Page 116 of Reeves

Until the last time. That time, we didn’t come back.

I never tried to reach him after the letter. Because that time was different. There was a baby to consider, and I realized chasing a man who didn't want to be caught would never bring me the stability I needed.

I slide lower in the tub until the water covers my shoulders, chasing the warmth of the water. The bathroom mirror has fogged over completely.

The water ripples as I shift position, my arms floating at my sides. His insistence about financial support keeps playing in my head, the way his voice got firm when I told him we were managing fine.

Wearemanaging fine.

I lean my head back against the tub edge and close my eyes. The practical side of me knows he's right. Benjy is his son. Financialresponsibility comes with that territory, whether I want it or not.

But money means connection.

That's the part I can't shake. If Reeves starts sending checks, he becomes part of our monthly rhythm, part of our planning. He automatically becomes part of our future in a way that goes beyond occasional visits or birthday cards.

More importantly, though, is that I might come to depend on him again. My heart aches at the thought. Because if I look forward to him, in any way, he can break me again.

I've watched other single mothers navigate this dance. I never had to think about it because Reeves wasn't in the picture at all. And in many ways, that's easier.

With him out, it's just Benjy and me.

If I let him back in any way, there are now two hearts on the line.

The bathwater has cooled enough that I shiver slightly. If I stay perfectly still, my body heat keeps me wrapped in a warm enough cocoon. I reach forward and turn the hot water tap, letting fresh warmth flow in around my feet.

The memory of his mouth on mine cuts through everything else without warning.

His strong, inked arms on either side of me, his breath on my face before he went all the way in. All of it hits me full force. I close my eyes and try to shake it away. I'm not only replaying the physical sensation of his lips on mine, but everything that led up to it.

My fingers find my lower lip without conscious thought. I can still feel the pressure of his mouth, the way he kissed me like he was trying to say something words couldn't cover.

Everything we never resolved.

The pregnancy I carried alone. The years he spent overseas, while I learned how to be a mother. The space between us that'sfilled with hurt and history and a five-year-old boy who connects us forever, whether we want it or not.

It wasn’t just attraction.

It was everything we never finished. The pregnancy. The years apart. The version of us that never got to exist because he left and I stayed.

I kissed him back.

For maybe ten seconds, I let myself remember what it felt like to want someone that much. To feel the heat of attraction mixed with the comfort of deep familiarity. To kiss someone who knew exactly how I liked to be touched because he'd spent four years learning my body.

Then reality crashed back.

I wanted to keep going, but I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop. When I pulled back and said we couldn't do this because of Benjy, part of me wanted him to argue. I needed him to give me a reason to ignore everything else and keep going.

I reach for the drain plug and watch the water start to swirl away.

Stepping over the tall edge of the tub, I grab a towel from the hook and wrap it around myself as the last of the bathwater gurgles down the drain. The mirror is still fogged, but I can see enough of my reflection to notice the flush in my cheeks that has nothing to do with hot water.

I slip on my cotton pajama pants and oversized t-shirt, the fabric soft against my skin. The house is still around me, wrapped in that particular quiet that only comes after a child has fallen asleep.

I open my bedroom door to listen, which I do every night before I retire to bed. I put my eyes on Benjy's door, satisfied that the house is ready for sleep, even if it is the furthest thing from my mind.

I step into the hallway and pause, listening. Knowing he's only feet away, sleeping, stirs something in me.

Then it hits me that I never grabbed him a pillow.