“She’s good,” Alex adds.
“She’s the best.”
He smirked slightly.
“You’re gone for her.”
I don’t bother denying it. “Completely.”
The whistle blew, and the play reset. Belle glanced toward the stands, just briefly. Her eyes found mine, and she smiled.
The bout ended in a blur of noise and celebration. The Grimm Reapers took the win, and Belle was swept up in teammates' laughter, that loud, unapologetic joy that first drew me into her world.
I waited, because she always finds her way back to me.
“Did you see that hit?” she asked, already halfway into my space.
“I did.”
“Be honest.”
“It was efficient.”
She laughs, shoving lightly at my chest. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m aware.”
She leaned to kiss me quickly. The team whistles behind her. Someone yells something inappropriate.
Alex mutters, “I’m leaving before this gets worse,” and disappears into the crowd.
Belle grins against my mouth.
“Good call.”
I take her hand. “Come.”
“Bossy.”
“Always.”
The drive home is quiet.
Comfortable.
Her hand rests on my thigh, fingers tracing absent patterns like she always does when she’s unwinding.
The house greets us with soft light and stillness.
Geoffrey has long since retired for the evening.
Her father is asleep upstairs, safe, cared for, exactly where he belongs.
This is the life we built together. It was not something I purchased or controlled. It was something we chose every day.
She disappears briefly to shower, and when she returns, her hair is damp, skin flushed from the heat, wearing one of my shirts that falls just low enough to distract me completely.
She catches the look and smirks. “Don’t start.”
