Page 21 of Finding Peace
And I can feel everything.
I didn’t realize how sore I was until I woke up this morning.
That’s the thing people tend to forget about—how your body waits. How it holds everything together until the danger passes, until the adrenaline runs its course, and then,suddenly, it’s all there. Every muscle aches in a bone-deep way that feels less like pain and more like utter exhaustion. It’s a system I’m all too familiar with, but one I haven’t felt since Maxim hit me for the last time—since the day before I ran for my life.
Myribs feel tight when I breathe too deeply, and my head feels a little fuzzy around the edges. Almost like my thoughts are wading through fog instead of air.
But I remind myself over and over again that I’m safe.
I’m bundled up on the couch, much like I was last night when I woke up, cocooned in warmth. The sweatshirt I’m wearing is too big, sleeves swallowing my hands, soft with wear and faintly smelling like cedar and smoke.Lawson.Thick socks warm my feet, and a blanket is draped over my legs with care—the corners tucked in tight to ensure I won’t get cold.
Lincoln walks around the couch and rests a mug of coffee between my palms, and I watch as the steam curls into the morning air. And of course, it’s exactly how I take it, a splash of oat milk and a small spoonful of brown sugar. Linc sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the steady warmth of him even through the fabric of the blanket. He’s been hovering since the second I opened my eyes this morning. His presence is constant, grounding, immovable.
Beau continues to move around the kitchen with quiet purpose while glancing over at me every few seconds. His hair is still a little wild from what looks like a restless night’s sleep, and concern is written into every careful step he takes.
He’s beautiful.
After a few more minutes, Beau comes to the living room and sets a plate down on the coffee table before cutting the food into smaller pieces, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Lincoln then reaches for the fork and hands it to me, his fingers brushing mine for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.
I blink at them, then let out a soft laugh. “You guys do know,” I say, voice gentle but amused, “that I can do this myself, right?”
Beau smiles, warm and unapologetic. “Yes,ma’am.”
Lincoln’s mouth curves just slightly, eyes never leaving my face. “We know.”
“Then why—”
“Because we want to,” Beau says easily.
My throat tightens, emotion swelling so suddenly that I have to look down at the plate before it spills over. I take a bite, more to steady myself than anything else. The food tastes good—comforting—but my appetite flickers.
“You have to eat, Sweetheart,” Lincoln urges gently. “Your body went through a lot. You need to replenish your strength. He takes the fork from me to load another bite onto it, but before he can move too far, I cup the side of his face with my now warm palm and lean in to place a gentle kiss to his lips. He smiles against my mouth before leaning forward to scoop another bite, and I do the same thing to Beau.
“Thank you for my breakfast,” I say softly.
“Whatever you need, we’re here,” he replies.
“I know.”
I watch them as they cater to me. Lincoln looks like he hasn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time. His exhaustion worn openly now that we’re in the morning light. There’s something different in his eyes, something raw and unguarded that I’ve never seen before. And Beau… his movements are softer than usual, like he’s afraid that even a loud noise might break something delicate within me.
They look wrecked.
And it’s because of me.
I feel terrible that my being in danger affected them so, and yet… selfishly… it makes something warm burrow its way into the depths of my soul.
After everything that happened—after thinking I might not see them again—the idea of not saying what’s been building between us feelsalmost unbearable. I don’t want to wait for the “right” moment. I don’t want to pretend there’s time to waste.
We’re past being uncomfortable about there being four of them. Now, it’s just a matter of my being brave enough to tell them what I’m thinking.
I turn toward Beau, my heart picking up speed for reasons that have nothing to do with fear. The words are right there, pressing against my ribs.
Ready.
He notices instantly that I have something I want to say, and he leans forward from where he sits on the coffee table and rests one hand on my cheek, thumb brushing lightly beneath my eye. He kisses me softly, carefully, meant to reassure rather than claim—but it steals my breath nevertheless. And when he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for a quiet second longer.
I inhale slowly, grounding myself in him.
