CHAPTER 33
Summer
A month has passed since the custody trial, and the shock of everything that came out that day still sits in my bones.
Turns out both my parents and Kevin’s had threatened to disown him if he didn’t “bring me back home.”
Like I was a thing.
A possession.
Something to retrieve.
But that part of my life feels farther away every day.
Especially when I wake up like this…
Warm.
Safe.
Wrapped in Ethan’s steady breathing.
I roll onto my side and watch him sleep. His right arm still holds a faint scar, a thin pink line that rises and falls with each breath. No sling today. No grimace. Just peaceful, quiet strength.
God, he’s healing.
We all are.
I trace a finger along the inside of his forearm, over the places where IVs once sat. He shifts, lashes lifting slowly, eyes soft and sleepy.
“Morning, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
My heart melts. Every time.
“Does it hurt today?” I whisper.
He lifts and rotates his arm gently. “Only when I try to grab the cereal on the top shelf.” A small grin tugs at his mouth. “Which is clearly discrimination against the wounded.”
I laugh, light and free in a way I don’t think I’ve ever laughed in my life.
He tugs me closer with his good arm, pulling me onto his chest. His hand finds my hair, stroking, grounding me, like he always does.
“I like waking up with you,” he says softly.
“You’ve been waking up with me for months.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, a smile in his voice. “But now I get to do it without you sobbing into my hospital gown.”
I groan. “I cried once.”
“Summer.” He gives me the look. “You cried every time they changed my bandages.”
“Okay, maybe a few times.”
“Maybe,” he says, kissing the top of my head, “but that’s because you love me.”
Before I can answer, a tiny fist knocks on the door.
“Mommyyy,” Mia whines. “Efan said we could make pancakes and it’s been a hundred hours.”
He grins. “You heard the mini boss.”
“You sure you should be flipping pancakes?”
“Nope,” he says cheerfully, swinging his legs off the bed with only a slight wince. “But I’ll supervise. Very responsibly.”
I’m still laughing when I open the door.
Mia barrels into the room, curls exploding in every direction, her stuffed pig bouncing under her arm. She runs right past me and climbs onto the bed.
Ethan catches her, one-armed but steady. “Whoa there, tiny tornado.”
She giggles, then goes suddenly serious in that intense, four-year-old way. She touches his healing arm gently, tracing his bandage with careful fingers.
“Does it hurt, Efan?”
“Not so much anymore,” he says.
She nods thoughtfully, then looks up at him with those big blue eyes.
“Efan… can I ask you somethin’?”
“Anything, princess,” he says instantly.
She fidgets with her pig. “Is it… is it okay if I call you Daddy? Only if you want. And only sometimes. And only if Mommy says yes. And…”
Ethan’s breath catches.
My hand flies to my mouth.
He swallows hard, voice breaking just a little. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Yeah. You can call me Daddy.”
Mia beams. “So I can tell my friends that you’re my daddy?”
Ethan smiles, eyes shiny. “You can tell the whole world that Ethan Hawthorne is the proudest daddy there is, because he is the daddy of the most beautiful, smart, and funny little princess there is.”
Mia grins and throws her arms around his neck. “Okay! Daddy, can we have pancakes now?”
He laughs, hugging her tight. “Absolutely.”
I blink back tears as I watch them, my daughter curled against the man who threw himself in front of a bullet for me without thinking. The man who’s spent the past month recovering with patience and humor, even though he misses his job and his crew more than he ever says out loud.
The man who stepped into Mia’s life so gently, so steadily, she never had time to doubt him.
Ethan looks at me over her shoulder, eyes soft and shiny, full, sure. “She calls me Daddy,” he whispers.
And in that moment, with morning light spilling across the sheets, with Mia giggling against his chest, with the world finally quiet…
I know.
We’re okay.
We’re safe.
We’re a family.
◆◆◆
The kitchen fills with the smell of batter and syrup and the sound of Mia’s nonstop chatter.
Ethan sits on a stool, our official “supervisor”, while Mia stands on a chair beside me, stirring the bowl like her life depends on it.
“No shells,” she says seriously.
Ethan raises a brow. “You blaming me for last time’s shells?”
“She’s four,” I remind him. “She speaks only truth.”
He grins like he’s never been happier.
I pour the first circles of batter into the pan, and Mia leans close, whispering loudly, “Make them big ones. Daddy needs big ones so he gets super strong again.”
Ethan pretends to flex his injured arm. “Super strong is absolutely the goal.”
I flip a pancake. Mia cheers like I just won a gold medal.
I swear Ethan looks proud, too.
We eat at the little wooden table, Mia’s legs swinging, syrup on her nose. Ethan keeps brushing his thumb over the back of my hand under the table, small, grounding touches that make my heart ache in the best way.
Halfway through breakfast, the doorbell rings.
Mia gasps. “Is it Grace? Is she coming? Is she bringing Stormy? Is Stormy lonely? Does Stormy miss me? I miss Stormy so much…”
Ethan stands first. “Pretty sure that’s your riding buddy.”
I open the door to find Grace grinning on the porch, a thermos in one hand and a helmet in the other.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Grace beams at Mia. “Ready to go spoil a certain horse rotten?”
Mia jumps up and down so fast her curls bounce. “YES!”
Grace laughs as she steps inside. “I’ll have her back in a few hours. You two”, she points between me and Ethan, “should relax. Or nap. Or eat more carbs. Or… whatever.”
Her teasing smile makes my face instantly heat.
Ethan just smirks. “We’ll… figure something out.”
Grace wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I swat her shoulder.
“Mia, go grab your boots!” I call.
She zooms down the hall like a rocket.
Grace lowers her voice once she’s out of earshot. “How’s he doing? Really?”
I glance at Ethan, my Ethan, leaning against the kitchen doorway, broad shoulders relaxed, sunlight catching in his dark hair. He watches us with that endless, quiet devotion he thinks I don’t notice.
“He’s… healing,” I whisper. “He misses the station. His crew. But he’s okay. We’re okay.”
Grace’s expression softens. “Good. You two deserve some actual peace.”
Mia races back with mismatched socks and both boots on the wrong feet.
“Ready!”
Ethan crouches carefully, fixing her boots. “You listen to Grace, alright?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He freezes for a split second, jaw tightening like he’s keeping himself together. Then he clears his throat and kisses her forehead. “Have fun, kiddo.”
She hugs him hard, then me, before Grace scoops her up and carries her out the door.
The house goes quiet. Warm. Settled.
I turn back toward Ethan, and he’s already moving, his green eyes locking on mine, a smoldering, teasing light dancing in them. That smirk, slow, deliberate, sends a shiver straight down my spine.
He steps closer, and I feel the heat radiating off him. “I think you have some syrup on you.”
I look down at myself, a flush rising, but see nothing.
“Oh, not on your clothes.” He tilts his head, slow and deliberate, and brings his hand up to my cheek. “You have syrup right…”
His lips brush mine before I can register it, capturing my lower lip between his. His tongue teases mine, soft, insistent, claiming. Heat pools low in my stomach, and I gasp, tipping my head into him.
“Ethan,” I whisper, voice trembling.
“Yes, baby.” His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him. I feel the weight of him, the strength of him, the warmth that makes my knees weak. His lips trail from my mouth down to my neck, and I can’t stop the soft moan that escapes.
My hands slide up his chest, pulling him closer, needing more of him.
The kitchen disappears. The morning, the pancakes, the chaos, they all vanish. It’s just him and me, tangled together, heat building with every slow, deliberate touch.
His lips press harder to my neck, warm and firm, and I shiver against him. Every brush of his mouth makes my pulse stutter. I tilt my head, giving him more access, letting the heat between us swell until it’s almost unbearable.
“Summer,” he murmurs against my skin, voice low and rough. It feels like he’s claiming me, like the world shrinks to just us in this quiet kitchen.
I run my hands along his arms, feeling the muscles tense and flex under my touch. Every inch of him feels familiar yet dangerous, the kind of danger that makes my heart race and my stomach curl.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, green swirling with mischief and something darker, hungrier. My breath catches.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, that smirk tugging at his lips again.
His hand slides under my shirt, fingers tracing the curve of my spine, sending shivers rolling through me. Every nerve lights up under his touch.
I laugh softly, breathless. “Ethan… you’re impossible.”
“And you’re irresistible,” he counters, voice low, intimate, vibrating against my ear.
I reach up, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until our foreheads touch. I kiss him slow and deep, letting the warmth and weight of him overwhelm me. His hands settle on my waist, strong, steady, holding me as though we could melt into each other.
He backs me toward the couch, our bodies tight, hearts racing. The only sounds are our breaths and the fire crackling in the hearth, each pop making me jump against him.
His hands tug at my shirt, lifting it over my head, and I do the same with his, my fingers grazing the warm skin of his back, memorizing the feel of him.
He presses against me fully, hard, unrelenting, and I melt, clinging to him as if letting go would unravel all the months of fear, worry, and longing.
“I need you, baby,” he whispers against my neck, his lips trailing hot, teasing kisses down to my collarbone and chest.
I tilt my head, moaning softly, pressing myself into him, feeling the heat, the strength, the tenderness mingled in every touch.
His hands roam, exploring, claiming, and I arch into him, lips finding his again. This kiss is hungrier, fiercer. A collision of want and relief, of love and need. I can’t think of anything except how he feels, solid, alive, mine.
We lose ourselves in each other, slow and consuming. Every touch, every sigh, every shiver a promise. A reminder that we survived. That we’re here. Together.
And even as the world outside hums quietly, in this moment all I can feel, all I can know, is him, his heat, his touch, his love, and the way he makes me burn alive with him.