for the first time, the future didn't look like a threat.