Chapter 22
Adam
I wake to June in my arms.
Winter sunlight streaming through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed, across her bare shoulder where the sheet has slipped down.
Last night plays in my mind—every touch, every sigh, every moment she came apart in my hands. The way she looked at me when I was inside her. The way she said my name.
She’s still sleeping, face peaceful, lips slightly parted. Her hair’s a mess across my pillow, and I can’t stop staring.
This is my life now.
No more waiting. No more drama. No more wondering if we’ll make it through the next crisis.
Just this. Just her.
I trace my fingers along her shoulder, marveling at the fact that she’s here, that she stayed, that she’s mine.
June stirs, eyes fluttering open. She blinks at me, then smiles sleepily. “You’re staring.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Creepy.”
“Romantic.”
She laughs—soft and raspy with sleep—and stretches like a cat. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight. Emma will be up soon.”
Her expression shifts slightly. “Should I sneak home?”
“No. She’ll be glad to see you.”
“Still. I don’t want to confuse her.”
“You won’t. She adores you.”
June considers this, then slides closer, her hand trailing down my chest. “Do we have time for round two?”
Blood runs south. I laugh, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’ll risk it.”
She kisses me—slow at first, then deeper, her body pressing against mine.
My hands find her waist, pulling her on top of me, and she gasps against my mouth.
“Shh,” I murmur. “Emma’s just down the hall.”
“Then you’d better make this quick,” she whispers.
I flip her onto her back and she laughs—soft, delighted—as I kiss down her neck, her collarbone, lower.
“Adam...”
“Shh.”
I take my time despite the ticking clock, building her up slowly, watching her unravel with her hand pressed over her mouth.
I reach for the nightstand but June’s hand covers mine. “I want to feel you. I’m on the pill—it’s safe. And you’re my forever.”
I meet her eyes. “You’re my forever too.”
I slide inside her and she arches into me, nails digging into my shoulders.
It’s fast, urgent, both of us chasing release before Emma wakes.
June comes first—trembling, gasping my name into her palm—and I follow seconds later, burying my face in her neck.
We collapse together, panting, tangled in the sheets.
“Good morning,” she whispers, grinning.
“Best morning of my life.”
She laughs—soft and satisfied—and curls into my side.
Down the hall, Emma’s door creaks open.
“Daddy?” Her voice floats down the hall. “Are you awake?”
June’s eyes go wide. I press a kiss to her forehead.
“Perfect timing,” I murmur.
“Sure was,” she whispers back.
I climb out of bed, pull on sweatpants, and glance back at June—still in my bed, still smiling, still here.
And I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Twenty minutes later, we’re at the breakfast table—Emma chattering about a dream she had while June makes pancakes like she’s always done this, like this is her home already.
I can’t wait for it to be so.
Emma’s mid-sentence about a talking dinosaur when she stops and narrows her eyes at us.
“You guys are being weird,” she announces.
I glance at June, who’s trying not to smile. “Weird how?”
“Smiley. You keep looking at each other and smiling.”
“Maybe we’re just happy,” I say.
“And because we’re a family,” June adds, setting a plate of pancakes in front of Emma.
Emma considers this, fork hovering. Then, “Does that mean June’s going to come stay with us? Like, all the time?”
June and I exchange a look. We talked about this—about her moving in once the court case was behind us—but now it’s real. Now we’re saying it out loud.
“That’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about,” I say carefully.
Emma’s eyes go wide. “ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?”
June laughs. “Not yet. But... how would you feel if I moved in? For real?”
“You mean like... no more going back to your house?”
“Exactly. I’d live here. With you and Daddy.”
Emma goes quiet, and my heart turns over. I knew she adored June, but moving in is big. Permanent.
“Would you sleep in Daddy’s room all the time then?” Emma asks finally.
“I would,” June says gently. “Like grown-ups do when they love each other. It would become our room.”
Silence.
I hold my breath.
Then Emma breaks into the biggest grin I’ve seen in months. “Can I help decorate your room? Will your baking stuff come here too? CAN WE GET A DOG?”
Relief floods through me and I laugh. “Let’s start with the moving in part.”
“But after that, can we talk about a dog?”
“We’ll see.”
Emma launches herself out of her chair and at June, wrapping her arms around her waist. “This is the best day EVER!”
Over Emma’s head, June meets my eyes. They’re shining with tears.
Mine probably are too.
“I love you guys,” Emma mumbles into June’s shirt.
“We love you too, sweetheart,” June says, voice thick.
I stand and cross to them, wrapping my arms around both of them.
This.
This is what I fought for in that courtroom. This is what Sarah tried to take away.
And this—right here, right now—is proof that we won. Not just the custody case.
But the life we’re building. The family we’re becoming.
Emma pulls back, grinning. “So when’s June moving in?”
“Soon,” June says. “Maybe next weekend?”
“That’s so far away!”
“It’s six days, Em.”
“Still far.”
I ruffle her hair. “Eat your pancakes before they get cold.”
She climbs back into her chair, already planning out loud—where June’s stuff will go, what color they should paint our room, whether we can rearrange the furniture.
June catches my eye, smiling.
This is right, her expression says.
This is home, mine answers.
And for the first time in years, I believe it completely.
***
The following weekend arrives faster than I expected.
June’s house next door is partially emptied—she gave notice at the beginning of the week and doesn’t have to hand over the keys for another three weeks, but she couldn’t wait until then to make this official.
Neither could I.
Our friends show up en masse. Nate hauling boxes up the front steps, Harper supervising from the couch—pregnant and unable to lift anything, but excellent at directing traffic.
Lucas carries furniture with quiet efficiency that makes me grateful he showed up.
Maya’s on baby duty, keeping Theo entertained while “providing moral support,” which mostly means offering commentary and sneaking cookies from June’s stash.
Emma’s helping by getting underfoot, asking a thousand questions, and rearranging June’s recipe books by color instead of anything logical.
“Emma, sweetheart, maybe let the adults handle the heavy stuff,” June says, laughing as Emma tries to drag a box twice her size.
“I’m helping!”
“You’re helping by staying out of the way,” I say, scooping her up and depositing her on the couch next to Harper.
“Stay,” Harper tells her. “Keep me company.”
Emma sighs dramatically but settles in.
I watch June direct Nate toward the bedroom with a box labelled CLOTHES, and something catches in my throat.
Her clothes. In my closet.
Our closet.
Not just for a few weeks because of a broken boiler—but for good.
Her coffee mug already sits in the cabinet. Her baking supplies have taken over half the kitchen counter. Her books are filling the shelves I never bothered to use.
It’s real now. Permanent.
“Last box,” Nate announces, setting it down in the living room with a theatrical groan.
“That’s it,” Harper says from the couch. “You officially live here now.”
Maya raises her glass—barely noon, but we’re celebrating. “To June! Who went from neighbor to family in...”
“About four months,” I supply.
“Four months. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”
“When you know, you know,” June says, looking straight at me.
My breath catches—in the best possible way.
“Disgusting,” Harper says affectionately. “I love it.”
After everyone leaves—amid hugs and promises of dinner soon—the three of us stand in the living room.
Boxes stacked against the walls, furniture slightly rearranged, Emma’s book organization abandoned halfway through.
Chaos.
But perfect chaos.
Emma stands between us and grabs both our hands. “We’re a family now,” she declares.
“We were always a family, princess,” I say, squeezing her hand.
“But now it’s official.”
“Now it’s official,” June agrees, squeezing her other hand.
Emma grins up at us, then releases our hands and runs toward her room—probably to continue organizing.
June and I stand there, surrounded by the evidence of her life merging with mine.
“You good?” I ask.
“I’m perfect,” she says. “This is perfect.”
“Even the chaos?”
“Especially the chaos.”
I pull her close and kiss her forehead. “Welcome home.”
“Home,” she echoes softly. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”
That night, after Emma’s tucked into bed—after the third request for water and the fourth “just one more hug”—June and I finally collapse into our room.
Our room.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to saying that.
We survey the aftermath. Her clothes mixed with mine in the closet, her books stacked on the nightstand beside my old firefighting manual, my department jacket slung over the armchair she insisted we keep. Emma’s drawings taped to the dresser mirror—new ones, of all three of us together.
Evidence of our lives merging.
“Happy?” I ask, pulling her against me.
“Happier than I’ve ever been,” she says, leaning into me.
“Good. Because you’re stuck with us now.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She tilts her head back to look at me, and I kiss her—slow, savoring the moment.
When we pull apart, she’s smiling. “What are you thinking?”
“That I’m the luckiest man alive.”
“Sappy.”
“True.”
She laughs, turning in my arms to face me fully. “I never thought I’d have this. A home. A family. Someone who looks at me the way you do.”
“How do I look at you?”
“Like I’m everything.”
“That’s because you are.”
Her eyes shine. She cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “I love you so much, Adam.”
“I love you more.” I pause, heart pounding. “June?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you to know—this isn’t the end for me.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Moving in together isn’t the finish line. It’s the starting point.”
She searches my face. “Are you saying...?”
“I’m saying someday—not tomorrow, but someday—I’m going to ask you to marry me. And then I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you’ve made me.”
Tears well in her eyes. “Is that a promise?”
“That’s a guarantee.”
She kisses me—soft at first, then deeper, her hands sliding into my hair.
“For the record,” she whispers against my lips, “when you ask, the answer’s yes.”
“Good to know.”
“But no rush. This is enough. This is everything.”
“Everything,” I echo, kissing her again.
The heat between us builds. She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes.
“Make love to me, Adam.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
We undress each other slowly. Not rushing. We have all the time in the world.
I lay her back on the bed and take my time with every inch of her. My mouth traces down her neck, her collarbone, lower. She gasps when I reach her breasts, arching into me.
“Adam...”
I work my way down her stomach, her hip bones—and then her hand is on my chest, stopping me.
“Wait,” she says, breathless.
She pushes me onto my back and straddles me, confidence radiating off her.
“June—"
“Let me,” she whispers, kissing down my chest, my stomach, wrapping her hand around me.
I groan, head falling back as she strokes me, learning what makes me tense, what makes my breath catch. She’s discovering her power, and it’s extraordinary.
I reach for her, pull her up, kiss her hard. “I need to be inside you.”
She grins, positioning herself above me, and slowly sinks down—inch by inch.
“God,” I breathe. “You feel incredible. So tight.”
She starts to move—slow and deliberate, savoring every roll of her hips. The pace quickens, need taking over. I grip her hips, meeting her, guiding her.
“Look at me,” I growl, and her eyes lock on mine. “That’s my girl.”
“I’m close,” she gasps.
I thrust deeper, lost in the feel of her, and she shatters—her whole body clenching, my name torn from her throat. The sensation pulls me over with her, and we come together, breathless and spent.
June collapses onto my chest.
We lie there in contented silence, me tracing lazy circles on her back.
Then she starts to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, smiling into her hair.
“I know I’m late to the party—but I’m really enjoying making up for lost time.”
I grin, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “Consider me perpetually at your service. Anytime, anywhere. All you have to do is ask.”
“I like the sound of that,” she says, pressing a kiss to my chest—then another, trailing lower. She looks up at me through her lashes.
“Insatiable,” I manage, as she takes me in her mouth.
If this is what living with June Callahan looks like—I’m going to die a very happy man.