Page 67 of Pastel Kisses
I nod slowly. “We want to be her safe place. Her outlet. But... it might take time. And that’s okay. I just—I hate knowing she carried all of it alone for so long.”
“She doesn’t have to anymore,” Kam says firmly, eyes still locked on her. “No more silence. No more chains. We’re here now. And when she’s ready… she’ll talk.”
My throat tightens, emotions surfacing too fast for me to shove them down. “I just hope she knows she can. That she doesn’t have to protect us from what she’s been through.”
“She knows,” Kam says, his voice full of conviction. “She’s always known.”
I watch the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way the soft light catches on the bruises fading along her skin. She's here. She fought her way back to us. And even if it takes weeks or months—or hell, years—for her to open up about what happened, we’ll be here. Waiting. Loving her through every crack and scar.
“She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known,” I whisper.
Kam nods again, eyes still on Avery. “And she’s ours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Avery
When I finally drift up from the deepest sleep I’ve had in what feels like forever, it’s like waking in another world—one where peace exists, where warmth isn’t just from blankets, but from love and safety. For the first time in months, I wasn’t haunted by shadows or jerked awake by nightmares. There was no panic, no cold sweat clinging to my skin. Just... rest.
The room is dim, bathed in the soft glow of early morning sunlight filtering through the blinds. It’s quiet—peaceful—and the weight of being surrounded by my people sinks in like a warm embrace. My heart swells, stretching against the ache of trauma, soaking in this moment like it’s sacred.
My eyes drift across the room, and I find all of them here. My warriors. My heartbeats.
Dad is slouched in a wide leather armchair by the window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest like he’s guarding something precious. His head tilts to the side, his mouth slightly open, and one of his boots is still halfway unlaced, like he couldn’t quite make himself settle in. His face looks softer in sleep, younger somehow—less weathered by pain.
Kamden is on a folding cot near the bathroom, his legs hanging off the edge because the damn thing is too short for his tall frame. One hand rests on his chest, the other draped off the side, fingers twitching slightly like he’s still ready to spring into action at the slightest sound.
Liam is half-curled in a recliner, arms crossed behind his head, his feet bare and propped up on the armrest. A half-empty bottle of water is tucked between his thigh and the cushion, as if he was mid-sip before sleep dragged him under. Even like this—relaxed and rumpled—he looks protective, like he’s dreaming about shielding me from everything that’s ever hurt me.
Lennox is stretched out on a loveseat with a throw blanket pulled over his head like a cocoon, only his socked feet sticking out. One of his arms dangles off the side, his hand close to the floor like he was reaching for something before he passed out.
And then there’s Jaxton.
He’s the closest—sitting in the chair pulled up tight to my bed, head resting on his folded arms beside me. One hand is curled around mine like he never let go. His dark blond hair is tousled, and his lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. He looks exhausted, but still beautiful in that effortless, soul-striking way he always does. I move just slightly—nothing more than a soft shift of my hips beneath the blankets—and his eyes snap open.
“Kitten?” His voice is hoarse with sleep, his head lifting fast, panic flashing through his expression as his gaze sweeps the bed like he expects me to be gone.
“I’m here,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
Relief crashes across his face like a tidal wave, washing away the panic. “God, you scared me,” he breathes, sitting up straighter and brushing a hand through his messy hair. “You moved. I thought—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, my voice barely louder than a breath, but it’s enough. His shoulders drop a fraction, his grip on my hand tightening just slightly.
I let my gaze drift over all of them again, curled up in their awkward positions, having refused to leave. My heart tugs with so much love it hurts.
Jaxton’s fingers trace slow, tender circles along the back of my hand, each loop more soothing than the last. The silence between us isn’t awkward—it’s full. Full of emotion, history, fear, relief… love. The kind of quiet that only comes after surviving hell and still somehow finding something worth holding on to.
We’re both staring at my belly like it holds the answers to everything we’ve been through. A visible, undeniable reminder that life never stopped for me—even when I was locked away, even when it felt like my soul had been swallowed whole. This bump, this little growing being inside me, is proof that something good came out of the nightmare.
“Do you think the baby knows how much we care?” I ask quietly, not taking my eyes off the gentle rise of my stomach.
Jaxton doesn’t answer at first. He just smiles—a soft, lopsided, heart-melting thing—and shifts closer, brushing his knuckles across the curve of my bump.
“Baby bean knows,” he murmurs, voice hushed with awe. “This baby… they’ve felt every bit of your strength. Every time your heart kept beating, they knew. Every breath you took, every whisper you made… they held on because you did.”
My heart clenches at his words. The lump forming in my throat is thick with unshed tears, and I blink up at him, overwhelmed by how deeply he loves us.
“I can’t believe we get this,” he continues, leaning down to kiss the swell of my belly. “After everything…we still get this.A future. A family. You. Them.”
