She leans into my hand, turns her head, kisses my palm, soft lips tracing over rough flesh. Her eyes shine like rain on stone. The air is thick, alive with the impulse to unite, comfort each other in every way. But she has to make that call.
“Still with me?” I ask, bringing her eyes back to mine, banishing the distant look.
Her voice is a whisper. “Always. Please, Anson, Ineedyou.” It comes out somewhere between a sob and a promise. Fragile as butterfly wings, powerful enough to knock me over.
I gather her close, lift her again, and carry her to the bedroom. Every step feels sacred, like healing and fate merging. Pain and destiny giving new meaning to past hurts.
When I lay her down, she looks up at me, wide-eyed, unguarded, inviting. I brush a lock of hair from her face. “If I go too fast, you tell me.”
“I will,” she says, “but you won’t.”
We move slow this time. No fear, no ghosts—just heat and heart and the kind of trust you don’t earn easy. I take my time memorizing every sound she makes, every place she shudders under my touch. Mine to protect. Mine to please. Mine to love.
Each sigh a renewal, every kiss a promise of our future.
She touches my scars like they’re constellations she’s memorizing, and I start to believe there’s beauty in the damage after all. Like she rebuilds me with each caress, makes me the man I need to be for her. Forever.
Buried in her heat, wrapped in her arms, I’m a new man. Hot breaths mingling, eyes locked, fire burning between our souls as I take and give in equal measure, tenderness thrumming through every motion. We come together, easy surrender, trembling flesh, gazes still held and souls locked together. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before and can never let go.
“Love you, Pepper,” I whisper, kissing the tip of her nose, cupping her soft cheek, adoring everything about her.
She curls against me, whispering the only answer I need, skin warm, heartbeat steady, letting me be her harbor, her calm after the storm. Outside, the rain has eased into quiet dripping from the eaves.
“Storm’s done,” I whisper, stroking her hair.
She smiles against my chest. “No more running.”
“No more fear,” I echo, kissing her temple.
By early evening, the clouds are gone. Sunlight spills through the windows, gilding everything in the warm gold of a mountain sunset—the kind you only notice when you’ve got something to lose.
Ash swings by with Ro in tow, the kid clutching a tin of cookies like a trophy. Couldn’t wait to visit us again, needed to see with her own two eyes that Lacey’s okay.
She blushes when I thank her, mumbling something about frosting colors and how Willow says we’re heroes. Lacey kneels, hugs her tight, promises more baking lessons.
Rosie apologizes for forgetting to text, then losing her phone. I eye Ash, a question in my narrowed gaze. His steady nod tells me he’ll fill me in later on how much the little girl knows. Ro offers to show her the pumpkin patch now, in person, and where the Harvest Festival will take place.
“Is that okay?” the girl asks Ash, eyes wide.
“Only if Lacey feels up to it.”
“Would love to,” my woman says, eyes darting to me. Still seeking reassurance—but lighter now, like the fear’s almost gone.
“We’ll follow along a few steps behind,” I offer, referring to Ash and me. “Just in case you ladies need us.”
Thank you is written in her relaxed grin and glowing cheeks. Ro grabs her hand, tugging her along.
Watching them, I feel something inside me settle—like I never truly understood home or family until this moment, like everything’s finally locking into place.
Later, after Ash and Ro head back to their cabin, Lacey and I walk the fenceline along the dewy grass. The air smells fresh—wet earth, hay, a hint of rich, ripe apple drifting from the orchard.
Faramir and Pearl graze by the creek, tails flicking lazily. Peace. For a moment, back in that barn, I’d forgotten how it felt.
“Patrick says it’s official,” I tell her. “Everything’s squared away.”
She stops, fingers brushing mine. “Then it’s over?”
“It’s over,” I say, and I mean it. “He’s gone. You’re free.”
