I can still smell him on my skin—vanilla, burnt sugar, and the musky scent of our sex. It clings to my sweater and my hair, a delicious, illicit perfume.
Sighing, I grab my phone and climb out. The cold air nips at my nose, but I don’t feel it as much as I usually do. There’s a warmth humming beneath my skin that has nothing to do with the car’s heater.
I let myself into the house as quietly as possible. The living room is dim, lit only by the blue glow of the television, which has been left on a static-filled channel.
Jude is sprawled out on the sofa, one arm thrown over his face, the other dangling toward the floor. He’s deep asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady pattern. Rufus is curled into a tight ball at his feet, not even twitching an ear at my entrance.
I tiptoe past them, holding my breath. I feel a twinge of guilt as I move. I know Jude worries. I know Ryker and Norah would have welcomed me staying, but I needed this. I needed this night for myself.
As I pass the hallway table, I catch a whiff of Jude’s scent. It’s a comforting, familial smell, but it clashes with the scent of Eli that’s wrapped around me like a cloak.
For a second, the two scents battle in the air, and my heart hammers. It feels like I’m carrying a giant sign that screamsI just had sex.
I make it past my brother without waking anyone. I lock the back door, checking the handle twice, then head for my bedroom.
Inside, the room is quiet, the only sound Maisie’s soft, even breathing. I stand by the bed for a long moment, looking down at my sleeping daughter.
Her red glasses are folded on the nightstand, and Frida the rabbit is tucked under her chin.
I really need to change. My jeans feel stiff, and my sweater is rumpled from our activities against the cooler door.
But as I reach for the hem of my shirt, I pause. If I change, if I shower, I’ll wash him away. I’ll wash away the best night I’ve had in years.
Biting my lip, I peel off the sweater and the jeans. I press the fabric to my nose one last time, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and Eli.
Instead of tossing them into the hamper, I bury them at the very bottom, underneath the dirty towels and Maisie’s school uniforms.
I’ll wash them tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. For now, I want to keep this little piece of the night hidden away, a secret treasure tucked between the dirty laundry.
I quickly pull on a pair of flannel pajama pants and an old T-shirt, the fabric soft and scentless. I slide under the covers, the cold sheets shocking my warm skin for a second before I adjust to the temperature.
“Mom?”
The whisper is so faint I almost miss it. I roll over to face Maisie. Her eyes are open, just slits in the dark, heavy with sleep.
“Yeah, bug?” I whisper back, reaching out to brush a curl away from her forehead.
“Did you find the dragons?” she mumbles, her voice thick and dreamy.
I smile, my heart swelling with a love so fierce it almost hurts. “I did. They’re sleeping now. Just like you.”
“Okay.”
She shifts closer, burrowing into my side. I wrap my arm around her small, warm body, pulling her in tight. She smells like lavender shampoo and that specific, sweet scent that only belongs to my child.
I lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe, feeling the steady beat of her heart against my ribs. The fear from the morning, the panic of the phone call, the shame of the near-relapse—it all feels distant now. Muted.
I think about Eli’s hands, his laugh, the way he looked at me when he said I was beautiful. I think about the way he massaged the knot, trusting me with his vulnerability.
The noise in my head has gone silent. There is no Luke. There is no past.
There is just the warmth of my daughter in my arms and the memory of a baker who makes cinnamon buns that taste like forgiveness.
I press a kiss to the top of Maisie’s head.
“Goodnight, my love,” I whisper into the dark.
She doesn’t answer, already deep in the dream world again. I close my eyes, and for the first time in forever, I don’t dream of monsters.
