I let him see all of me.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid.
Cavil lay beside me, warm and solid, his arm draped across my waist like a promise. The soft rise and fall of his breathing filled the quiet room, a soothing rhythm that matched the gentle snowfall outside. I stared at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the textured paint, feeling the weight of unspoken words hanging between us.
“Cavil,” I said softly, breaking the hush that wrapped around us. “You asked me before. What happened with Leo.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he replied, his voice low and steady.
But I wanted to. I needed to lay it all out there—every jagged piece of my past that threatened to trip us up now.
“I… I want to,” I confessed, glancing sideways at him. “Whatever this is between us, whatever’s happening, I want to be honest with you. In case you…” My throat tightened around the words I couldn’t quite say out loud—the fear that this moment might slip away from me like so many others. “I thought I was pregnant once. With Leo’s child.”
His body stiffened at my admission, muscles tightening under my palm where it rested against his side. He didn’t say anything, just waited for me to continue.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling as memories flooded in—moments wrapped in anxiety and hope twisted together like vines around my heart.
“I told him.” The words felt heavy as they spilled out. “He ran. Blocked my number. Left town.” A bitter laugh escaped me, hollow and sharp. “It was like he vanished into thin air.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full of something quiet and sacred. Cavil didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t flinch from the truth I’d confessed. His presence beside me was steady, like the soft hum of a lullaby I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting to hear.
I sat up, the edge of the comforter clutched in my fists as Cavil’s face shifted—shock first, then something darker, hotter. His eyes burned with fury, and I hated that I’d put that look there. “He left you?” he asked, his voice rough with disbelief. “When you needed him?”
I nodded, the motion small but weighted with everything I hadn’t said for far too long. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want it to change how you looked at me. I mean, you barely looked at me or talked to me, so I figured you didn't like me. And I definitely didn’t want to give you another reason to walk away.”
The words sat heavy between us, the kind of truth that buzzed in the air like a wire pulled too tight. I could barely breathe as I watched him take it in, his silence louder than any storm.
Then he moved.
He leaned in—slow, deliberate—and his lips brushed mine with a tenderness I hadn’t expected. Not a rush, not a demand. A promise. A question. And somehow, an answer. My hand instinctively found his bare chest, clutching it like an anchor. The kiss deepened slightly, soft and devastating, and when he pulled back just enough to breathe, my heart was a tangle of ache and hope.
“Callie,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face with fingers that trembled slightly. “I’m yours.”
My breath hitched. The words shouldn’t have felt so big, but they did—bigger than the room, bigger than my fear.
“I’m not perfect,” he added, his thumb grazing my cheek. “Hell, I’m probably a disaster. But what I’ve got left… it’s yours if you want it.”
Tears stung my eyes as I tried to hold it all in—the emotions, the ache, the longing. “I don’t want to be your burden.”
He didn’t flinch. “You’re not.”
I searched his face, scared of what I might find. “But what if we break?” I whispered. “What if we fall apart like everything else?”
“Then we break together,” he said. No hesitation. No doubt.
“And what if it hurts?”
“It will,” he said softly. “Life always does. But maybe this time, we don’t face it alone.”
His forehead came to rest against mine, and I closed my eyes, letting the quiet steady me. His presence filled the cracks I hadn’t even known were still there.
“And you?” I asked in a breath. “Where do you fit into all this?”
His answer wasn’t immediate, but it came with the kind of certainty that settled somewhere deep in my bones.
“Right beside you,” he said. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
He was quiet for a long moment, the kind that stretched and pulsed with meaning. I watched him from beneath the soft glow of fairy lights strung across my ceiling, his profile cast in gentle shadow. His eyes—those steady, storm-worn blue eyes—held a thousand thoughts he hadn’t yet said aloud. I didn’t press him. I didn’t need to. I could feel it—the weight he carried, the careful sorting of memories behind every slow blink.
