If anything, everything feels… oddly right.
The mattress is warmer than usual and the air smells faintly different as well. A light, citrusy scent clings to the covers.
Awareness creeps in, unwelcome but inevitable.
Kia.
My eyes fly open as I turn and stare at the other side of the mattress. It’s empty now, but the sheets are slightly rumpled and there’s an indentation on the pillow. The quiet echo of her presence lingers in my private space.
Memories from last night return in fragments.
A nightmare. I don’t remember exactly what it was. Something about losing Elody at an amusement park. Panic had clawed its way up from deep down inside me. It doesn’t take a psychologist to understand where in the depths of my subconscious that fear had been dredged up from.
Kia’s voice had cut through it in a way that was steady, calm, and grounding. I’d woken up with my hands on her before I even realized what was happening. As soon as reality hit, I’d immediately rolled away.
She’d been so understanding, and apologized for the kiss last night. Her whispered words circle through my head as I scrub a hand over my face. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me.
For a moment, I’d forgotten that I don’t have the luxury of being careless anymore. That I don’t get to blur lines because something feels good or right in a way it hasn’t been in a long time.
With a slow exhale, I lean against the headboard and stare at the ceiling.
After the nightmare, I hadn’t wanted to be alone and asked her to stay.
Even after the apology and talk of boundaries.
After she had every reason to walk away… she’d stayed.
I can’t stop thinking about the feel of her pressed against my chest and the way my body finally loosened once it curved around her smaller one.
I’d slept deeper than I have in years.
And that scares the hell out of me.
After Sarah left, my life narrowed to two things—Elody and hockey. Everything else was noise I didn’t have room for. No dates. No distractions. No women around long enough for anyone to twist the story and use it against me.
Last night cracked something wide open inside me, something I’d worked hard to seal shut. I have no idea how to reconcile it, only that I can’t ignore it.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand, forcing myself into motion.
Boundaries. That’s what we need. Clear ones, thick enough that I can’t cross.
Kia deserves clarity.
And Elody deserves stability.
End of story.
I pull on gray sweatpants and a T-shirt before heading for the door, already mapping out the conversation in my head. It’ll be professional, controlled, and most of all… final.
When I step out of my bedroom, I expect to jump into the routine I’ve built over the last year. I’ll get eggs going on the stove while the sounds of cartoons echo in the background. Elody will be half-awake and asking for juice while I pack her lunch for the day. It’s a rhythm I know well.
Instead, I walk into laughter that’s high-pitched, bubbling, and bright.
Kia stands at the stove, wearing a soft sweater with her hair pulled back as she flips sunny-side-up eggs. Elody dances in circles around her, bare feet slapping against the floor, eyes shining with the kind of joy only a four-year-old can summon before eight a.m.
Some of the tension drains from my body.
I hate how easy this feels.
