13. Moments of Connection
Chapter 13
Moments of Connection
Liam
T he power drill whirs in my hands as I secure another board, replacing the rotted wood along Hannah’s front porch. Sweat drips down my back in the late afternoon heat, but I barely notice. I’m too focused on making her house safe, making it a real home again.
Every repair feels like healing—each nail driven, each broken thing fixed bringing us one step closer to something whole. Three weeks have passed since I started working on her place, and the changes go deeper than new doors, fresh paint, and a new porch. I see it in the way Hannah’s shoulders relax when she walks through her door now, in Cam’s eager grin when he shows me his latest video game achievements.
I hear Cam’s excited chatter drift through the open windows, punctuated by Hannah’s soft laughter. The sound warms something in my chest. This is what I’ve been missing all these years without knowing it—the simple joy of family.
I set down the drill and wipe my brow, surveying my progress. The porch is nearly done, sturdy boards replacing the weathered ones that creaked ominously underfoot. Next week I’ll sand and stain it all to match. Maybe add a porch swing —I can picture Hannah curled up there with a book on quiet evenings.
The screen door squeaks open behind me. “Liam?” Hannah’s voice is hesitant but warm. “Would you... would you like to stay for dinner?”
I turn to find her hovering in the doorway, the afternoon sun catching the honey highlights in her dark hair. Even in simple jeans and a faded t-shirt, she takes my breath away. Always has.
“I wouldn’t want to impose.” I hedge, though every part of me aches to say yes.
She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “It’s not an imposition. I’m making chicken, and there’s plenty. Besides.” Her eyes dart away then back. “Cam would love it if you stayed.”
Just Cam? I want to ask, but I hold my tongue. We’re still finding our footing, this delicate dance of becoming whatever we’re becoming. I won’t push.
“Well, if Cam insists,” I say with a grin, and her answering smile lights up her whole face.
“Great! Let me just—” She gestures vaguely at the house. “Get things started.”
As she disappears inside, I gather my tools, tucking them away in their designated spots in my truck. It’s become a familiar routine these past weeks—showing up after work or on weekends, tackling whatever repairs need doing. Sometimes Cam helps, eager to learn and full of questions. Other times Hannah brings me cold drinks and watches with worried eyes as I fix plumbing issues or reinforce windows. Always making her home more secure, though we never directly discuss why.
The smell of roasting chicken and herbs greets me when I step inside. Hannah moves confidently around the kitchen—another change I’ve noticed lately. She seems more at ease in her own space, less like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I slip into the bathroom first to clean up. I do my best to make myself more presentable. I hadn’t expected to join them for dinner or else I would have brought a clean shirt. After washing my hands three times, I splash water on my face and through my hair. It at least gets all the dust off me.
Once I feel I’m more presentable, I head toward the kitchen. “Can I help with anything?” I offer, leaning against the doorframe.
“You’ve done enough work for one day,” she says firmly. “Just relax. Dinner will be ready soon.”
As if summoned by the promise of food, Cam bounds down the stairs. “Mom! Did you ask him? Is he staying?”
Hannah laughs. “Yes, your f—” She catches herself, glancing at me with uncertainty in her eyes. “Liam’s staying for dinner.”
The almost-slip hangs between us for a moment before Cam barrels on, oblivious. “Awesome! Did I tell you about the baby goats at Uncle Chase’s farm? They’re so funny, especially when he plays guitar and sings for them!”
Just like that, the tension dissolves. I settle at the kitchen table while Cam regales me with tales of his adventures helping Chase with the animals. His enthusiasm is infectious, hands gesturing wildly as he describes how the goats dance when Chase sings to them.
“He’s really good with them,” Cam says proudly. “Says they’re better listeners than people sometimes.”
I chuckle, thinking of my brother’s peculiar way with animals. “Chase has always had a way with four-legged creatures. Sometimes I think he prefers them to two-legged ones. Except maybe Christian—those two have always been inseparable.”
“Because they’re twins?” Cam asks, leaning forward eagerly. “Mom says twins have a special connection.”
“Something like that.” I agree, catching Hannah’s soft smile as she slides a casserole dish into the oven. “Though sometimes I think they just enable each other’s crazy ideas.”
That launches Cam into another story about Chase teaching him to ride the four-wheeler around the farm. I notice Hannah tense slightly at this revelation, but she doesn’t interrupt. Progress, I think. She’s learning to let go of some of her fears, to trust that we’ll keep him safe.
The timer dings and Hannah begins setting out plates and silverware. I stand to help, our movements surprisingly coordinated in the small kitchen space. We’ve done this dance before, I realize, years ago when we were young and everything seemed possible. The muscle memory remains, even after all this time.
“Smells amazing.” I comment as she pulls the golden-brown chicken from the oven.
“It’s just a simple recipe.” She demurs, but I catch the pleased flush in her cheeks. “Grams gave it to me, actually. Said it was time I started to cook properly again.”
The mention of my grandmother makes my heart squeeze. She’s been a rock for Hannah since her return, offering quiet support and practical wisdom in equal measure. Just yesterday I overheard them discussing canning techniques while Cam helped prepare jars for this year’s green bean harvest.
We settle around the table, and for a moment I’m struck by how right it feels—the three of us sharing a meal, Cam’s chatter filling the air, Hannah’s quiet presence beside me. This could be my future. This could be our future, if we’re brave enough to reach for it.
“Dad?” Cam’s voice jolts me from my thoughts. It’s the first time he’s called me that, and the word nearly knocks the air from my chest. Beside me, Hannah has gone very still. “Is it alright if I call you that? Feels more right than Liam.”
“Yeah. Of course.” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady.
He seems unaware of the impact of that single word, focused instead on loading his plate with potatoes. “Could you teach me about cars sometime? Like you taught Uncle Chase?”
“Of course,” I say past the lump in my throat. “Anytime you want, buddy.”
Hannah reaches under the table to squeeze my knee, a gesture of support or maybe understanding. When I look at her, her eyes are bright with unshed tears, but she’s smiling.
The conversation flows easier after that, ranging from Cam’s video games to Chase’s latest renovation projects at the farm. I find myself sharing stories about growing up with six brothers, making Cam laugh with tales of our misadventures.
“And then Warren actually tried to convince Grams that the chicken coop exploded on its own.” I recall, grinning at the memory. “As if she couldn’t see the remnants of his failed rocket experiment scattered everywhere.”
“Did she believe him?” Cam asks between bites.
“Not for a second. But she did make him help rebuild it, which probably taught him more about engineering than that rocket ever would have.”
Hannah shakes her head, laughing. “I remember that. Warren was covered in splinters for weeks, but he was so proud of that new coop.”
“You were there?” Cam looks between us curiously.
“I was around a lot back then,” Hannah says softly, meeting my eyes. “Your dad and I... we grew up together.”
The simple statement carries so much weight—years of shared history, joy and pain alike. I want to reach for her hand, to acknowledge everything that remains unspoken between us. Instead, I focus on my plate, giving her space to navigate this conversation with our son.
“Is that why you fell in love?” Cam asks bluntly, making us both choke on our food.
Hannah recovers first. “It was... complicated, sweetie. Adult relationships usually are.”
“But you loved each other.” He persists. “Before Charlie.”
The name drops like a stone into still water, ripples of tension spreading outward. I grip my fork tighter, fighting back the surge of anger that always accompanies thoughts of that bastard.
“Yes,” Hannah says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “We did.”
The honesty in those two words steals my breath. We’ve danced around this topic for weeks, neither quite ready to acknowledge the depth of what still exists between us. But here, in this moment, with our son watching us so intently, there’s no room for anything but truth.
“I still—” I start to say, but Hannah stands abruptly, gathering empty plates.
“Who wants dessert? Grams sent over some of her apple pie.”
The moment breaks, but something has shifted. I can feel it in the air between us, electric with possibility. When Hannah returns with the pie, her fingers brush mine as she hands me a plate. The contact sends sparks racing up my arm.
Cam demolishes his slice in record time, then glances hopefully at the remainder. Hannah laughs and cuts him another piece, smaller this time. “Don’t tell Grams I let you have seconds. She’ll start bringing over whole pies every day of the week.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad.” Cam grins, cinnamon dotting his chin.
I watch them together, my chest aching with love for them both. How did I survive thirteen years without this? Without knowing the joy of seeing my son’s face light up over dessert, or watching Hannah mother-hen him about using a napkin?
The sun has set by the time we finish, twilight painting the kitchen in soft shadows. Cam helps clear the table without being asked—another change I’ve noticed. He’s more settled now, more willing to pitch in instead of retreating to his games.
“Bath time.” Hannah reminds him gently. “Then bed. It’s getting late.”
He groans but doesn’t argue, pausing to hug us both before heading upstairs. The casual affection catches me off guard—we’ve come so far from those first awkward days after the courthouse.
I should go. Let them settle into their evening routine without an audience. But something holds me here, watching Hannah fill the sink to prepare to wash dishes with practiced efficiency.
“Let me help.” I offer, reaching for a dish towel.
She hesitates only briefly before nodding. We work in comfortable silence, the quiet punctuated by running water and the clink of plates. It feels domestic in a way that makes my heart ache—this could be every evening, if she’d let it.
“Thank you,” she says suddenly, passing me the last glass. “For staying. For... everything.”
I set down the towel and turn to face her fully. She’s beautiful in the fading light, all soft edges and shadow. “Hannah.”
She meets my eyes, and the look there steals my breath. Hope mingles with fear, desire with uncertainty. We’re standing close—too close for safety, not close enough for what I want.
“Liam,” she whispers.
Above us, Cam’s footsteps creak across the floor as he leaves the bathroom, done with his shower. The normal sounds of a home—our home, maybe, if we’re brave enough to try.
I step closer, drawn by some invisible force. Hannah doesn’t retreat, though her breath catches. My hand rises of its own accord to brush a strand of hair from her face.
“Hannah,” I say again, her name a confession all its own.
The air between us thickens with possibility as we stand frozen in this moment, balanced on the knife’s edge of change. My heart pounds so loud I’m sure she must hear it.
Her lips part as if to speak, and I lean forward unconsciously, drawn by the gravity of her. But then, Cam’s voice drifts down the stairs.
“Mom? I can’t find any clean underwear.”
The spell breaks. Hannah steps back, though reluctance colors her movement. “I should...”
“Yeah,” I agree roughly. “Go. He needs you.”
She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking back at me with such longing it steals my breath. “Stay?” she asks softly. “Please?”
The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. This isn’t just about tonight—it’s about tomorrow, and all the days after. It’s about trust and second chances and building something new from the ashes of the past.
“Always.” I promise, and watch hope bloom across her face like a sunrise.
She disappears upstairs to help our son find his clothes, leaving me alone in the kitchen where memories of shared laughter still linger. I lean against the counter, heart racing with anticipation.
Stay , she asked. And God help me, I never want to leave again.
I settle into the worn couch, listening to Hannah’s soft voice drifting down from upstairs as she tucks Cam into bed. The familiar creaks of floorboards and distant murmurs paint a picture of a peace I never knew I craved.
When Hannah finally descends the stairs, she pauses at the threshold. Something flickers across her face—uncertainty mixed with determination. She wrings her hands, a habit I remember from our youth whenever she struggles to voice her thoughts.
“Come here,” I say, patting the space beside me. She moves closer, settling next to me with careful movements. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, drawing her against my side. The scent of her—just her—fills my senses.
Her breathing quickens, and I feel the tension in her muscles. Before I can ask what’s wrong, she shifts. In one fluid motion, she swings her leg over my thighs and settles in my lap. My hands automatically find her hips, steadying her.
Hannah’s eyes meet mine, dark with purpose. Her fingers thread through my hair, sending shivers down my spine. When she leans in, her lips brush mine with hesitant pressure. The kiss starts soft, questioning, but quickly deepens as years of suppressed longing surface.
I grip her waist tighter, pulling her closer as she sighs into my mouth. Her body melts against mine, fitting perfectly like she never left. Like we never lost all those years between us.
“What’s next for us?” The question comes out of her, barely above a whisper as she pulls back from the kiss. The vulnerability in her eyes makes my chest tight.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and meet her nervous gaze. “Whatever you’re willing to give me.” The words come out rougher than intended, heavy with everything she’s not ready to hear me say. I love you. I never stopped loving you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for letting you go.
Her breath hitches as I grip her hips, tugging her closer. She sucks in a breath when my hard cock presses against her warm center. The air between us feels charged, electric with possibility. “If you want me to leave, just tell me. If you say go, I will.”
“No.” The word falls from her lips like a prayer, full of hope and hesitation. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“Then I’ll stay.” I reach up to brush my fingers across her cheek, memorizing the softness of her skin. Her eyes flutter closed at my touch, and God , she’s so beautiful it hurts.
When she opens them again, the heat in her gaze steals my breath. She leans forward, closing the distance between us until our lips meet. The brush of her lips against mine is gentle, tentative, but then she makes a small sound in the back of her throat and everything ignites again.
My hands slide into her hair as I deepen the kiss, tasting her properly. She tastes like heaven, like coming home, and something uniquely Hannah that makes my head spin. Her fingers clutch at my shirt, pulling me closer until we’re pressed together.
The kiss turns hungry, desperate. Years of longing and regret pour into it as her tongue slides against mine. I can feel her heart racing where our chests meet, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. When she rocks her hips against me, I have to break away to catch my breath.
“Hannah.” I pant against her lips. “We should—”
“My room.” She cuts me off, already on her feet and tugging me toward the stairs. “Please.”
I follow willingly, though every step feels like torture. We have to move slowly, quietly, mindful of Cam just down the hall. The journey seems endless, but finally we’re in her bedroom and she’s shutting the door behind us with a soft click.
Moonlight spills through the window, painting everything in silver. Hannah stands before me, chest heaving, lips swollen from my kisses. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“Are you sure about this?” I have to ask, even though it kills me. “We can wait if—”
“As sure as I can be.” She steps closer, taking my hands in hers. “All I know is that right now I want this. I want you .”
The last of my restraint snaps. I pull her to me, capturing her mouth in another searing kiss as my hands find the hem of her shirt. She raises her arms, letting me pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin in the moonlight makes my mouth water.
But then I see them—the scars. Thin white lines and patches of raised tissue mapping out the abuse she suffered. Rage burns in my chest, followed quickly by crushing guilt. I should have protected her. I should have been there.
Hannah tries to cross her arms over her chest, but I catch her wrists gently. “Don’t hide from me.” I press a kiss to her shoulder, right over a particularly nasty scar. “You’re beautiful. Every inch of you.”
Tears well in her eyes as I slowly kiss my way across her skin, paying special attention to each mark Charlie left. Some are old and faded, others still pink and new. I worship them all, silently promising to replace every painful memory with one of pleasure.
Her breath comes in shaky gasps as I work my way down her body. When I reach the button of her jeans, I look up for permission. She nods, and I slowly peel them down her legs along with her underwear. She steps out of them, now completely bare before me.
“Get on the bed,” I murmur, already aching to touch her properly.
She moves backward until her knees hit the mattress, then crawls up to settle against the pillows. The sight of her sprawled naked on the sheets, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes, nearly brings me to my knees.
I strip quickly, never taking my eyes off her. Her gaze tracks my movements hungrily, lingering on my chest, my arms, lower. When I’m finally naked, her eyes darken with want.
“Come here.” She breathes, reaching for me.
I crawl up her body slowly, dropping kisses as I go—her ankle, her knee, the inside of her thigh. She shivers when I reach her hip, arching toward my mouth. But I have other plans first.
I capture her lips in another deep kiss as I settle over her, careful to keep most of my weight on my forearms. The first press of skin on skin makes us both groan. Her hands roam my back, tracing old scars of my own—memories of bar fights and stupid choices made in grief.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur against her throat, trailing kisses down to her breasts. They fit perfectly in my palms as I cup them, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they peak.
She gasps when I take one into my mouth, back arching off the bed. I lavish attention on each breast until she’s writhing beneath me, breathless pleas falling from her lips.
“Please,” she whimpers as I kiss my way down her stomach. “Liam, I need—”
“I know what you need, sweetheart.” I settle between her thighs, inhaling the scent of her arousal. “Let me take care of you.”
The first swipe of my tongue makes her cry out. She quickly muffles the sound with her hand, mindful of Cam down the hall. I lap at her slowly, savoring every taste, every tremor that runs through her body.
Her thighs shake when I focus on her clit, alternating between gentle flicks and firm circles. One hand grips my hair while the other stays pressed to her mouth, holding back the sounds I desperately want to hear.
I slide two fingers inside her, groaning at how wet and tight she is. Her hips rock against my face as I curl them forward, searching for that spot that makes her fall apart. When I find it, her whole body goes rigid.
“That’s it.” I encourage between licks. “Let go for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
She comes with a muffled cry, inner walls clenching around my fingers as pleasure wracks her body. I work her through it gently until she tugs my hair, oversensitive.
Standing on shaky legs, I fish my wallet from my discarded jeans and pull out a condom. Hannah watches through heavy-lidded eyes as I roll it on, her chest still heaving.
She reaches for me, spreading her legs wider in invitation.
I crawl back over her, positioning myself at her entrance. The head of my cock slides through her wetness, making us both groan. “Ready?”
She nods, pulling me down for a deep kiss. I push inside slowly, giving her time to adjust to the stretch. It takes every ounce of control I have not to slam home. She feels incredible—hot and tight and perfect.
When I’m finally seated fully inside her, we both pause, foreheads pressed together as we adjust to the sensation. Her hands clutch my shoulders, nails digging in slightly.
“Move.” She breathes after a moment. “Please.”
I withdraw almost completely before sliding back in just as slowly. The drag is exquisite, making my toes curl. I set a languid pace, wanting to savor every moment, every gasp and shudder I pull from her body.
Her legs wrap around my waist, changing the angle slightly. The new position lets me sink even deeper, and she arches beneath me with a quiet moan.
“You feel so fucking good,” I murmur against her throat, picking up the pace slightly. “So perfect around me.”
She responds by rolling her hips to meet my thrusts, drawing me deeper. Her hands roam my back, my shoulders, my ass—touching everywhere she can reach as if reassuring herself this is real.
I can feel her getting close again, inner walls starting to flutter around me. Shifting my weight to one arm, I slide a hand between us to circle her clit. The added stimulation makes her gasp.
“That’s it.” I encourage, timing my strokes to match my thrusts. “Come for me again, sweetheart. Want to feel you.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders as pleasure builds. I capture her mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing her moans as she gets closer to the edge. When she finally breaks, it’s with a silent cry against my lips, her whole body going taut beneath me.
The feeling of her coming around me snaps the last of my control. I fuck her harder, chasing my own release as she trembles through aftershocks. My rhythm falters as pressure builds at the base of my spine.
“Hannah.” I groan, burying my face in her neck. “I’m close.”
“Yes.” She pants, tightening her legs around me. “Please, Liam.”
Two more deep thrusts and I’m gone, pleasure crashing through me in waves as I empty myself into the condom. She holds me through it, pressing kisses to my shoulder, my throat, anywhere she can reach.
We stay tangled together as our breathing slowly returns to normal. I’m reluctant to move, to break this perfect moment. But eventually I have to pull out, dealing with the condom before gathering her back into my arms.
She curls into my chest with a contented sigh, and my heart swells. This is everything I’ve ever wanted—Hannah in my arms, our son sleeping safely down the hall, a future stretching out before us full of possibility.
I pull her close for another kiss, this one slow and sweet. We trade lazy kisses until exhaustion starts to pull at us both. She settles back against my chest with a yawn.
“Stay?” she asks, and this time there’s no hesitation in her voice.
I tighten my arms around her. “Always.”
As she drifts off to sleep, I stay awake a while longer, just watching her. The moonlight plays across her peaceful face, and I silently vow to spend the rest of my life protecting this woman and our son. Nothing—not Charlie, not my own fears, nothing—will ever come between us again.
Eventually sleep claims me too, but my last thought is of the future. Of mornings spent making breakfast together, teaching Cam to work on cars, building the life we should have had all along.
It won’t be easy. Charlie’s still out there, and Hannah’s wounds run deep. But we’ll face it together this time.
Always.