Page 94 of One More Chance
Fuck, she is beautiful like this. Peaceful. I could stay here forever, just watching her breathe.
She shifted, eyes fluttering open. A moment of confusion crossed her face before her gaze locked with mine. Her lips curved upward.
"Morning," she said, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," I replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
We remained there, not rushing back to reality. No awkwardness, just calm. A stillness between us that had been missing for so long. Not empty. Just... quiet.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep down here," she murmured, stretching slightly without moving away. "The couch isn't exactly luxurious."
"Best night of sleep I've had in weeks," I admitted.
She smiled faintly and nestled her head back on my shoulder, fingers tracing my shirt seam. "I didn't think I'd ever feel okay waking up next to you again," she whispered. "But I do."
My breath caught. I stayed still, silent, giving her space to continue.
"I know we've been with each other multiple times," she continued, eyes fixed on my chest. "But last night... for the first time, it felt right, almost perfect."
My hand found hers, squeezing gently. "It was perfect in every way."
She exhaled slowly and finally met my gaze. "I want to try, Levi. Not just counseling. I want to tryus." She paused. "But I need to go slow. And I need you to be honest with me. Every time. No matter what. I've laughed with you more than I ever have. I know we've explored so many new things in the bedroom and I've trusted you with myself. I want all of you Levi. The Good. The Bad."
After everything I've done, she's willing to give me another chance. Don't you dare fuck this up.
I nodded, throat tight. "You'll get nothing less."
Sloane leaned up and pressed her lips to mine.
We stayed tangled together until footsteps thundered down the stairs, Violet's laughter mixing with Liam's groans: "She's hogging the bathroom again!"
Sloane's laugh vibrated against my neck and it felt like sunshine breaking through clouds.
"I should make breakfast," I said, not budging.
"You should," she agreed, equally still.
Eventually we peeled ourselves off the couch, took showers and brushed teeth before bumping hips in the kitchen as we cooked gluten-free pancakes and scrambled eggs, cartoons and sibling bickering filling the house.
Later that afternoon, I walked in to find Sloane at the dining table, her laptop open from her virtual therapy session. The kids occupied the other room; Violet working on an art project while Liam scrolled on his tablet.
Sloane looked up with red-rimmed eyes but a peaceful expression. The usual tightness in her face had softened.
I approached carefully. "Hey… how'd it go?"
She offered a small, tired smile. "It was good. Hard. But good."
I sat across from her, hands folded, waiting. Pushing would only make things worse.
Sloane gazed out the window briefly before turning back to me. "She said something interesting. The therapist. She said sometimes people can't say what needs to be said, especially when there's hurt. So she suggested I try writing."
"Like journaling?" I asked.
She shook her head slightly. "Love letters. But not the sweet kind. Letters filled with everything. The pain. The betrayal. The confusion. The love that still lingers. She said if I write to you, even if I never give them to you, it might help me process everything."
My throat dried. "Will you... give them to me?"
Every wound I caused, inked out in black and white.
