“You haven’t played music in here for a while,” he says after a moment.
It’s been exactly nine days.
I look down at our hands. “Haven’t I?”
“I miss it,” he says.
God.
“I didn’t know you realized I stopped,” I admit softly.
“I liked waking up to it,” he adds quietly. “Made the house feel alive.”
He says the words so simply, but I hear the message underneath. That he misses the sound of me, and I hadn’t even realized I’d turned myself off.
His fingers lace through mine properly, squeezing gently, and there it is again.
That terrible, beautiful feeling of being held onto. Of being chosen and loved, while some ugly part of me still insists every awful thing that’s happened traces back to me.
My thumb brushes over the healing scrape on his knuckles before I can stop myself.
“I’ll put some on later,” I whisper.
His mouth softens faintly at the edges. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The morning light spills gold across the kitchen floor, and down the hall, Elle’s arguing with herself about shoes while Gus barks to contribute.
Evan lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss against my knuckles. Then another.
“You should sleep,” I say.
“So should you.”
“I’m taking Elle to school.”
“I know.”
His fingers tighten around mine, and then he’s tugging me gently into him. Warm palms settle low on my hips as he dips toward me, his lips brushing my forehead first before his mouth finds mine in a slow and familiar kiss.
I melt into it before I can stop myself, one hand sliding up into the soft mess of his hair while his thumb strokes absently against the curve of my waist.
“Come back to bed after drop-off,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Okay,” I whisper, and he kisses me once more before letting me go.
But when I do walk back in after drop-off, the house is quiet—as though the whole place asleep along with Evan.
“Hey, buddy.” Gus lifts his head from the couch and wags his tail when he sees me, then settles back down again with a sigh.
I drop my keys into the bowl on the counter, and stand there as the silence presses in almost immediately. Maybe I’ll take a bath in the guest house. Sit in hot water until my lungs stop feeling so tight all the time. Maybe read something, or sleep for an hour. Anything to make my head quiet.
Down the hall, the bedroom door is cracked open slightly, and I carefully push it wider.
Evan's completely asleep. One arm is stretched across my side of the bed, his fingers curled into the sheets.
Something tight and painful aches deep inside me, beneath all the healing bruises and smoke damage. Even asleep, he reaches for me.
