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I’m off the couch before the headlights finish sweeping across the living room wall, one hand braced beneath my stomach while I hurry toward the front door as fast as I can.

Which is to say I waddle there in slow-mo, but whatever.

My fingers fumble the deadbolt the first time I try to turn it.

“Ugh, fuck offffff,” I tell it, trying again.

I get it open and yank the door inward just as Sumner reaches the porch.

For a second, I forget every single thing I planned to say to him.

The words just float away.

He’s in the same clothes he was wearing when he left, jeans and a black T-shirt, but there’s no hiding what the last however many hours did to him.

His buzzed hair is flattened in weird patches from sweat and his headset, dark stubble covers his jaw, and he looks so tired the circles under his eyes are almost as dark as bruises. His shoulders sag, and there’s a raw red mark climbing the side of his neck before disappearing under his shirt.

He looks like he’s been to hell and back.

And somehow, he’s also the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Because he’s here.

The man who left this house yesterday with a grin on his face because he was finally getting to fly his dream storm is home, beat to shit but alive.

My eyes burn, and I blink fast because I refuse to let tears blur him when I finally get to look at him after so many hours of not knowing if I’d ever get to see him again.

God, I fucking love this man.

Sumner stops when he sees me standing there, his mouth tipping up into a tired smile.

“Hey, baby.”

That’s all it takes.

The tears I’ve been fighting spill over, and I’m moving, crossing the porch as fast as my body will let me and throwing myself at him.

My belly keeps me from getting as close as I want, so I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him the best I can. I bury my face in his neck while a shaky laugh breaks out of me between tears.

His arms come around me the second we collide, one across my back and the other wrapping around the back of my neck as his fingers tangle in my hair.

I cling to him and cry and make a mess of my face and his shirt, but I don't care.

He’s warm beneath my cheek, and he smells like sweat, stale airplane air, and whatever soap he used yesterday morning before he left.

I have no fucks left to give and breathe him in anyway.

As deep as I can.

Like I can somehow make up for all the hours I couldn’t touch him by filling my lungs with him now.

Sumner presses his face into my hair and lets out a long breath against the top of my head like he’s doing the same thing I am.

I can feel his heartbeat beating against mine. It’s fast but steady, and after spending all night staring at screens and listening to other people tell me he was okay, this is the first thing my body actually believes.

He’s home.

Sumner’s fingers flex against the back of my neck, his thumb moving slowly through the hair at my nape while neither one of us makes any attempt to let go.