Jules sighs like she’s bracing herself. “I think so.”
We follow him into the living room, where he instructs me to sit on the corner of the couch, and makes sure Jules sits right beside me.
He knowsexactlywhat he’s doing. And I think Jules does, too.
But we don’t fight it.
Tate climbs into Jules’ lap, snuggling close as he queues up the documentary.
“I wore my snake pajamas,” he tells us proudly, wiggling around.
My arm slides casually behind Jules on the couch, fingers finding their way into her curls. She leans into me without hesitation, her arm brushing my side, and for a moment, it feels like everything I’ve wanted is right here in this room.
Neither of us is really paying attention to the TV, but we stay like that—content, wrapped in each other’s presence.
When Tate finally falls asleep, limp in Jules’ arms, I stand and carefully lift him, his small arms circling my neck in his sleep.
Jules turns off the TV and follows me up the stairs, her hand brushing my back as I carry our son to bed.
Once he’s tucked in, Jules moves to his side, brushing the blond hair from his forehead and pressing a kiss there. Something about watching her—thisJules, soft and motherly—makes my chest ache in the best way.
When she steps away, I reach for her hand and pull her close, my arms wrapping around her from behind as we stand in the doorway watching Tate sleep.
She leans back into me, fitting perfectly against my chest like she always has.
I press a kiss to her temple and whisper in her ear, “Come to bed with me, baby.”
She turns to look at me, her eyes soft but filled with something fierce, like maybe she wants this just as badly as I do.
And without a word, she nods.
And I know—I know—this time, we’re not just finding our way back to each other. We’re finally finding our way home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jules
“Are you wearing…” Sarge trails off, his brow furrowing as his eyes drop to the flannel I have wrapped around me.
I follow his gaze and feel my cheeks heat. It’s definitely Corbin’s. I didn’t even think twice when I grabbed it this morning. It was cold, and Tate was still fast asleep when I snuck out. Corbin had teased me that if I kept ‘borrowing’ his clothes, I’d end up with half his closet.
I force a casual smile, trying to play it off. “This old thing?” I tug at the sleeve. “What about it?”
His lips twitch, but not in amusement. “Jules… I know that’s Corbin’s.” His voice is soft—gentle even—but there's concern etched into every word. “What’s going on?”
I busy myself wiping down the counter, trying to ignore the way he’s watching me. “What are you doing here on your day off?” I deflect, glancing at him over my shoulder.
He shrugs, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets as he leans against the other side of the counter. “I just wanted to check on you,” he says quietly. “You’ve seemed… different lately. Distracted. I figured maybe we could pour a cup of coffee and talk.”
I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious but touched. “Since when do you want to have coffee and talk?”
Sarge lets out a small laugh but quickly grows serious again. “Since I started worrying.” He pauses. “Jules, I know you think I’m always butting into your business, but I was there… when everything fell apart before. I was the one watching you try to keep it together. I saw how hard it was for you to build this life, to put yourself back together, and I don’t…” He sighs, running a hand through his blond hair. “I just don’t want to see you fall apart again.”
I stop wiping the counter and meet his eyes, feeling that familiar squeeze in my chest.
“You’re seeing him, aren’t you?” he says softly, like he’s afraid to even ask. “And look, I know how that sounds. I know I’m just your brother, and I have no right to tell you how to live your life.” He leans closer, his voice lowering, more vulnerable. “But Jules… you were wrecked when he let you go. And I don’t think I’ve ever really stopped being angry about that. Because no one should ever make you feel like you’re not enough.”
I swallow hard. Because his words hit closer to home than I want to admit.
