Page 19 of The Silent Hour

My lips found his temple, the skin there damp and warm.

When the storm eased, he didn't roll away like most men would. He stayed buried deep inside me, his cock still pulsing with faint aftershocks that echoed through my spent body. The weight of him was a familiar anchor—the solid press of his muscled chest against my tender breasts, the coarse hair there catching against my sensitive nipples.

His ragged breath warmed the hollow of my collarbone where sweat had pooled. One hand slid down slowly, deliberately, to lace with mine where it lay limp beside my head. Our sweat-slicked fingers knotted together, palms pressed flush, as if letting go would unravel the very fabric of what we'd just woven together with our bodies.

"Ethan..." I murmured, my voice hoarse. With my other hand, I brushed his dark, damp hair back from his furrowed brow. My fingertips traced the salt-dried track of sweat along his temple, feeling the faint stubble coming in along his hairline.

He exhaled hard against my neck—a warm, moist rush that raised goosebumps across my flushed skin. Then his lips found that sensitive spot just below my ear, pressing there before dragging slowly across to the curve where my shoulder met my throat. "Shh." The word vibrated through my skin. "Just stay here with me."

I did. Wrapped in his powerful arms that felt both like restraint and sanctuary. Filled completely by him, still joined where our bodies had been frantic moments before. Cradled against his heaving chest that rose and fell against mine in a rhythm that gradually began to sync. The room smelled of us—sex and sweat and the faint citrus of his shampoo.

Outside, the darkness pressed against the windows, but in here there was only the warmth of his skin against mine, the weight of his thigh thrown over mine, the way his breathing gradually deepened into something like peace.

For all the hairline cracks I didn't yet see forming in our foundation, in that moment there was nothing but this: two bodies melted into one, breathing each other's air.

THE SMELL OF COFFEE filled the kitchen, rich and grounding.

My hair was twisted into a messy bun; my feet bare against the cool tile. I wore the same old cotton shirt I'd first woken up in at Ethan's place all those years ago, faded and soft now but still intact, like a secret no one else would ever know. Boy shorts underneath, just in case I had to bend too far and didn't want to scar my daughters for life.

Aria was already perched at the counter, swinging her legs like a metronome, a piece of toast clenched in her hand as she lectured her sister about something or other.

"You can't play piano and soccer, Ellie. Pick one. You'll be exhausted, and then guess who'll have to deal with your grumpy face?" Ari jabbed at her own chest dramatically. "Me."

Ellie rolled her eyes, chin propped in her hand, curls falling across her face. "I can do both. Mommy does everything. You’re the one who can’t and just don't like it when I'm better at stuff."

"Whatever." Ari tore into her toast.

I slid plates onto the counter before they could start pulling hair. When those two got started, neither wanted to back down. Who knew little girls could be so vicious?

"Eat first, argue later. Preferably at school, where I don't have to referee."

That earned me twin groans, which I ignored in favor of flipping more pancakes because they ate as much as they argued. The sizzle filled the kitchen, a rhythm as familiar as a bow sliding across strings.

Ellie hopped off her stool and padded closer, peeking into the pan. "Can we add more chocolate chips?" she asked, her voice soft and hopeful.

"Already in there, Choco monster" I teased, nudging her with my hip.

She smiled, the kind that made her look more like me than Ethan, all warmth and quiet victory.

Aria, not to be outdone, piped up through a mouthful of her eggs. "And bacon. Please tell me you made more bacon."

"Do I ever not make eight pounds of bacon?" I asked, arching a brow.

Her grin flashed wide, so much like her father's that it made my chest ache. It was strange, the paths life carved. I hadn’t immersed myself in the world my Mama and Tato had, staying just on the fringes. I was sure there were many who’d forgotten me entirely. I didn’t mind.

It was the same for when I'd thought my greatest dream was the violin. I'd studied it the way other people studied for survival. Summers in New York at Juilliard intensives. Years at the Frost School of Music right there in Miami. Hours with a bow in my hand until my fingers bled.

I'd played with the symphony, traveled across the state and to other countries, even stood alone on stages beneath lights that made my skin glow and my heart hammer like it was too big for my chest.

None of it compared to this.

Not to the sound of Ellie asking for chocolate chips. Not to Ari crunching her toast too loudly, her legs kicking like she couldn't wait to burst into the world. Not to mornings when my hair was knotted up, my shirt was ten years old, and my greatest audience sat on mismatched stools they'd hand-painted themselves, waiting for pancakes.

The violin had given me applause, a decent nest egg for paid performances, and a chance to say I had made it.

My maiden name gave me money and security. The girls had given me something else entirely.

They were my magnum opus, my most perfect piece.