Page 123 of Reeves

I stare at the ceiling, listening to her breathing even out against me, and for the first time since I walked back into this house, I let the thought come all the way through.

I don’t have a plan. Friday isn’t optional. But what comes after… that’s still mine to decide.

My hand moves over her shoulder slowly, like I’m testing the weight of it. She leans into me without waking, trusting in a way she shouldn’t.

I tighten my arm around her anyway, not because I’ve decided anything, but because I’m not ready to let go.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Charli

Grief Carried Differently:The second line does not forget what the dirge held. It carries the same weight — only high and moving instead of low and still.

I jolt awake,half twisted up, my back pressed against his warm, firm body. His arm is draped over my waist.

It takes a second to register that I’m on the couch, Reeves is behind me, and last night actually happened.

I freeze for a moment before carefully easing out from under his arm. My pajamas are on the floor where they landed when we couldn’t get them off fast enough. I grab them and pull them on, my heart beating faster than it should as I glance back at him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t move.

The room is dim, hints of early light just starting to creep in through the windows. I don’t have my watch, but it has to be early. Too early for this to feel real.

I look down at him for a second longer.

He’s completely out, face relaxed, nothing like the man whowalked back into my life like a storm and upended everything in less than forty-eight hours.

I turn away before I can think too hard about that and head down the hall, barefoot, quiet. My bedroom door clicks softly shut behind me, and I lean back against it.

What did I do?

I drag a hand through my hair and stare up at the ceiling, forcing myself to think it through instead of spiraling.

I let him come here to meet Benjy. That was it. That was the line.

So how did I end up back on that couch with him like nothing had changed?

My stomach tightens as I absorb everything, whether I want it to or not. Because nothing about us ever really did.

I push off the door and move to the bed, sitting on the edge. The second I stop moving, my body betrays me. The memory hits without warning. His hands. His smell. The way I didn’t hesitate.

Heat floods low in my stomach, sharp and immediate, and I press my thighs together, exhaling slowly as I force it down.

No, I know exactly where that leads. And I’m not opening the door to this cycle with him. That is my past. Not with Benjy sleeping down the hall, unaware that his world is shifting. Not when everything I've built stands to crumble if I keep making decisions with my body instead of my head.

I climb under my covers, even though I won't sleep again. The weight of the blankets and the structure of routine calms me.

I am not twenty-two anymore. I have a practice, a son, and parents of children who count on me. My life runs the way it does because I keep it steady and make clear decisions.

Staring at the ceiling, I force my breathing to slow and shovemy thoughts to our routine, my to-do list, things I know how to navigate.

We will get his truck as planned, and then he will leave. We will make a plan for Benjy that doesn't involve middle-of-the-night decisions I can't take back.

My eyelids grow heavy despite my racing thoughts. I must have drifted off, because I'm awakened by the bright morning, and laughter floats through the house. It's Benjy's voice, bright and excited, cutting through my carefully constructed calm.

I step out of my bedroom, running my fingers through my now-brushed hair. The sight of morning sun paints a triangle on the end of the hall where it meets the den.

There's no time to enjoy a cozy Sunday morning. My plan is clear: coffee first, then truck, then?—