lightdancingwords

[lightdancingwords]

Second Chances: Forever - Part Twenty-One of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever. Word Count: 4,316 Tags/Warnings: Teeth-aching fluff, I swear A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Twenty-One: The Pack

The first fingers of morning sunlight crept across the bedroom, turning the white sheets a soft, golden hue. Outside, the world was still hushed—no car doors, no barking dogs, no thundering of little feet just yet.

Inside, the bed was a tangle of limbs and warmth, the kind of closeness born from love given and received without walls.

Y/N woke first.

She blinked slowly, savoring the rare stillness, the gentle weight of Beau’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist. His hand rested lightly over the curve of her belly, fingers twitching slightly in sleep, like even in his dreams, he was tethered to her.

She smiled against the pillow, her heart full in that quiet, aching way.

She shifted just enough to turn and face him. Beau slept heavily, his features relaxed, softer than anyone else ever got to see. The faint stubble on his jaw brushed the edge of the pillow, and a few strands of his hair had gone rogue across his forehead. He looked younger like this. Looser.

Beautiful, she thought, pressing a featherlight kiss to his chest where her hand rested.

As if sensing her, he stirred.

His arms tightened around her instinctively, drawing her back into him without even opening his eyes. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice gravelly and deep.

“Morning,” she whispered back, nuzzling against him.

For a long stretch of moments, they just lay there—breathing, being. The kind of intimacy that didn’t need words, that wasn’t rushed or heavy with demands. Just there.

Eventually, Beau tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her hair. “You okay?”

She nodded, smiling. “Better than okay.”

He smiled too, slow and lazy. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on lettin’ you outta bed for a while.”

She chuckled softly. “You planning to call in backup at the station? Explain how the Luna Queen declared a family snuggle day?”

He hummed, his chest vibrating beneath her. “Think Doris would understand. Might even send supplies.”

They fell into a slow, easy kiss—no urgency, just tenderness. The kind that spoke of trust, of promises already kept.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N tucked her head under Beau’s chin, her body perfectly molded against his.

Outside the door, faint footsteps padded along the hall, followed by a muffled giggle.

“The wolves are awake,” Y/N whispered.

Beau sighed with theatrical sorrow. “Our peaceful reign has ended.”

But even as Caleb’s babbling and Eliza’s dramatic storytelling filtered through the crack beneath the door, Beau only held her tighter.

“We’ll take it slow today,” he promised, voice a rough, soft vow. “For you. For the baby. For us.”

Y/N smiled against his skin.

She knew he meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe—deep in her bones—that no matter what came next, they’d carry it together.

One quiet, steady morning at a time.

The kitchen was filled with soft morning light, the windows cracked open just enough to let in the cool Montana breeze. Y/N sat at the table in one of Beau’s oversized flannel shirts, hair loosely braided over her shoulder, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. Caleb babbled happily in his high chair, occasionally slapping his tray in rhythmic applause for no apparent reason.

Beau moved through the kitchen with the kind of confidence that suggested a man who thought he had breakfast under control.

Which, in Beau’s mind, he did.

There was a stack of leftover pancakes from a few days ago, and pancakes were pancakes, right? Why overcomplicate things? He plated them straight from the fridge—cold, a little limp, but otherwise fine—and set them proudly on the table in front of his family.

“Breakfast, wolves,” he declared, sliding a plate in front of Eliza with a flourish.

Eliza peered at the stack like it might bite her.

“Daddy…” she said slowly, drawing the word out as she poked the top pancake with the very tip of her fork, “why are they cold?”

Beau shrugged, setting plates down for everyone else. “They’re still good. Just… rustic.”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, exchanging a look with Caleb, who happily slammed his hand into his own pancake, unconcerned.

Eliza lifted her fork, picked a tiny piece off the edge, and nibbled it cautiously.

Everyone waited.

Beau stood proud, arms crossed.

Eliza chewed slowly, face unreadable.

Then she set her fork down very seriously and announced, “It tastes like fluffy sandpaper… and sadness.”

Y/N lost it, bursting into laughter so quickly she nearly spilled her tea. Caleb squealed in solidarity.

Beau blinked, completely thrown. “Fluffy sandpaper and sadness? How the heck would you know what that tastes like?!”

Without missing a beat, Eliza lifted her shoulders in a small, self-important shrug and said, very solemnly, “Pre-K.”

That was it.

Y/N doubled over in laughter, and even Beau couldn’t hold it back any longer, tossing his head back with a deep, rumbling laugh that shook his shoulders. Caleb, caught up in the noise, slapped his tray and babbled his own version of a howl.

Beau finally wiped a hand over his face, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. Guess that’s what I get for trying to shortcut breakfast.”

Y/N leaned over and kissed his cheek, still giggling. “You get an A for effort, Elder Alpha.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Beau muttered good-naturedly, gathering the cold pancakes and tossing them back onto the counter. “Next time, I’ll leave the rustic cooking to the real wolves.”

Eliza grinned around her glass of milk, crumbs on her cheeks, pride gleaming in her eyes.

And as Beau threw together a quick bowl of cereal instead, Y/N watched him with her heart so full it ached—the man she loved, the children they were raising, the laughter that filled their mornings even when the pancakes were cold.

This was their life.

Messy, warm, and absolutely perfect.

The kitchen was still humming with soft laughter and the clink of cereal bowls when Beau finally pushed back his chair with a groan that was mostly for show.

“Well,” he said, stretching his arms overhead, his shirt pulling tight across his shoulders, “reckon I gotta get ready for work.”

A collective groan came from the children—Eliza slumping dramatically over the table, Caleb letting out a babble that sounded suspiciously like “No!” even though he probably didn’t know what he was protesting.

Y/N smiled over the rim of her tea mug, watching him. She could see it too—the way he lingered, the way his hand trailed over Eliza’s head as he passed, the way he scooped Caleb up from the high chair and blew a loud, silly raspberry against his cheek, making the little boy shriek with delighted giggles.

He didn’t want to leave.

Not when the house was full of sunlight and the kids smelled like syrup and their laughter still echoed against the kitchen walls.

Setting Caleb back down, Beau made his way to Y/N, slipping his arms around her from behind as she wiped down the table. She stilled instantly at the familiar warmth of him, leaning back into his chest with a soft sigh.

“You sure you gotta go?” she murmured, tilting her head to brush her cheek against his jaw.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, his voice low, full of something thick and fond. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, slow and lingering.

Y/N laughed under her breath. “You’d be a terrible sheriff if you went rogue because you missed breakfast snuggles.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I bent the rules for a good cause,” he said against her skin, making her shiver just a little.

He stayed there for another minute, maybe two, just holding her, breathing her in, feeling the steady heartbeat of their home in the way her body relaxed against his.

Finally, reluctantly, Beau straightened. Eliza was watching them with a wolfish grin, tapping her spoon against the table.

“You better go, Daddy,” she said, far too wise for her four years. “The wolves can protect the Luna Queen until you get back.”

Beau ruffled her hair. “You’re a good second-in-command, little wolf.”

He kissed Caleb’s chubby cheek again, tossed Y/N one last, longing look, and grabbed his duty belt and hat from the hook by the door.

Y/N followed him to the doorway, their fingers brushing together one last time before he turned.

He kissed her, soft and sure.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips.

“I love you more,” she whispered back.

And with one last, lingering glance over his shoulder—at his wife, his son, his daughter, his whole world—Beau stepped out into the crisp Montana morning.

Duty called.

But so did home.

Always.

The crisp Montana air greeted Beau as he stepped down the front porch and made his way to the truck, the familiar scent of pine and open fields grounding him. He paused before getting in, hand resting on the door handle, just long enough to look back at the house—the house that somehow already smelled like home, even though they'd only just begun to fill it with new memories.

Inside, through the living room window, he caught a glimpse of Y/N’s silhouette, Caleb perched on her hip, Eliza spinning in circles with her arms stretched wide like she was trying to hug the whole world.

Beau smiled, tucked the image into the quiet place he carried inside him, and got into the truck.

The drive into town was easy, the sky stretched wide and endless overhead, the peaks dusted faintly with lingering spring snow. The world was waking up slowly around him, a few cars on the road, the sleepy hum of another weekday just beginning.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s department, he sat for a moment longer, his hand on the steering wheel, letting the calm of the morning settle deep in his bones.

Today wasn’t about emergencies or adrenaline or chasing after bad guys.

Today, he was just grateful.

He stepped inside, the familiar scent of old coffee and paperwork hitting him like it always did, and tipped his hat at Doris behind the front desk.

“Mornin’, Sheriff,” she said, eyeing him over her glasses. “You look suspiciously relaxed.”

“Don’t start rumors,” Beau teased, setting his hat on the hook and loosening the collar of his jacket. “Just had a good morning, that’s all.”

Doris smirked knowingly. “Family’ll do that.”

Beau just nodded, the easy smile lingering on his lips as he headed toward his office.

Jenny intercepted him halfway down the hall, a stack of paperwork in her arms. “Couple things on your desk. Nothing urgent. You’ve got a pretty light morning.”

“Good,” he said, taking some of the papers from her to ease the load. “Might even grab a second cup of coffee before the real crazy starts.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow. “If you’re drinking a second cup and not pacing like a bear with cabin fever, something big must’ve happened.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Just… realizing how good I’ve got it, that’s all.”

Jenny softened. “Well, don’t let the good slip by without grabbing it tight.”

“I won’t,” Beau promised.

He spent the next few hours shuffling through reports, signing off on training schedules, checking in with the deputies on patrol routes. It was the kind of steady, grounded work he appreciated more and more lately. No sirens. No heart-racing calls. Just the quiet work of keeping a town—and a family—safe.

Every so often, he’d catch himself glancing at the picture tucked inside his desk drawer, half-hidden but always near: Y/N holding a newborn Caleb, Eliza perched proudly on her lap, grinning with all the wildness in her heart.

His whole life in a single frame.

When lunch rolled around, Beau sat back in his chair, stretched, and pulled out his phone. A simple message waited from Y/N.

Y/N: The wolves miss you. So does the Luna Queen.

He smiled so hard his face hurt.

And texted back:

Beau: Tell the Queen and her pack their Alpha will be home soon. Save some cereal for me.

Duty was good.

But home—home was everything.

The house hummed with a different kind of energy that afternoon—not the usual chaotic swirl of crayons and scattered toys, but something more deliberate. Something special.

Y/N stood in the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up, a mischievous glint in her eye. Eliza sat perched on a stool, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she carefully stirred a bowl of what was supposed to be brownie batter—half of it already decorating the counter and the front of her shirt.

Caleb, confined to his high chair with a set of measuring cups and a pacifier, babbled happily, slapping the plastic against his tray like he was officiating the event.

“Okay, Eliza,” Y/N said, handing her the bag of chocolate chips. “Not too many, alright? We’re making brownies, not chocolate soup.”

Eliza’s eyes gleamed as she nodded solemnly—and immediately dumped in a heroic amount of chocolate chips.

Y/N laughed under her breath but let it go. It was a celebration after all.

Because Beau had been working so hard. Because he had been carrying all of them with so much strength and tenderness lately. Because he deserved to come home to something that made him feel it.

Eliza stirred furiously. “Daddy’s gonna love this, Mama. It’s a pack present!”

“Exactly,” Y/N said, wiping a streak of batter off Eliza’s chin. “We’re surprising Daddy. Because even the strongest Alpha needs to know his pack is taking care of him too.”

Eliza beamed, pleased with her important role. “Can we make him a card too? One with wolves and moons and lots of hearts?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N said, already pulling paper and markers from the drawer.

While the brownies baked, the kitchen transformed into an art studio. Eliza created a masterpiece full of stick-figure wolves howling at a giant, heart-shaped moon. Caleb contributed a series of joyous scribbles that mostly resembled an angry spaghetti monster, but Y/N declared it a “masterpiece of love” and taped it proudly to the refrigerator.

The brownies filled the house with a deep, rich smell—warm and welcoming, like a hug made of chocolate—and when the timer dinged, Y/N carefully pulled the pan from the oven, setting it to cool while Caleb kicked his legs excitedly in his chair.

“Daddy’s gonna be so surprised,” Eliza said, bouncing on her toes as she peered into the pan.

“He sure is,” Y/N said, ruffling her daughter’s curls. “And he’s gonna know just how much he’s loved.”

Caleb banged a spoon against his tray, chanting his favorite word. “Da! Da! Da!”

Y/N’s heart swelled, watching them—this little world they’d built with crumbs and giggles and fierce, endless love.

She checked the clock. Beau would be home soon.

And when he walked through that door, she wanted him to feel it—not just in the smell of the brownies or the crayon-streaked card, but in the laughter, the effort, the being seen.

Because even the strongest man needed a place where he could lay down his burdens.

And Beau’s place would always be here, with them.

Beau’s truck rumbled into the driveway just as the sun began dipping low behind the trees, casting long golden beams across the front porch. From the moment he killed the engine, he could feel it—that hum of something waiting inside. Something bright.

He slung his duty belt onto the passenger seat, grabbed his hat, and stepped out, boots crunching lightly on the gravel. As he approached the house, he noticed it right away: the front window was cracked open just enough for warm, sweet scents to float out—chocolate. And laughter, thin and high, bubbling out from the walls like the house itself was holding its breath in excitement.

He smiled without thinking, reaching for the door handle.

The second he pushed it open, a loud, coordinated shout met him:

“SURPRISE!”

He froze in the entryway, blinking in surprise as a blur of activity hit him.

Eliza stood front and center, arms spread wide, her face painted with chocolate smudges and pure pride. In one hand, she held a piece of paper practically exploding with colorful crayon drawings—wolves, moons, and hearts overlapping in a happy, chaotic jumble. Caleb sat on the floor nearby, gnawing joyfully on a plastic spoon, wearing what appeared to be a kitchen towel as a cape.

Y/N leaned against the kitchen doorway, her belly rounding gently beneath the soft flow of her dress, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. Her smile was everything.

Beau set his hat slowly on the hook by the door, his heart already swelling.

“What’s all this, wolves?” he asked, voice rough with emotion he barely contained.

“It’s a pack celebration!” Eliza cried, running toward him, the card clutched in both hands. “Because you’re the best Daddy and Elder Alpha ever!”

Beau crouched just in time to catch her flying hug, laughing as she squeezed his neck with surprising strength.

“And we made you brownies!” she added, pulling back to thrust the card into his hands. “And a card! And Caleb made a scribble, but it’s a love scribble so you have to like it.”

Beau looked down at the card, blinking a little harder than he wanted to admit. His throat tightened as he took in the wild colors, the jagged crayon hearts, the tiny, earnest wolves scattered across the paper.

Y/N crossed the room slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder as she knelt beside him. Her other hand rested lightly on Caleb’s back, steadying the little boy who was now trying to climb into Beau’s lap.

“You’re our Alpha,” Y/N said softly. “But even Alphas need to be taken care of sometimes.”

Beau looked at her—really looked at her—and knew in that moment, without doubt or fear, that he had everything he would ever need.

He pulled all of them in—Y/N, Eliza, Caleb—into a clumsy, perfect hug.

“Y’all are gonna make an old man cry,” he murmured into Y/N’s hair.

“You’re not old,” Y/N teased, brushing her nose against his jaw. “Just distinguished.”

Eliza beamed. “Like the Elder Wolves in the stories!”

Beau chuckled, low and full, as he stood, scooping Caleb into one arm and reaching for Y/N’s hand with the other. “Well, I guess I can’t argue with a council decree.”

They moved into the kitchen, where the smell of chocolate thickened the air. Y/N had already cut the brownies into generous squares, and Eliza eagerly served him the first piece, watching with wide, expectant eyes as he took a bite.

Beau chewed thoughtfully, then gave a slow, exaggerated nod.

“Best brownie I’ve ever had,” he declared.

Eliza squealed with pride, and Caleb smacked his palms against the high chair tray in enthusiastic agreement.

Beau caught Y/N’s gaze across the counter, held it.

Thank you, he thought.

Thank you for loving me like this.

She smiled like she heard it anyway.

And as the kitchen filled with laughter, with Caleb’s babble and Eliza’s plans for the next pack celebration, Beau let the weariness of the day fall away, replaced by the simple, overwhelming truth:

He was home.

The house settled into a cozy, buzzing kind of peace after the brownies were devoured and sticky hands were wiped clean.

Beau sprawled on the living room floor, one arm tucked under his head, watching as Caleb toddled in determined little circles around the coffee table, his tiny legs wobbly but his spirit unstoppable. Eliza, her hair still wild from the day’s adventures, sat cross-legged with a stack of books around her, deciding which story to insist on at bedtime.

Y/N curled into the corner of the couch, a soft throw blanket over her legs, one hand absentmindedly stroking over the curve of her belly. Her heart felt too big for her chest, stretched wide with the sheer fullness of the evening—the smell of brownies still lingering in the air, the sound of Caleb’s delighted babbles, Eliza’s dramatic page-turning, and Beau’s deep, low laughter every time Caleb almost toppled and caught himself again.

This... this was what home felt like.

As the light faded from the windows, Beau finally rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “Alright, little wolves,” he said, his voice slow and lazy with comfort. “Time to start winding down.”

Eliza huffed a big, exaggerated sigh, flopping onto the carpet. “But Daddy, we haven’t howled at the moon yet!”

Beau chuckled, reaching out and ruffling her curls. “Maybe just one little howl. For tradition’s sake.”

Eliza scrambled to the window, pressed her nose to the glass, and let out a surprisingly soft, sweet howl that had Caleb screeching in excitement and mimicking her with a high-pitched babble of sounds.

Beau howled too, low and playful, the sound more like a warm rumble of happiness than anything fierce. Y/N couldn’t help it—she threw her head back and added a soft, laughing howl of her own.

Their small chorus filled the house, silly and bright and alive.

Afterward, Eliza dissolved into giggles, sliding off the windowsill dramatically. Caleb clapped, bouncing in place.

“Alright, alright,” Beau said, scooping Caleb up and tucking him against his hip. “Bedtime, wild things.”

Eliza scampered ahead, clutching one of her wolf books to her chest. Y/N pushed herself up from the couch slowly, stretching with a soft groan as Beau shot her a warm, knowing look.

“Got it?” he asked, already stepping toward her.

“I’m fine,” she said with a smile, reaching for his free hand anyway.

Together, they herded their little ones down the hall. Y/N tucked Eliza into bed, smoothing her hair back and planting a kiss on her forehead while Beau rocked Caleb gently, murmuring something low and soothing against his son’s soft curls.

It didn’t take long for sleep to claim the children. Within minutes, Eliza was curled under her blanket, wolf plush clutched tightly, and Caleb was heavy against Beau’s chest, breathing slow and even.

They slipped quietly back into the living room afterward, the house dim and hushed except for the faint creak of the floorboards and the whisper of the breeze against the windows.

Beau sat heavily on the couch, patting the cushion beside him until Y/N settled in, curling against his side.

He kissed the top of her head, letting his hand drift over her arm, her belly, her hip—tethering himself to her like he always did when the world slowed down enough to really feel it all.

“You gave me everything I ever wanted,” he murmured against her hair.

She smiled against his chest. “We built it together.”

The night stretched quiet and warm around them, no rush, no noise. Just a man and a woman, a love deep and steady, a home full of laughter and wolf howls and brownies and dreams.

Together, they drifted into the kind of silence that only comes when you are exactly where you are meant to be.

The clock ticked softly on the wall, the only sound breaking the hush that had settled over the house. Outside the windows, the Montana night stretched wide and deep, stars dusting the sky in quiet constellations.

In their bedroom, the world slowed even further.

Y/N nestled against Beau’s chest beneath the covers, his arms wrapped around her like the surest kind of promise. His hand drifted in slow, absent circles along her back, fingertips brushing the soft cotton of her shirt, as if he needed to feel her breathing to really believe it.

For a long while, they just lay there, listening to the house settle, to the faint sighs of sleeping children down the hall, to the quiet rustle of leaves outside the open window.

Finally, Y/N shifted, tilting her face up toward his in the dim light.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said softly, her hand resting lightly over his heart.

Beau looked down at her, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. “Just thinking.”

“About?” she prompted, her voice no louder than a breath.

He smiled—small, tender. “You. Them. This life we built.”

She curled her fingers around his shirt, anchoring herself to him. “Good thoughts, I hope.”

“The best.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead first—slow and lingering—then the bridge of her nose, and finally her lips, soft and deliberate, like he was trying to etch the shape of her into his memory.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “I look at you, at what we made… and I don’t know how I got so damn lucky.”

Y/N let out a shaky little laugh, blinking up at him through the soft dark. “We chose each other, Beau. We fought for this.”

“I’d fight a thousand times over,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’d do it all again. And again.”

Tears prickled at the edges of her vision, the good kind—the overwhelming, heart-full kind. She slid her hand to his cheek, the stubble rough beneath her palm.

“You are everything I never even knew to pray for,” she murmured.

Beau’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer until there wasn’t even a breath between them.

“I’ll spend every day making sure you never forget it,” he whispered.

They stayed like that, tangled up in each other, trading soft kisses and softer words, until the stars shifted outside the window and the weight of the day finally began to pull them under.

But as Y/N drifted into sleep, with Beau’s heartbeat steady against her ear, she knew—deeply, fully—that no matter what tomorrow held, she would always wake up wrapped in a love strong enough to carry them through anything.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

[lightdancingwords]

Breaking The Wall - Part Eight of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 9,080

Tags/Warnings: Cop procedures, police work, Angst (so much), tension, the beginnings of fluff

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Posting schedule will be 1 to 2 times a week for this series. We'll see how it goes!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Eight: The Beginning Of Something New

Wednesday – 7:58 P.M. – Parking Lot Behind Lucky’s Thai Kitchen

The night air had cooled since sunset, carrying the soft scent of jasmine from somewhere nearby and the distant sounds of the city still pulsing on the horizon.

They walked together across the small lot behind the restaurant, steps unhurried, the last few bits of conversation trailing off naturally. Laughter had faded into quieter tones. But neither of them had said goodnight.

Rachel’s car waited near the back, tucked beneath a streetlamp that flickered faintly overhead. She stopped beside it and turned, keys loosely dangling in her hand. Tim stopped too, just a half-step away. For a moment, they stood in comfortable quiet. And then—something changed.

Not dramatically.

Not obviously.

Just… enough.

Rachel’s gaze lifted to meet his. And for the first time, it lingered. It held. She wasn’t looking through him or around him. She was looking at him. Tim’s expression didn’t shift. But his body did—just slightly, a subtle stilling of his shoulders, a softening in his jaw.

Rachel’s throat worked with a quiet swallow. It was there between them now. Undeniable. Something humming low in the air, not charged with urgency, but with awareness.

She saw it in the way his eyes moved—not to her mouth, but to her expression. Reading her. Waiting. She didn’t step back. But she didn’t step forward either. And that was the answer.

She wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

And Tim—he didn’t need to be told. He gave her space in the silence, holding her gaze with the kind of patience that said he wouldn’t rush this. Wouldn’t risk breaking whatever it was that had finally started to grow between them.

Rachel inhaled slowly. Then said, voice low but steady, “Thanks. For dinner.”

Tim nodded. “Anytime.”

He didn’t reach for her hand. Didn’t lean in. But the weight of what could have happened hung in the air like the last notes of a song that hadn’t quite finished playing.

Rachel unlocked her car, opened the door. Hesitated. “Tim?”

He turned back.

“Tonight was good,” she said.

Simple. Honest. Vulnerable in its own quiet way.

He smiled, small but certain. “Yeah. It was.”

She got in, pulled the door closed, but sat there a moment before starting the engine. And when she looked in the rearview mirror, she saw him still standing there—watching, not waiting.

Just willing.

For her.

Thursday – 6:08 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The precinct was already in motion, buzzing with early morning movement. Radios hissed, boots scuffed against tile, and the first pot of coffee was halfway gone.

Tim sat on the edge of the desk, file open in one hand, sipping from his usual mug. Uniform crisp, posture relaxed.

Rachel entered a moment later, already geared up, hair pulled back tighter than yesterday. Her face was calm—collected—but her eyes flicked toward Tim almost instantly.

He didn’t look up right away. But he knew. And when he did glance at her? It was nothing dramatic. Just a quiet exchange. A shared breath of familiarity. She nodded once. He nodded back. And that was it.

On the surface.

But something about the silence between them was different now—thicker, more aware. The kind that settles when two people realize something could have happened… and didn’t. And the not-happening? That mattered.

Rachel walked past him without a word, straight to the roster board. Checked their assignments. Sipped from her own mug, this one with a chipped handle she always used. Tim joined her a moment later, side by side.

Just like every other morning.

Only not.

Across the room, Lucy Chen leaned against the wall near the coffee pot, watching them over the rim of her cup. Her eyes narrowed. Angela joined her seconds later, yawning.

“Tell me I’m imagining it,” Lucy said under her breath.

Angela followed her gaze. Saw Rachel and Tim—not touching, not talking—but something was… tangible.

Angela smirked. “You’re not imagining it.”

“I knew something shifted after the Jake O’Hare thing,” Lucy muttered. “But this… this is new.”

Angela took a sip of her coffee. “They’re walking different.”

Lucy blinked. “Walking?”

Angela nodded. “Like people who’ve had a moment. Or almost had one.”

“Did they—?”

“Nope.”

“How do you know?”

Angela gave her a look. “Because she’s here. Shoulders relaxed. Hair perfect. She didn’t stay over.”

Lucy paused. “But something happened.”

Angela grinned. “Oh, something definitely happened.”

Across the room, Rachel passed a folder to Tim without looking at him, and their fingers just brushed.

Neither reacted.

But Lucy and Angela exchanged a look like detectives who had cracked the case.

“Bradford’s in deep,” Lucy said quietly.

Angela’s eyes sparkled. “And Grace is starting to swim.”

Thursday – 11:38 A.M. – Warehouse District – 911 Call: Trespassing, Possible Hostile

The call was one of those gray-area situations—an unstable individual pacing near a loading dock, possibly armed, definitely erratic. Tim and Rachel arrived first, and by the time they exited the cruiser, another officer had already rolled up behind them.

Officer Dana Cole. Uniformed, steady, known for being cool under pressure. She had worked with Tim once or twice before—backup on a few tactical entries—and always carried herself like someone who never said more than necessary, but always saw more than she let on.

She didn’t interfere. Just flanked wide and hung back, giving them room to move. Rachel took point. She barely had to signal. Tim was already mirroring her. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

The suspect came into view—agitated, pacing. Eyes wild. He grabbed a nearby crowbar without fully processing what he was doing.

Rachel didn’t flinch. Tim didn’t react with force. They moved together, like they had practiced this a hundred times.

Rachel’s voice was firm. Controlled. “LAPD. Drop it. Right now.”

Tim shifted just wide enough to draw the man’s attention—splitting his focus.

Rachel was on him in two steps. Fast. Clean.

Crowbar kicked out of reach. Hands behind his back. Cuffed.

No escalation.

No raised voices.

No chaos.

Just rhythm.

Flawless rhythm.

When it was done, Cole approached slowly, watching as they walked the suspect back to the cruiser.

“Textbook,” she said, low and even.

Rachel nodded once. “Thanks.”

Cole’s eyes shifted between them. Then settled on Tim.

“I’ve worked with you,” she said, level. “Seen you run solo. Seen you adjust to new partners.”

Tim looked at her, waiting.

Cole’s expression didn’t change. But her voice dropped slightly. “This isn’t adjustment. This is synced.”

Tim didn’t reply. Rachel didn’t look over.

But Cole wasn’t done. She met Tim’s gaze again. Calm. Steady. “Whatever’s between you two? It works.”

And with that, she walked off, saying nothing more.

Rachel finally glanced sideways at him as the suspect was loaded into the cruiser.

He raised a brow, voice low. “You want to unpack that?”

Rachel shook her head. “Nope.”

But the corner of her mouth tugged slightly, and for the first time, she didn’t bury it.

Thursday – 12:14 P.M. – Cruiser, En Route Back to Mid-Wilshire

The city slid past the windows in a blur of sun-bleached concrete and faded murals, late morning settling into early afternoon. Traffic was light, for once. No chatter on the radio. Just the low hum of the engine and the rhythm of tires on asphalt.

Tim drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually against the door. His jaw was tight in thought, but not tense. He looked… steady. Like someone who hadn’t been rattled in a long time.

Rachel sat in the passenger seat, body relaxed, one boot resting on the edge of the divider. She was quiet, but not closed off—eyes forward, hand draped near the console.

She spoke without turning her head. “Did you always want to be a cop?”

The question hung in the space between them for a second. Not heavy. Not intrusive. Just curious.

Tim glanced over, then back to the road. “No,” he said.

Simple.

Honest.

Rachel waited.

He let the silence breathe before continuing. “I was Army first. Infantry. A long time ago. Figured I’d do twenty years. Retire early, move somewhere quiet.”

“Didn’t happen?”

Tim shook his head. “Did twelve. Got out. Thought I’d try for something that still mattered. Something I didn’t hate getting up for.”

Rachel absorbed that. She nodded slowly. “You always come off like you were built for it.”

He gave a small smirk. “I get that a lot.”

“But it wasn’t the plan.”

“No,” he said, glancing at her. “The plan changed.”

Rachel shifted slightly in her seat, gaze now on him. “You regret it?”

“Not for a second.” That answer came fast. Clear. Then, quieter: “But I think I regret who I was when I started.”

Rachel tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly—not with judgment, but understanding.

Tim went on. “I was hard. Rigid. Thought control meant competence. Didn’t leave much room for anything else.”

“And now?”

He looked at her. Just for a second. Then back at the road. “Now I try to be someone I wouldn’t have followed back then.”

Rachel didn’t respond right away. But there was a shift in her shoulders. A subtle one. The kind that said she felt that. And when she finally replied, her voice was quieter. Not distant—closer. “That version of you... he’d hate working with me.”

Tim chuckled softly. “No. He’d admire you. He just wouldn’t admit it.”

She looked at him again—really looked. And something passed between them. Not flirtation. Not weight. Just recognition. Of where they’d been. And where they were going.

Thursday – 8:12 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The apartment was dim, bathed in the golden wash of one corner lamp and the city glow spilling through the blinds. A takeout container sat half-finished on the coffee table, forgotten. Her boots were by the door, vest hung up neatly on the back of a chair.

Rachel sat cross-legged on the floor again, same spot as before—knees tucked under her, sketchbook open on the coffee table. The same charcoal pencil rested between her fingers, faint smudges on the side of her hand already.

But this time? She wasn’t sketching from memory. She was sketching from imagination.

The page in front of her bore the early traces of a man—broad shoulders, clean lines of a military cut, a uniform that was more suggestion than detail. Combat boots loosely defined. A rifle slung over his shoulder. No rank insignia. No background setting.

But the posture?

That was real.

Straight, grounded. A soldier standing still because stillness was power. Arms crossed in front of him—not defensive, but disciplined. She sketched the face slowly. Not quite the Tim Bradford she knew now.

Younger. Edges harder. Mouth tighter. Not smiling. But not cruel. Eyes alert. Serious. And something behind them that even her pencil couldn’t quite shape—a quiet fight between duty and doubt.

She paused, chewing lightly on the edge of her thumb, staring at the image. It wasn’t perfect. It probably wasn’t accurate. But it was her interpretation of who he might have been—before the LAPD, before Wilshire, before her.

She thought about what he’d said in the car.

"Now I try to be someone I wouldn’t have followed back then."

Her pencil moved again—adjusting the mouth, softening it just a little. Adding a faint crease at the brow. Not from worry. From weight. From responsibility. When she finally set the pencil down, she didn’t feel exhausted.

She felt... settled. There was something intimate about seeing him like this—not as he was now, calm and measured—but as he might have been. Rougher. Stricter. Less open. But still him. Still Tim.

Rachel sat back against the couch, the sketchpad open on the table in front of her. And for a long while, she just looked at it. Not with longing. Not with confusion. But with understanding.

She didn’t want to romanticize him. She just wanted to know who he had been. Because now… she was starting to see who he really was.

Friday – 10:52 A.M. – On Patrol, Driving Through Hancock Park

It was one of those rare lulls. Nothing urgent on the scanner, just minor traffic alerts and a lost dog report. The kind of patrol shift where the rhythm was steady and the quiet wasn’t tense—it was comfortable.

Tim was driving. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console. He looked relaxed, gaze sweeping the quiet, tree-lined street ahead of them.

Rachel sat in the passenger seat, right elbow near the door, one hand curled around her coffee cup. The windows were cracked slightly, letting in the breeze.

They weren’t talking. They didn’t need to. And then—softly, casually, but deliberately—Rachel spoke. “I used to think I’d end up in a museum.”

Tim glanced at her, just for a second. “Working there?”

“No. Painting for one.”

He didn’t smile, didn’t comment. Just… listened.

Rachel took another sip of coffee. “When I was fifteen, I thought I’d move to New York. Rent a studio the size of a closet. Starve, probably. Paint.”

Tim was quiet a beat, then said, “Sounds like a solid plan.”

“It was terrible,” she replied, dryly. “But I was all in.”

He watched her now, not with amusement, but with interest. “What changed?”

Rachel shrugged one shoulder. “Life. Reality. The way art starts to feel like indulgence when the world is on fire.”

She looked out the window. “I stopped painting the year I joined the academy. Told myself I’d come back to it eventually.”

“And?”

“Never did.”

Another quiet stretch passed between them.

Then—

“I started again,” she said, voice quieter now. “This week.”

Tim didn’t react right away. Just looked at her again—long enough that she could feel the weight of his attention, but not in a way that pressed. “What brought it back?”

Rachel’s fingers curled tighter around the cup. “Someone left supplies on my doorstep.”

His expression softened. He didn’t say you're welcome. He didn’t say I’m glad. He just nodded. Like he understood what it meant that she said it at all.

She turned her gaze to him. “It’s not much. Just sketches. But… it feels like something again.”

Tim gave a quiet, thoughtful exhale. “Then it’s everything.”

Rachel didn’t smile. But her whole face eased, just a little. And when they drove on, the silence wasn’t filled with ghosts or grief—

Just respect.

And the slow unfolding of two people learning each other by choice.

Friday – 6:13 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Rear Lot

The sun was just beginning its descent, the sky painted in soft pastels—orange melting into lavender, brushing the rooftops with warmth. The buzz of the station was still audible behind them, doors swinging, boots echoing across tile, but out here?

It was calm.

Rachel stepped out first, duffel slung over her shoulder, hair tied back tight from a long day. She didn’t look tired, not exactly—but she looked like she had given the day all she had, and she was ready to let it go.

Tim exited moments after, falling into pace beside her naturally—not by plan, just coincidence.

They didn’t speak.

They walked the length of the parking lot together in silence, the way people do when words aren’t needed to fill space. Their cruisers were parked only a few spots apart, angled slightly under the glow of an old streetlamp flickering awake.

Rachel reached her car first. Tim stopped beside his. She opened her door, keys in hand. And then she noticed—

He hadn’t moved.

Rachel glanced over.

Tim stood by the driver's side of his truck, one hand resting against the door. His expression was thoughtful, like he was still weighing something. And then—

He looked at her. And spoke. Quiet. Casual. But intentional. “You like movies?”

Rachel blinked. “Movies?”

Tim nodded. “Old ones. Black-and-white. I know a place that does 1950s reruns Friday nights. It’s nothing fancy. Just… simple.”

She stared at him a second too long. And for a beat, she almost defaulted—almost fell back on the shrug, the excuse, the subtle withdrawal.

But something stopped her. Maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the way he didn’t press. Just reached. Delicately. Genuinely. Rachel shifted her bag higher on her shoulder.

“What’s playing?” she asked.

Tim’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “To Catch a Thief.”

Her brow arched. “Cary Grant and Grace Kelly.”

He nodded.

Rachel hesitated only a second more. And then— “I’d love to.”

Tim’s smile deepened—not triumphant, not surprised. Just warm. “Starts at eight,” he said. “Small place off La Brea. I can text you the details.”

She gave a single nod. Then, softer—“Yeah. Text me.”

They stood there for a moment longer, the hum of a warm evening settling in around them. And when they parted—Rachel climbing into her car, Tim into his truck—there was no awkwardness.

No question about what it meant. Just two people choosing each other, slowly. Deliberately.

And for the first time—

Rachel didn’t feel afraid of what came next.

Friday – 7:16 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Bedroom

Rachel stood in front of the mirror, towel-drying the ends of her hair, staring at her reflection like it had answers. She wasn’t in uniform. Not tonight.

Laid out on the bed was a soft navy sweater, a black jacket, jeans that fit without trying too hard. Her boots—not tactical, but familiar.

She hadn’t worn makeup in weeks, but tonight… she added just enough to smooth the edges. Not for him. Not to impress. Just so she’d feel present. She paused once with the mascara wand in hand, catching herself in the mirror.

“Relax,” she muttered under her breath.

But her pulse was steady. Her hands didn’t shake. The nerves were there—but they weren’t fear. They were something closer to hope.

Friday – 7:52 P.M. – La Brea Retro Theater, Outside Marquee

The building was old, brick and art deco touches still intact. A weathered marquee read FRIDAY FEATURE: TO CATCH A THIEF – 8:00 PM. A small line had begun to form near the ticket booth.

Rachel pulled into a spot just a few feet from the front entrance, turned off the engine, and sat there a moment. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror—not to fix anything, but just to breathe.

Then she stepped out.

Her sweater was simple but flattering, jacket zipped halfway, boots steady against the sidewalk. She tucked her keys into her coat pocket as she crossed the street toward the theater.

And then she saw him.

Tim was already there, leaning against the side of the building near the box office window. He wore jeans and a dark gray henley beneath a black jacket. No badge. No vest. Just Tim.

He looked good. Not polished. Not guarded. Just… comfortable. He spotted her instantly, his expression softening in that way he never used on the job.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she echoed.

They stood a moment, facing each other beneath the glow of the marquee. Neither rushed.

“You look…” He trailed off, not searching for something romantic—just real.

Rachel tilted her head. “Different without Kevlar?”

He smiled. “That too.”

She glanced up at the marquee. “I haven’t been to a movie theater in over a year.”

“You’re in for a good one.”

“You’re not going to quote the whole thing, are you?”

“No promises.”

They stepped into line together. And just like that—

The air shifted.

Not into something charged.

But into something easy.

8:11 P.M. – Inside the Theater

The house lights dimmed. The screen flickered to life, the film grain painting black-and-white shadows across the old velvet curtains. The theater wasn’t packed, just comfortably filled with couples and a few older regulars.

Tim and Rachel sat side by side, not touching, not whispering. But the proximity? It didn’t feel like an accident.

Tim leaned back in his seat, one arm resting on the shared armrest without staking claim. Rachel didn’t flinch away. Her hands stayed folded in her lap for a while—still, calm.

Then, halfway through the film, she leaned in—not dramatically, not emotionally. Just close enough to whisper:

“He really does look like he’s getting away with something every time he smiles.”

Tim grinned, eyes still on the screen. “That’s Cary Grant for you.”

Rachel settled back, the faintest smile playing at her lips. She didn’t realize until that moment— She hadn’t thought about work once since she arrived. And Tim? He didn’t press her for anything.

He just let her be.

And that?

That was exactly what she needed.

Friday – 10:03 P.M. – Outside the La Brea Retro Theater

The movie was over.

The crowd filtered out slowly—older couples arm-in-arm, a few stragglers laughing over lines they remembered, someone humming the score. The air was cooler now, breezing gently down La Brea, the kind of night that made the city feel just a little smaller, a little softer.

Rachel and Tim stepped out together, walking slowly beneath the marquee. The golden letters above them glowed faintly in the quiet, as if reluctant to fade out for the night.

They didn’t speak at first.

There was no need.

Tim tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, glanced sideways at her. “Well?”

Rachel looked ahead, then back at him, lips quirking faintly.

“I forgot how still a movie theater can feel,” she said. “Like the world pauses in there.”

Tim nodded. “That’s kind of the point.”

They stopped near the curb, both standing beside Rachel’s car, bathed in the soft glow of the nearby streetlight. The silence stretched—but not uncomfortably. Not this time.

Rachel didn’t reach for her keys. Didn’t check her phone. She just stood there, eyes on the pavement for a moment… then lifted them to his. “That was good,” she said. “Better than I expected.”

“Because of Cary Grant?”

“Because of the company.”

Tim didn’t react dramatically. Didn’t smirk or flirt or fill the space with something unnecessary. He just watched her. Warm. Grounded. Waiting, not pressing.

Rachel drew in a breath. Let it go slowly. “I almost didn’t say yes,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“But I’m glad I did.”

His voice was quiet. “Me too.”

The breeze brushed past them, rustling her hair against her cheek. She didn’t tuck it away. Didn’t step back. She met his gaze again and asked, simple and soft— “Do you do this often?”

Tim tilted his head. “Retro movie dates?”

“No,” she said. “This. Let someone in.”

He was quiet a moment. Honest. “Not really.”

She nodded, like that answer meant something more than she could say. A beat. Then, with that familiar self-deprecating calm, she added: “Good. I’d hate to think I’m behind schedule.”

Tim smiled, that slow, private one that didn’t quite reach his mouth—but absolutely reached his eyes. “No schedule,” he said. “Just… pacing.”

Rachel’s fingers brushed against the edge of her keys, but she didn’t unlock the door yet. Instead, she said, voice barely above a whisper: “This felt normal.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

And then— Rachel surprised even herself. She stepped just a half-inch closer. Not enough to cross any lines. Not even enough to touch. But enough to stay. Enough to say: This door? It’s not closed.

And Tim, always the one who knew how to wait, stayed right there with her. Not asking for more. Just being. And when they finally parted for the night, it wasn’t with a goodbye.

It was with a look.

And the kind of quiet that promised—

We’ll keep going.

Friday – 10:39 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The door clicked shut behind her with a soft thud.

Rachel leaned her back against it for a beat, keys still in hand, jacket still on. The apartment was dark, save for the sliver of city light bleeding through the blinds. Familiar shadows settled across the room like old memories.

She didn’t move right away. Just stood there. Breathing in the stillness. And realizing—it didn’t feel heavy tonight. It didn’t feel like coming home from a shift, shedding layers of herself at the threshold. It didn’t feel like survival. Or silence. Or grief.

It felt like…

Breathing room.

She set her keys down gently, slid her boots off near the door, then crossed the floor barefoot, shedding her jacket over the back of a chair. She didn’t turn on the lights. Didn’t need them.

She dropped down onto the couch, legs tucked underneath her, and let her head rest back against the cushion. And that’s when it started—the slow, quiet processing. Not in words. In impression.

The way Tim had looked at her—not waiting for her to be someone else, not trying to pull her out of anything. Just being there, steady and patient. The movie had been easy. The space beside him had been easier.

Rachel had forgotten what it was like to sit next to someone and not have to explain herself. To not be observed for signs of fracture. To not be expected to fall apart. She’d laughed. Not because she was trying. But because she wanted to. And when he’d asked her if she liked movies, when he invited her without any expectation… she had said yes.

Not out of politeness. Not out of curiosity. But because she wanted to spend time with him. She exhaled, slow and steady. Then muttered aloud, as if daring herself to say it:

“That felt good.”

Not heavy. Not terrifying. Just good. And maybe that was the most surprising part. Rachel reached across the coffee table, opened her sketchpad to a blank page—but didn’t draw.

Not yet. She just sat there. In the quiet. And realized— She hadn’t felt this version of herself in a long time. And somehow, Tim Bradford had helped her find the way back.

Not by leading. Not by pulling. But by walking beside her. At her pace. And for the first time in years… Rachel wasn’t afraid of where this might go.

Saturday – 3:42 P.M. – Los Angeles, One of the Worst Heatwaves on Record

The heat was brutal.

The kind that didn’t ease up in the shade. The kind that clung to concrete, curled through blinds, and hummed in the air like a warning. By mid-afternoon, LA County had declared a state of emergency for vulnerable areas. Rolling blackouts were underway.

Rachel lay on her couch, motionless.

Sweat beaded at her temple, her tank top clinging to her spine. She had a battery-powered fan pointed straight at her face, but all it did was blow hot air in different directions. Her phone screen glowed dimly at 38% battery.

The power had gone out hours ago. The building was dark. The AC was dead. Her freezer was thawing. Her landlord was unreachable. And still—she stayed. Alone. Because that’s what she did.

She hadn’t told anyone. Wouldn’t. So when her phone buzzed with a text from Tim Bradford of all people, she didn’t expect it.

TIM: You’ve still got power?

She blinked. Frowned.

RACHEL: No. Lost it around noon. Why?

It only took a few seconds.

TIM: Your building’s on the outage map. Most places in that zone are down until Monday.

She sat up, slower than she meant to.

RACHEL: I’ll manage.

This time it took him longer to reply. And when he did—

TIM: Guest room’s open. Power’s solid on my block. I’m not offering because I think you can’t handle it. I’m offering because you shouldn’t have to.

Rachel stared at the screen for a long time. The ceiling fan above her was still as a corpse. Her head ached. Her skin felt tight. And even though pride said she could stay—

Another part of her whispered don’t. And so, with a sigh so quiet it barely left her lips—

She typed.

RACHEL: You sure?

He replied almost instantly.

TIM: Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.

Saturday – 5:09 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Culver City

Tim had the guest room ready by the time Rachel arrived—clean sheets, a ceiling fan going, blinds drawn to block the worst of the sun. The AC was running on low, humming softly through the apartment. The space smelled faintly of lemon and whatever clean laundry soap he used.

He opened the door as soon as she knocked.

Rachel stood in the hallway in a tank top, jeans rolled at the ankle, and an expression caught somewhere between I appreciate this and I still hate asking for help.

Tim stepped aside wordlessly and let her in.

She paused, just a moment, inside the doorway. The apartment was cool. Clean. Lived-in.

“Didn’t know if you’d actually come,” he said, casually.

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted, setting her bag down. “Pride’s a hell of a thing.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim said, closing the door behind her, “it’s about 112 degrees out there. Pride’s not gonna keep your freezer from smelling like a crime scene.”

She smirked. Just a little.

He led her toward the hall.

“Guest room’s this way. Bathroom’s yours too. I’ve got food, water, a couch that doesn’t bite. You need anything—just say so.”

Rachel followed, quiet. The guest room was simple. Comfortable. No frills. But safe. She turned back to him in the doorway. “I mean it,” she said. “Thanks.”

Tim met her eyes, steady. “You’re welcome.” And then, softer— “I know you’d do the same.”

She didn’t respond with words. But her shoulders eased. And in the cool quiet of his apartment, for the first time that day—

Rachel Grace exhaled.

Saturday – 7:43 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Kitchen & Living Room

The sun had finally dipped, but the heat still clung to the windows, pressing in like it hadn’t gotten the memo the day was done. Inside, the apartment held a gentle coolness, the hum of the AC providing the only white noise as the city groaned under its weight.

Rachel sat at the small kitchen table, barefoot, her hair pulled back in a loose tie. She wore a soft t-shirt now—borrowed from her own overnight bag—and a pair of black cotton shorts. No armor. No gear. Just her.

Tim moved around the kitchen like he belonged there. Because he did. He had a towel slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled to the elbow as he moved with the kind of quiet precision that made Rachel think yeah… he wasn’t bluffing about being a good cook.

He handed her a glass of cold water without asking. She accepted it, fingers brushing his lightly in the exchange.

“You really made chicken and rice from scratch in this heat?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

Tim gave a modest shrug, grabbing his own plate. “Cooking keeps my hands busy. Besides, it’s light. Keeps well. You’ll want leftovers if they don’t get your power back until Monday.”

She took a bite. Chewed slowly. Then— “…Damn.”

He smirked. “High praise.”

“No, really,” she said, eyes lifting to his. “I didn’t expect good. I expected functional.”

“Years of being single,” Tim said, sitting across from her, “makes you either learn to cook or eat frozen pizza four nights a week.”

Rachel’s lips twitched. “So you're saying you’re good at both.”

“I’ll let you judge that yourself.”

They ate quietly after that. No need for filler words. Just the sound of forks against ceramic and the soft rhythm of two people sharing the same space like it had always been that way.

Later, they moved into the living room.

Rachel sat sideways on the couch, legs curled under her, sipping more water while Tim flipped channels on the muted television. He stopped on a baseball game—not because he was invested, but because it was something to not talk over.

“Been a long time since I stayed at someone’s place,” she said suddenly.

Tim looked over, remote still in hand. “You uncomfortable?”

She shook her head. “No. Just… noticing it.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

A beat.

Then he added— “I know what it’s like to not ask.”

Rachel turned her head toward him, one brow arching slightly.

“I meant what I said,” he continued. “You didn’t need to ask. You don’t ever have to. Not with me.”

Her throat tightened slightly—not from emotion, not from vulnerability, but from recognition. She nodded, slowly. “Okay.”

Tim leaned back into the cushions, letting the silence settle in again. Rachel watched the flicker of the TV across his profile. Then she said, almost offhandedly—

“You hum when you cook.”

Tim turned to her, slightly surprised. “I do?”

“Yeah.” She took another sip. “Wasn’t bad. Kind of grounding.”

Tim grinned faintly, shaking his head. “That’s a first.”

They both smiled. Nothing moved beyond that. But the air between them was soft. Familiar. And as the hours passed, the quiet didn’t grow awkward or stale. It grew warm. Lived-in.

And when Rachel finally rose, stretching a little, she murmured, “I think I’ll crash.”

Tim stood, nodded. “Guest room’s yours. Door sticks a little—just push through.”

Rachel paused halfway down the hall. Looked back. Not uncertain. Just aware. “Thanks again, Tim.”

His voice was quiet. “Anytime, Rachel.”

She lingered one more beat. Then disappeared down the hallway. And for the first time in what felt like years, both of them slept in a home that felt like peace.

Sunday – 7:06 A.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Guest Room

The morning sun crept in through the closed blinds, strips of light brushing softly across the hardwood floor. It was quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes before the city remembers it's supposed to be loud.

Rachel blinked her eyes open slowly, the unfamiliar ceiling above her not jarring, but strange in a soft way. Not cold. Not clinical. Just… different. Then the scent hit her.

Warm.

Steady.

Coffee.

She sat up slowly, stretching the sleep from her arms and shoulders. The air in the apartment was cool, the ceiling fan above spinning lazily. No oppressive heat. No flickering electricity. Just a home that worked, humming in quiet efficiency.

Rachel padded barefoot across the hall, hair still messy, one hand running through it as she adjusted the collar of her t-shirt. She expected silence. Instead, she heard movement in the kitchen. Soft clinks of mugs. Something low playing from the speaker—instrumental, barely above a whisper.

Tim.

He stood at the counter in a faded t-shirt and sweats, hair still damp from a shower. He was barefoot too, focused on pouring coffee with the kind of morning calm that made it look like this was routine. When he glanced up and saw her, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile too much either. He just offered her something quieter.

Welcome.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she murmured, rubbing at her eyes.

“Hope you like your coffee strong.”

She stepped closer, nodding. “Like my partners.”

He smirked at that, slid one of the mugs toward her across the counter. No questions about how she slept. No comments about the night. Just coffee. Offered like it wasn’t unusual.

Rachel took it, her fingers curling around the warm ceramic. She took a sip, and her eyes closed for just a second. “Perfect,” she said, voice still gravelly from sleep.

Tim leaned against the opposite counter, his own mug in hand. They didn’t talk right away. They just stood there, drinking, the morning stretching between them like a thread neither of them felt the need to pull. Then Rachel glanced around, taking in the quiet.

“This feels… weird,” she admitted.

Tim tilted his head. “Good weird or bad weird?”

She looked at him. Really looked. And said, honestly—

“I don’t know yet. But I don’t hate it.”

Tim’s smile was faint, but something in his eyes shifted. “You don’t have to figure it out today.”

She took another sip. “You always say the right thing?”

“Only on Sundays.”

Rachel chuckled softly, then leaned a hip against the counter, settling in. And just like that—

The day began.

No badge. No noise. No pressure. Just two people, side by side. Learning the shape of quiet together.

Sunday – 1:17 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Living Room

The world outside was still sweltering—waves of heat rising off pavement, streets shimmering under the glare. But inside Tim’s apartment, the air was cool, the lights low, the space quiet.

The television played a black-and-white movie—not for drama, just ambiance. Something slow and old. Rachel didn’t know the title. Didn’t care.

She was on one end of the couch, knees pulled up slightly beneath her, a throw blanket draped over her legs. Her tank top was loose, and her posture, for once, unconcerned. She held a glass of cold water in one hand, resting it on her thigh as her head tilted slightly toward the cushions.

Tim sat at the other end, barefoot, relaxed, not in her space, but in her presence. A bowl of snacks rested on the coffee table between them, mostly untouched. The remote was somewhere nearby, but neither had reached for it in over twenty minutes.

She’d been quiet for a while. Not withdrawn—just settled. Tim glanced over once, instinctively. And he saw it. Her eyes closed. Not from discomfort. Not from tension. Just… stillness.

Her breathing had slowed. Her hand had fallen to the couch, the glass now resting carefully on the nearby coaster. Her shoulders were loose, her jaw slack, the kind of sleep that only came when the body no longer feared interruption.

Rachel Grace was asleep. And she looked… peaceful. No shadows behind her eyes. No furrow in her brow. No trace of the woman who used to sleep like she was bracing for a war.

Tim didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He simply sat there, gaze steady on the screen, eyes flicking back to her now and then. The trust in her silence meant more than any words she’d ever spoken.

Eventually, he reached down—slow, careful—and pulled the edge of the blanket a little higher over her legs, just enough to cover her bare feet. Then he leaned back, the soft hum of the film washing through the room, and let her sleep. Because she was safe here.

And he’d make damn sure she stayed that way.

Sunday – 2:03 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Living Room

The old movie had drifted into its third act, the soundtrack soft, low strings humming through the quiet apartment. Tim hadn’t moved. Not much, anyway. Just shifted his posture once, refilled their waters, and returned to the couch, giving Rachel the space she didn’t even know she needed to keep resting.

Until now.

Rachel stirred. It was subtle—a twitch of her fingers, a deeper breath, a shift beneath the blanket as her head tilted slightly to the side. Her eyes opened slowly. Then blinked. And again.

Tim turned his head just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye.

She took in her surroundings—the dim light, the low murmur of the television, the fact that she’d curled further into the throw blanket at some point without realizing it.

And then she looked at Tim. Sleep still clung to her voice. “…How long was I out?”

Tim’s voice was soft. “About forty minutes.”

Her eyes flicked to the TV, then back to him. Her mouth pressed into the faintest line. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“I—” She sat up straighter, clearing her throat. Her fingers smoothed the blanket unconsciously. “I don’t usually—sleep like that. In front of anyone.”

Tim didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. He just watched her for a beat. Calm. Unmoving. Then said, quiet but steady— “You were safe. That’s what mattered.”

Rachel looked at him, jaw tightening slightly as if to brace—but there was no need. His words didn’t demand anything. They released something. She breathed out. Long. Slow. And let her posture soften again, just a little. “…I really was,” she said.

Tim nodded. And then—gentle amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth— “You drool a little.”

Rachel blinked. Then narrowed her eyes.

Tim held up both hands. “Just a little.”

Her lips twitched despite herself. “You sure you want to be poking at someone who’s a trained shooter?”

“I like living dangerously.”

She shook her head, the corner of her mouth lifting into something closer to a smile than she’d shown all week. And when she settled back into the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around her legs, she didn’t pull away from the comfort—

She leaned into it. And Tim? He just sat back, turned the volume up a notch, and let her be. Because that’s what mattered now. Not the badge. Not the past.

Just this.

Sunday – 4:38 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Living Room

The sun was beginning to dip behind the buildings across the street, turning the walls of Tim’s apartment gold. The heat still pulsed outside, but inside, it was calm. Cool. Steady.

Rachel stood near the window, phone pressed to her ear, one arm folded across her chest. Tim watched her from the kitchen, where he was rinsing out their water glasses.

She didn’t say much. Just nodded. Said, “Okay. Thanks.” And hung up.

Tim stepped into the archway. “Power still out?”

She didn’t look at him right away. Just stared at the phone in her hand for a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah,” she said. “They’re projecting tomorrow night now. Could be later.”

She said it lightly, like she was already making peace with going back anyway. “Was thinking I could just head back,” she added. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Rachel.”

She looked over.

“You’re not imposing,” he said. His voice was calm. Certain. No cracks of discomfort. No hint of performative kindness. Just truth. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t fine with you staying.”

Rachel let the silence sit between them. Not because she doubted him—but because she didn’t know how to accept that kind of care without apology. Her arms dropped to her sides slowly. And then, just barely, she nodded. “Okay.”

Tim stepped forward slightly, not pressing, just easing into the space. “You need anything from your place? Extra clothes, maybe your uniform?”

That’s when she looked at him—really looked—and said, simply: “I brought extras.”

She watched it register. Tim didn’t react with surprise or teasing. Just quiet understanding. “You were ready to stay longer than a night.”

It wasn’t a question.

Rachel held his gaze, then gave a faint shrug. “I didn’t know if I’d say yes when you offered. But… some part of me hoped I would.”

Tim nodded once. Said nothing more. Because that? That was enough. And it mattered more than either of them was quite ready to name.

Rachel sat back down on the couch, folding one leg under the other, phone resting on the cushion beside her. She picked up her water, took a sip, and glanced over at him. “Thanks. For not making it weird.”

Tim leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “I like having you here,” he said.

Simple. Honest. Her expression didn’t change much. But her chest rose with a quieter kind of breath. One that didn’t carry tension.

Just acceptance.

Sunday – 6:19 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Kitchen

The kitchen wasn’t big, but it was functional—clean lines, decent counter space, a pan already heating on the stove with olive oil just starting to shimmer. The windows were cracked to let the heat out, and the last light of the day was slipping across the floor in long, golden lines.

Rachel stood near the fridge, barefoot again, her hair in a loose braid over one shoulder. She held a bundle of green onions in one hand, a soft kitchen towel in the other, eyes narrowing at the label of a jar Tim had just handed her.

“Sesame ginger?” she asked, skeptically. “That’s a bold choice.”

Tim smirked, stirring the contents of a pan with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. “You say that like I haven’t already mapped out the entire flavor profile.” “You planning to audition for Top Chef?”

“I’d rather eat in peace and not be yelled at by Gordon Ramsay.”

Rachel set the green onions down and reached for a cutting board. “So, stir-fry?”

“Chicken, snap peas, bell pepper, rice. Simple. Clean. Balanced.”

She glanced at him sideways. “You say that like we’re fueling for a mission.”

Tim met her eyes. “We kind of are. The mission? Survive this heat wave with minimal suffering and good seasoning.”

Rachel let out a quiet laugh. It caught her off guard.

Tim noticed. But didn’t say a word.

She started chopping while he moved beside her to drain the rice. They didn’t bump into each other. Didn’t step on toes. They just moved—fluid, instinctive, like they’d been doing this longer than a weekend.

“You always this prepared?” she asked, watching him sprinkle sesame seeds onto the chicken in the pan.

“Old habit. If I can control one part of the day, I start in the kitchen.”

Rachel nodded. “Makes sense.” Then, after a beat: “I used to bake.”

Tim blinked. “Really?”

She nodded, sliding the chopped onions into a bowl. “Mostly bread. Cinnamon rolls on Sundays, sometimes. Back before…” She trailed off.

Before everything. Before Jake. Before the grief.

Tim didn’t press. Just said, “You know, I’ve got yeast in the pantry.”

Rachel shot him a look. “That’s not an invitation to challenge me.”

Tim smiled. “Why not? Sounds like you’re overdue for a comeback.”

Rachel shook her head, but her smile lingered.

As they cooked, the kitchen filled with the scent of ginger, garlic, and soy. The sizzle of the pan was the only noise between their words. Occasionally their hands brushed—reaching for a spoon, passing a bowl—but neither of them flinched.

It wasn’t romantic. Not yet. It was ease. Comfort. Trust building in inches. Once everything was plated and on the table, Tim poured water into two glasses and set them down.

Rachel picked up her fork and took the first bite. Stopped. “Okay,” she said around a mouthful. “I admit it. This is good.”

Tim gave a half-grin. “Try not to sound so surprised.”

She lifted her fork in a small salute. “You win this round.”

He raised his glass. “Plenty more to come.”

And they ate. Not as partners. Not as people still grieving the ghosts of who they’d been. But as two people finding something new in the quiet.

Sunday – 7:42 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Kitchen

The plates were mostly empty, forks resting across them, the last few sips of water going warm in their glasses. Outside, the sun had dipped completely, and the apartment glowed with soft amber light from the overhead fixture.

Tim started to reach for the plates.

Rachel stopped him with a look. “I’ve got it.”

He opened his mouth to protest—but the set of her brow, the quiet certainty in her eyes, said this wasn’t up for debate. She stood, gathering the dishes with practiced ease, and carried them to the sink. Tim stayed where he was at first—watching her move. She didn’t rush. Didn’t tense. Just started rinsing, her sleeves pushed up, hair tucked behind one ear.

Tim rose quietly, leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You know I wasn’t fishing for a chore trade.”

Rachel didn’t glance back. “I know.”

Water ran. Soap bubbled. The rhythm of her movement was easy—comfortable in a way neither of them would’ve predicted a week ago. “It’s not about paying you back,” she added. “I just… don’t want to feel like I’m taking up space.”

Tim tilted his head. “You’re not.”

She finally looked over her shoulder. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Rachel turned back to the sink. Rinsed. Stacked the plates neatly in the drying rack.

A quiet settled in again. And then she said, voice lower now: “It’s been a long time since someone made space for me like this.”

Tim didn’t speak. Didn’t rush in to fill the silence.

She kept going. “Jake did. Once. But even then, we were both always moving. Always looking for the next call, the next threat. Even when we were home, it felt like the job still had a grip on us.”

She shut off the water. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. “The stillness. The… safe parts.”

Tim stepped forward, not close, just enough to be heard fully. “You don’t have to know how.”

She turned, drying her hands slowly.

He met her gaze. “You just have to let it happen.”

Rachel’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Then, softer: “You make it easy.”

Tim didn’t smile. But something deep in his chest eased. “Good,” he said.

And they stood there for a moment in the soft kitchen light. No rush to move. No next thing to do. Just them. Side by side. Finding peace, not in what they said—but in what they didn’t need to.

Sunday – 7:46 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Kitchen

The water had been turned off. The dishes were done. The air was still warm from the stove, the scent of soy and ginger fading slowly. But Rachel hadn’t moved from the sink. She stood with the towel in her hand, gaze low, fingers absently fidgeting with the frayed corner.

Tim hadn’t moved either. He stood just a few feet away, arms at his sides now, leaning lightly against the edge of the counter. He didn’t push. He never pushed.

Rachel finally spoke again—quiet, steady, her voice low in the space between them. “I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

Tim didn’t ask what this meant. He already knew.

She kept her eyes on the towel, folding it slowly now, almost unconsciously. “I thought I was fine. After everything. After Jake. After the transfer. Just doing the job. Keeping the rhythm.”

A breath.

“But I wasn’t living. I was… holding my breath.” She looked up. Right at him. “And this weekend? I exhaled.”

Tim’s jaw flexed, just once. He met her eyes with that same quiet steadiness. “You’ve earned that breath a hundred times over.”

Rachel gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Maybe. But I didn’t even realize how much I missed this kind of quiet.”

Tim didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “I have.”

She stilled.

“I’ve missed it too,” he added. “Quiet that doesn’t feel like something’s missing. Just… safe. Solid.”

He didn’t move closer. Didn’t take her hand. But there was something in his voice that settled over her like warmth.

Rachel leaned back slightly against the sink, the towel now folded perfectly in her hands. “I don’t know what this is,” she said, softly. “You and me. Or where it’s going.”

Tim nodded. “I’m not asking you to define it.”

“Good,” she murmured. “Because I don’t have the language yet.”

“You don’t need language.” He gave her a small, gentle look. “You’re already saying it.”

Rachel let the silence stretch, her grip on the towel loosening, her body unwinding slowly—inch by inch. This was new. Not the conversation. Not even the moment. But the fact that she let it happen. That she didn’t bolt. Didn’t armor up. Just stood there.

Open.

And Tim? He didn’t do anything more than what he’d been doing all along— He stood with her. Not to hold her up. Not to pull her forward. Just to be the person she could exhale next to.

And for the first time in years…

Rachel felt like maybe she could breathe again tomorrow, too.

Sunday – 9:11 P.M. – Bradford’s Apartment, Living Room

The apartment had dimmed into its nighttime rhythm. The last of the dinner warmth had faded from the kitchen. Outside, the city buzz had quieted beneath the weight of the heat, and in here, the air was still cool, still steady.

Rachel stood at the hallway entrance, wrapped in a soft silence.

She’d changed into a sleep shirt—simple, black cotton, just brushing her thighs. Her hair was down, tousled from the braid earlier, and her bare feet made no sound against the hardwood.

Tim sat on the couch, barefoot, legs stretched out, one arm draped loosely along the back cushion. The television was still on, but muted now, the flicker of soft colors casting light across the room.

Rachel didn’t say she was going to bed. Not yet. She just hovered there, fingers brushing the edge of the hallway wall. Not tense. Not unsure.

Just reluctant.

Like if she left the room, something might shift.

Tim didn’t fill the space with noise. He didn’t offer her a reason to stay or a prompt to go. He just watched her with the same patience he always gave her—

Room to breathe.

Her eyes lifted to meet his. She opened her mouth like she might say goodnight. And then didn’t. She lingered. Half a beat longer. Then a whole one.

Tim’s voice, low and steady, broke the quiet—not to break the moment, but to hold it. “You don’t have to go just yet.”

Rachel exhaled softly, barely audible. “I know,” she said.

And stepped forward.

She moved slowly, deliberately—not toward the couch, but close. Just enough that the space between them narrowed. She didn’t sit. Didn’t touch. But she stood there, facing him, hands loose at her sides, head tilted slightly.

It wasn’t about proximity. It was about trust.

Tim looked up at her, not moving, not assuming. Letting her decide.

She searched his face for something—confirmation, maybe. Ground.

And he gave it without saying a word.

Her voice, when it came, was softer than before. “Is this okay?”

His answer was immediate. “Yeah.”

Rachel nodded. And took one final step. She sat beside him—not quite touching, but close enough to feel the warmth where their legs might’ve brushed. Her thigh angled just barely toward his.

Not curled up. Not retreating. Just here. With him. They didn’t talk. The television flickered softly, casting silver light across her cheek, the side of his jaw. And when she leaned back into the cushions, her shoulder just barely brushing his—

Tim didn’t move away. He didn’t move closer either. He let her set the pace. Let her claim the closeness. And together, they sat—

In the quiet.

In the comfort.

In the presence of something new that neither of them rushed to name.

Because it was enough.

That she stayed.

Tag List: @immastealurkneecaps, @maybefanficting, @kmc1989, @fuckingsimp4azriel

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here!

[lightdancingwords]

Me too! 🥰 Thank you for commenting!

Second Chances: Forever - Part Twenty of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever. Word Count: 6,153 Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut/smut, fluff, a touch of medical/pregnancy concern A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Twenty: Ringing The Alarm

The clinic room was peaceful in its own way—muted tones, soft lighting, the kind of quiet that usually comforted Y/N during her routine check-ups. She sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table, one hand resting absently over the swell of her belly, eyes tracing the mobile hanging from the ceiling above the monitor. A paper cutout of a bear floated in slow, lazy circles. Her baby moved faintly beneath her palm.

She smiled, small and calm.

Until the door opened, and Dr. Thomas entered with her usual warmth—but a touch more weight behind her eyes.

“Hi, Y/N,” she greeted, sitting on her stool and rolling a little closer. “Everything with baby looks great—heartbeat’s strong, measurements are right where they should be. But I want to go over your vitals before you leave.”

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly. “Okay.”

The doctor folded her hands. “Your blood pressure has increased again—slowly, but steadily since your twelve-week appointment. And I want to talk to you about what that might mean moving forward.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening slightly over her belly.

“We’re not in a danger zone yet,” Dr. Thomas reassured her. “But you’re eighteen weeks, and this kind of trend is something we don’t ignore—especially not in a pregnancy with multiple young children at home, and especially given how preeclampsia develops.”

Y/N’s heart gave a quiet flutter. “You think it might be… that?”

Dr. Thomas was honest but gentle. “It’s too early to say. But preeclampsia can begin showing signs with elevated blood pressure. And while it's most commonly diagnosed in the third trimester, we do sometimes see signs earlier. What’s important now is monitoring closely and adjusting anything we can—diet, rest, stress levels.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, nodding again.

“You’ve already got a lot on your plate—young children, a full house, a partner in law enforcement. You’re not doing anything wrong, Y/N,” she added quickly, seeing the guilt flicker in her patient’s eyes. “This isn’t something you cause. But it is something we need to take seriously. If it progresses, it can become dangerous for both you and the baby.”

“What happens if it does?” Y/N asked quietly.

“Depends on how early, how high, and how fast,” the doctor replied. “Sometimes we can manage it with more frequent monitoring and rest. In more serious cases, it can mean hospitalization. We’d talk about that if we had to. But we’re not there now.”

The room was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the faint rhythmic hum of the monitor still tracking her baby’s heartbeat.

Y/N nodded, the information settling like a quiet weight in her chest—not panic, but a deep awareness. “So we take it seriously. We pay attention.”

Dr. Thomas nodded. “Exactly. You don’t have to live in fear. But don’t brush off the signs either. If you get headaches that don’t go away, sudden swelling, or any changes in vision, you call immediately. And let your partner help. I know it’s hard to slow down, especially when you're used to taking care of everyone else. But now, it’s your turn to be looked after, too.”

Y/N offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes—but it was grateful. “Thank you.”

They scheduled an earlier follow-up, and when she walked out into the Montana daylight, the warmth on her face grounded her a little more.

In the car, she sat still for a beat, processing it all. Not spiraling—but aware. And then she called Beau.

“Hey,” he answered on the first ring. “Everything alright?”

“Mostly,” she said. “Baby’s perfect. But my blood pressure’s climbing again.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, his voice low and firm. “What’d they say?”

She relayed it all—Dr. Thomas’s calm but clear explanation, the mention of preeclampsia, the next steps.

Beau didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, his voice cracked just enough to reveal how tightly he was holding himself together.

“I’m comin’ home,” he said. “I want to be there with you. We’ll make whatever changes we have to. Just… thank you for tellin’ me. For not carrying it alone.”

“I never do,” she said quietly.

And she didn’t.

Because Beau wasn’t just her husband. He was her partner in all of it—the joy, the mess, the fear, the hope. And now, more than ever, they’d lean on that bond.

Together.

Beau’s truck pulled into the driveway barely an hour after Y/N had returned home. She hadn’t expected him to drop everything, but when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel, saw the familiar silhouette through the window—broad shoulders, purposeful stride—her heart cracked open a little with relief.

She stood in the kitchen, a hand resting on the edge of the counter, the other gently curled over the curve of her belly. Caleb sat in his high chair gnawing on a teether, while Eliza knelt on the floor with crayons spread around her like a battlefield of color, narrating a story about a wolf prince and his magical blueberry crown.

Beau stepped through the front door, his eyes finding hers instantly.

He gave her a small, quiet smile—one of those rare ones that said everything he didn’t need to say aloud. She smiled back, her heart thudding soft with love.

“Hey, Daddy!” Eliza chirped without looking up. “You’re home early! Did the crime-fighting wolves send you back for backup?”

Beau crouched beside her and kissed the top of her head. “They sure did. Needed someone strong to help Mama today.”

“I am strong,” Eliza said seriously, flexing both arms. “But I’m also busy making wolf maps.”

“Then I’ll handle the backup part,” Beau said gently, rising and walking to Y/N.

They met at the kitchen island, his hands reaching for her waist, hers finding his shirt like second nature. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, slow and steady, then pulled back just enough to look at her—really look.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I am now.”

They stood like that for a moment longer before the soft sound of Caleb babbling brought them back to the present. Beau glanced at the kids and lowered his voice.

“Wanna step outside? Just for a minute.”

She nodded again, and they both moved easily, fluidly—two people used to sharing space and weight and life.

Eliza looked up. “Where are you going?”

“Just outside for a minute, sweetheart,” Y/N said. “You keep working on that map. Daddy and I need to make a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“For making sure things stay peaceful in the kitchen,” Beau said with a wink.

“Tell the wolves I said hi,” she called after them.

They stepped onto the porch, the door clicking softly behind them. The wind was cool and gentle, brushing across the yard in slow, sweeping breaths.

Beau turned to her, his hand resting over hers on the railing. “Tell me everything. I want to hear it from you.”

So she did—again. Slower this time, more measured. She told him about the rise in blood pressure, the doctor’s concern, the explanation of preeclampsia, the plan for closer monitoring. She repeated Dr. Thomas’s gentle warning about rest, about stress, about slowing down.

And Beau listened, every line in his face drawn tight with focus.

When she finished, he pulled her in again, his hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed a kiss there.

“I hate that I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she said, tucking her face into his chest. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “You just reminded me how much I love you. And how damn hard I’ll fight to keep you safe.”

They stood like that a moment longer—quiet, close, anchored.

Then Beau exhaled and gently pulled back. “Alright. We keep things calm. Keep meals easy. You stay off your feet when you can. I’ll handle more with the kids. We do this smart.”

Y/N looked up at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “We already do.”

Inside, Eliza’s voice echoed faintly—something about a crown that needed polishing.

They both smiled, then slipped back into the house, side by side, ready to keep walking forward.

Together.

That evening, after the children were in bed and the house had grown still, Beau stood alone in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a notepad in hand and the weight of the day quietly settled on his shoulders.

The porch light cast long shadows across the floor, and in the hush that followed bedtime lullabies and sleepy whispers, he let himself think—really think—about what Y/N needed, and how he could give it to her without her feeling like the world had shifted too much beneath her feet.

She wouldn’t ask him to change anything. He knew that. She’d downplay the pressure, the fatigue, the slow increase in blood pressure as just another hurdle. That was who she was—steady, resilient, fiercely protective of the normal, even when it cost her everything.

But Beau had seen the flicker of concern in her eyes, the way her hand hovered just a little longer over her belly when she didn’t think anyone was watching.

And that was enough.

He jotted a few notes on the pad—meals he could prep ahead, errands he could handle before coming home from work. He could swap a couple of his longer patrol days with Carter or Jenny, maybe shift his hours just a little. He didn’t need to explain everything—just say it was a family adjustment.

Because it was.

He’d make it work.

He had to.

He opened a cabinet and started pulling down ingredients—nothing elaborate. Just what he needed to prep tomorrow’s dinner in advance. Something warm and easy to reheat. Maybe some soup and roasted vegetables. Comfort food without the work.

He moved quietly, setting things aside, scribbling a grocery list as he went. They had a babysitter for the day after tomorrow—he’d use the time to stock up on meals he could freeze. That way Y/N wouldn’t have to cook unless she wanted to.

He’d even thought about bringing Margaret back for a few days—but not just yet. Not unless Y/N asked. He didn’t want to take away her independence. He just wanted to support it.

After he finished, he rinsed the cutting board and wiped down the counter, the sound of water soft and steady in the sink.

Then he padded down the hall to check on the kids—Caleb fast asleep with one arm flung out, Eliza curled around her favorite plush. He adjusted their blankets, kissed their foreheads, and returned to the bedroom where Y/N lay curled on her side, half-asleep, the softest smile on her lips as she stirred at the sound of his entrance.

“You okay?” she murmured, barely lifting her head.

“Yeah,” he said, stripping down to his T-shirt and boxers before sliding in beside her. “Just made a few notes. Gonna make the next few weeks easier on you.”

“You’re already doing so much,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed again.

Beau slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close until her back fit perfectly against his chest. “I love you,” he said into her hair. “And I’m gonna take care of you, whether you’re carrying a baby or just carrying the whole family like you always do.”

She gave a soft sound of gratitude, her hand finding his and lacing their fingers together.

And as the silence folded around them again, Beau let his plans settle deep into his bones—not grand gestures, not dramatic shifts.

Just love.

One steady, quiet adjustment at a time.

The next morning came gently.

No shrieks. No banging of sippy cups or declarations of wolf patrols. Just light filtering through the curtains, soft and golden, the kind that always made the world feel slower, easier.

Beau stirred first.

His arm was already around Y/N, tucked beneath the swell of her belly where it rested naturally in the crook of her side. Her back was warm against his chest, her breaths deep and even, her hair spilling over the pillow in a dark wave. He didn’t move, not yet. He just stayed there, listening to the rhythm of her breathing and the faint, muffled cooing of doves outside the window.

This—this—was what he fought for. The stillness before the noise. The peace that came from knowing she was beside him, safe, warm, alive with the kind of love he still couldn’t fully wrap his hands around.

Y/N shifted slightly, her hand moving to rest over his. “You’re awake.”

“Didn’t want to be,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “But I couldn’t stop watching you sleep.”

She turned a little, just enough to see his face in the soft light. “That’s a little creepy, Sheriff.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling with affection. “The sweetest kind.”

Her smile was slow, tired but real. “Sleep okay?”

“With you? Always.” He moved closer, his hand spreading gently over her bump. “How’re you feelin’ this morning?”

She paused a moment, thoughtful. “Tired. But okay.”

Beau watched her closely. “Really okay?”

Y/N met his gaze, searching it. “I know you’re worried.”

“Damn right I am.”

She sighed, resting her forehead to his. “I don’t want to be treated like I’m breakable.”

“You’re not,” he said softly. “But you’re carryin’ our baby. And I’ve already got two little wild things out there who look up to you like you hung the moon. I can’t—won’t—risk anything happenin’ to you.”

She kissed him then, quiet and slow. “I know.”

He kissed her back with a kind of ache, the kind that only comes from loving someone so deeply it stretches through your bones.

“Then let me take a little more off your plate,” he said against her lips. “Let me handle the grocery runs. The messes. I’ve got a few deputies who owe me favors. And I can move things around with the babysitter for your next appointment.”

Y/N blinked, the words settling slowly in her chest. “You already started planning?”

“I did,” he admitted. “Last night. Just little things. Just so you don’t have to keep holding it all.”

Her eyes shimmered as she whispered, “You’re a good man, Beau Arlen.”

“No,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I’m just a man who got lucky enough to love you. And smart enough to not take that for granted.”

She pulled him closer, curling into his warmth. “I love you.”

“I know.” His voice was low, tender. “But I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

The rest of the house began to stir—the soft thud of little feet, the giggle of a baby, the faint clang of something being knocked over.

Beau sighed. “That’ll be our wolves.”

Y/N laughed softly, already reaching for the blankets. “Back to the real world.”

He kissed her once more before they sat up—two parents, two partners, two people trying to love each other better than the day before.

And with a smile passed between them, they rose—ready to meet the noise and joy and mess of another day.

Together.

Beau had always been good at reading people.

It came with the job—years of watching body language, listening between the lines, understanding when someone said they were fine but meant anything but. But that skill had only sharpened when it came to Y/N.

He’d known the moment she said “I’m okay” yesterday that she was holding back a little. That she didn’t want to worry him. That she didn’t want to need help.

So now, he was going to help in the way she’d accept—quietly. Steadily. Without making a show of it.

After morning breakfast wrangling and wolf patrol storytelling courtesy of Eliza, Beau kissed his wife softly and headed out the door. He paused with one hand on the knob, looking back.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said.

“I will.”

“You mean it?”

Y/N gave him a look. “Beau.”

He grinned and stepped outside, the door clicking softly behind him.

The day at the department started early, as always. But Beau had arrived an hour ahead of the others. He dropped his bag behind his desk and pulled out the notepad he’d scribbled on the night before.

The first thing he did was place a call to the babysitter they trusted most—the one who knew Eliza’s “wolf rules” and Caleb’s dramatic snack preferences.

“Think you can help out a little more this week?” Beau asked. “Just a few hours, every couple days. Give Y/N a breather.”

The sitter agreed in a heartbeat.

Next, he popped into Doris’s office. She glanced up from her computer, instantly suspicious. “You’re about to ask me for something.”

“I need to swap shifts with Carter next Friday,” Beau said, leaning against the doorway. “Y/N has a follow-up appointment. I want to be there.”

Doris nodded, tapping it into the calendar without question. “Anything else, or just being a responsible husband?”

He smiled faintly. “Both.”

Jenny found him an hour later in the break room, mid-coffee refill.

“You’re in early,” she noted. “Trying to impress someone?”

Beau shrugged. “Got a lot on my plate. Needed the head start.”

She studied him a beat longer, then her tone softened. “How’s Y/N?”

“She’s okay,” he said. “Baby’s okay. But her blood pressure’s creeping up. They’re watching it close. I’m just… trying to make sure I don’t let her carry more than she has to.”

Jenny handed him a new pen from her jacket pocket—one of the good ones. “You’re already doing that just by showing up.”

Back in his office, Beau cleared his schedule as much as he could, pushed unnecessary meetings off his plate, and coordinated with Carter about taking a few patrols off his hands.

By lunch, his notebook had turned into a list of meals to prep, chores to knock out, and quiet plans to give Y/N more space to breathe.

Because she deserved more than just his love.

She deserved his presence. His effort. His partnership.

When Beau pulled into the driveway later that day—an armful of groceries balanced at his side, a bouquet of soft yellow daisies tucked between them—he felt the same weightless peace he always did when he saw that front porch.

Inside was the reason for everything.

And with every adjustment, every shift of his time and his energy, he was telling her without words—

I’ve got you. I always will.

The house was quieter than usual, but not silent. Eliza was in the living room, her latest wolf council meeting currently held between two plushies and a stack of crayons, while Caleb napped in his crib—miraculously, without protest.

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a cup of chamomile tea she hadn’t reheated for once, eyes skimming across the list Beau had left stuck to the fridge that morning.

It was simple. Just a few bullet points scribbled in his familiar, careful hand:

Dinner ideas for the week

Babysitter confirmed for Thursday & Saturday

Eliza’s pre-K forms printed—on my desk

You come first. Let me carry more. I love you.

She blinked at the last line, the words catching somewhere low in her throat.

God, he loved her well.

And it wasn’t just the sweeping gestures or whispered I love yous in bed. It was in the way he noticed when she was too tired to finish folding laundry. In how he picked up more diapers without being asked. In how he spoke with calm certainty when she told him about her rising blood pressure—no panic, just quiet resolve.

This was the man she’d built a life with.

And right now, she was trying—really trying—to let him help her without guilt.

So she let herself slow down.

After breakfast, she’d watched cartoons with Eliza, curled on the couch with her daughter tucked under her arm, both of them munching toast. They’d read two full stories, one of which Eliza insisted she read to Y/N—her words jumbled and mispronounced, but her pride clear.

“You’re resting because the new baby’s growing fast,” Eliza had said matter-of-factly, brushing a crumb from Y/N’s shirt. “It’s okay if you don’t do everything.”

Y/N had smiled and kissed her forehead. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Daddy said it when you were brushing your teeth last night.”

Now, in the quiet that followed, Y/N stood from the table and moved slowly, easing herself into one of the armchairs by the window. She’d resisted resting for rest’s sake, always finding something else that needed to be done. But today—today she listened.

She put her feet up.

She read a few pages of a book.

She closed her eyes for a minute when the sun hit the chair just right.

And when Caleb’s monitor finally crackled to life, she stretched, stood, and moved to his room with the ease of a mother who knew the steps by heart—but with the gentle calm of someone who was finally letting herself breathe.

She scooped him up, nuzzled his cheek, and held him just a moment longer than she had to.

Because this life was beautiful.

Messy. Complicated. Precious.

And for the first time in a while, she felt it fully—without the rush.

Y/N was just finishing wiping down Caleb’s tray after a late afternoon snack—a few abandoned blueberries still clinging to the edge—when she heard the sound of tires on the gravel outside. The familiar engine hum settled into silence, and her breath caught gently in her chest.

She didn’t expect him home yet. Not this early.

A moment later, the front door eased open.

“Hey,” Beau called softly, as if sensing the quiet rhythm of the house and not wanting to disturb it.

Y/N peeked around the corner, Caleb perched on her hip. Eliza popped her head out from behind the couch with a crayon in her hair and glitter stuck to her elbow.

“You’re home,” Y/N said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Surprise,” Beau replied, stepping fully inside. He looked warm and wind-kissed, the faintest line of weariness around his eyes—but something in his expression was brighter. Lighter. “I shuffled things around. Didn’t make sense to stay when I could be here.”

In one hand, he held a brown paper grocery bag. In the other, a small bouquet of soft yellow daisies.

Y/N blinked, touched.

He walked up, kissed her on the cheek, then turned to Caleb. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, giving his son’s round belly a gentle pat. Caleb responded with a delighted squeal and immediately tried to grab the daisies.

“These are for your mama,” Beau said, handing them to Y/N.

“They’re beautiful,” she said softly, brushing her fingers along the petals. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said. “You don’t have to earn rest or softness, Y/N. You deserve it.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, this time lingering a little longer. Then, setting down the groceries, he turned toward Eliza, who had now crept into the kitchen with a suspicious look in her eyes.

“What’s all that?” she asked, pointing to the bag.

“Provisions,” Beau said seriously. “We’ve got soup, fresh bread, a chocolate treat and the ingredients for pancakes tomorrow morning.”

Eliza gasped. “That’s pack celebration food!”

Beau winked. “Exactly.”

He moved with familiar grace through the kitchen—putting the bread away, sliding the soup into the fridge, placing a wrapped chocolate bar high enough that Eliza wouldn’t find it until he handed it over himself. And Y/N stood there, hand on her belly, watching him in quiet wonder.

He had always been good at loving her in the ways that mattered most.

“I made a few more adjustments today,” he said casually as he unpacked. “Shift changes. Babysitter’s lined up through the week. Got the grocery list settled for the next few days, and I’ll take over dinner tomorrow.”

Y/N stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm. “Beau.”

He paused.

“You’re not just helping,” she said quietly. “You’re holding us all together. And I see it. I feel it.”

He looked at her then—soft, full—and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not doing anything more than what you deserve.”

She kissed him again, then pressed Caleb gently into his arms.

“Take this one. He’s been climbing furniture since his nap.”

Beau grinned. “A wild little wolf, huh?”

“The wildest.”

As he moved toward the living room with Caleb tucked against him and Eliza trailing close behind asking questions about pancakes, Y/N gathered the daisies in a jar and set them on the kitchen windowsill. The sun caught the petals just right.

She exhaled slowly.

Loved.

Seen.

And never, ever alone.

Beau sat on the living room floor, his legs stretched out, a toy firetruck resting against one knee, and Caleb crawling in a wide, clumsy circle between him and Eliza. The room pulsed with that cozy afternoon rhythm—sunlight casting warm stripes across the carpet, Eliza narrating a story about “the great wolf feast,” and Caleb occasionally stopping to examine his own fingers like they were new.

Y/N watched from the nearby couch, curled into the cushions with a cup of lukewarm tea in hand and her other resting lightly on her belly. Her smile was lazy, full of that rare sort of peace that came from watching her world be—wild, sweet, noisy, and perfectly intact.

Caleb, still gripping a rubber spoon, paused in front of Beau and looked up with a big, gummy grin.

“Da!” he chirped, tapping Beau’s knee with the spoon.

Beau grinned back. “That’s right, little man.”

But then—without prompting, without fanfare—Caleb turned toward his sister and pointed, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Eliza,” Beau said softly, watching.

Caleb nodded once, almost like he’d made a final decision.

“Ee-sa!”

Beau blinked.

Y/N sat up a little straighter.

Eliza gasped, her crayon rolling off the table. “Did he just—he did! He said my name!”

“Ee-sa!” Caleb repeated proudly, bouncing where he sat.

Beau scooped him up with a laugh, lifting him high in the air. “That’s your sister, alright. You know her now, huh?”

Caleb giggled, delighted by the reaction.

Then, as Beau pulled him in close for a hug, the toddler twisted in his arms and looked toward the couch.

His eyes lit up.

“Mama!”

Y/N froze for just a second, her heart catching so completely it made her breath hitch.

Beau turned, still holding Caleb. “What did you say, buddy?”

Caleb grinned, pointing directly at Y/N, his chubby hand waving.

“Mama.”

Y/N’s smile bloomed slowly, eyes glistening as she set her tea aside and rose to her feet. “Oh, sweetheart…”

She walked over, and Beau lowered Caleb into her arms. The little boy curled into her like he belonged there—which, of course, he did—and tucked his face against her shoulder with a happy little sigh.

Eliza clapped like it was a royal announcement. “He knows all of us now! He said Mama and Da and Ee-sa. That means he’s officially pack-certified!”

Y/N laughed softly, tears threatening the edges of her lashes as she kissed Caleb’s cheek. “You’ve got your whole family in your heart now, don’t you, baby boy?”

Beau wrapped an arm around both of them, his other hand reaching for Eliza to pull her in too. And just like that, they were tangled in a warm, laughing, loving heap of limbs and hearts and words that meant everything.

“Mama,” Caleb murmured again, content and sure.

And Y/N closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the beauty of such a small word carrying such a big, beautiful life inside it.

The scent of rosemary and roasted chicken drifted through the house like an invitation, warm and grounding. Y/N moved through the kitchen at a gentle pace, stirring gravy with one hand, her other resting lightly on the small of her back. Beau hovered close, not hovering in a suffocating way—just present, always ready to step in with a steady hand or a dish towel.

Eliza sat at the dining table, completely engrossed in folding napkins into "wolf scrolls" and assigning each family member an animal title. “Mama,” she said thoughtfully, “you can be the Luna Wolf Queen. Caleb’s the baby Alpha-in-training. And Daddy… you’re the Elder Alpha.”

Beau raised a brow from where he was pouring water into glasses. “Elder?”

Eliza shrugged. “Because you’ve got, you know… those little white hairs in your beard.”

Y/N covered her laugh with a cough. “She’s observant.”

Beau gave Eliza a mock stern look. “That’s distinguished, little wolf.”

“Okay, okay,” Eliza said, waving her hands. “Distinguished Elder Alpha.”

Caleb, bouncing in his high chair, smacked his spoon down and exclaimed, “Ee-sa! Mama! Da!”

Y/N paused in her movements, warmth blooming in her chest all over again. Every time he said it, it struck her fresh. The wonder of it. The rightness.

They sat down to eat, the clink of silverware and the rustle of napkins filling the air between snippets of Eliza’s commentary and Caleb’s delighted babbling. Y/N’s plate was already prepared for her by Beau—he’d made sure she didn’t have to lift a finger more than necessary.

“Everything smells so good,” she said softly, taking a bite and letting herself lean into the moment.

Beau reached across the table, brushing his fingers over hers. “Only the best for my Luna Queen.”

Eliza beamed. “See? I told you the titles made sense!”

As the meal went on, Caleb tried to feed his peas to his stuffed bear. Eliza launched into a dramatic tale involving wolves, forest mushrooms, and a magical teacup. Y/N laughed until her sides ached. Beau wiped mashed carrots off Caleb’s forehead without missing a beat.

The light outside dimmed slowly, golden fading into the dusky lavender of early evening, and still, they lingered—plates half-finished, stories halfway told, love absolutely everywhere.

No one said it aloud, but they all felt it.

This table held more than dinner.

It held belonging.

Y/N leaned into Beau’s side as he stood to clear the dishes, whispering, “Thank you. For this. For today.”

He looked down at her, brushing his lips against her hair. “Thank you for giving me this life.”

And with the children giggling in the background and the last of the warmth lingering in the kitchen, they moved as a unit—this wild, wonderful pack they had created.

Together.

The house had gone still in that way it only ever did after bedtime.

The dishes were done, toys tucked away, and the gentle hum of the baby monitor crackled quietly on the nightstand. The air in their bedroom was cool and quiet, the scent of clean sheets and faint lavender lingering in the space they now called theirs.

Y/N lay curled on her side, already half-drifting when Beau stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, hair slightly damp. He moved quietly, as he always did in the dark—careful, steady—but when he reached the edge of the bed and saw her watching him, something softened even further in his eyes.

She reached out, fingers grazing the back of his hand. “You’re still awake.”

He slid under the sheets beside her, propping himself on one elbow. “Couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, trailing down to rest his hand against her belly. “You. Today. Everything you’re carrying.”

She turned into his touch, her voice soft. “I’m alright, Beau.”

“I know,” he murmured, though the hesitation in his voice lingered. “But still… with your blood pressure, I didn’t want to push. I’ve been holding back. I don’t want to risk anything.”

Y/N shifted closer, threading her hand through his. “Loving me doesn’t put me at risk.”

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”

She leaned in, pressing a kiss just under his jaw, slow and sure. “Then let me show you I’m okay. Let me remind you that I still need this—need you.”

His breath caught, the tension in his shoulders softening as she guided his hand to her waist. His fingers spread instinctively, anchoring to her. His forehead met hers, and he waited—silent, reverent.

“You sure?” he whispered.

She smiled, her voice low. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

So he kissed her—slow, lingering, full of everything he couldn’t say with words. And when he touched her next, it was with the kind of tenderness that spoke of knowing every inch of her. Every shift of breath. Every beat of the life they’d built together.

They moved like a memory. No rush. No urgency. Just reverence.

He whispered her name like it was something sacred, his hand splayed across her belly as he moved within her—measured, patient, full of devotion. She held him close, fingertips tracing the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the heart of the man who never stopped holding her—even when she tried to carry everything alone.

It was quiet between them, soft moans and sighs tucked between kisses and promises spoken only in touch. Their bodies knew the rhythm of love that wasn’t about passion alone—but about presence.

When they came together, it wasn’t a crescendo—it was a deep exhale. A return. A reminder.

After, they lay tangled beneath the covers, limbs still warm, breaths beginning to slow.

Beau brushed the hair from her forehead, still watching her like she might vanish if he blinked. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Y/N smiled, eyes half-closed. “For what?”

“For letting me love you like that,” he whispered. “For being mine.”

She curled closer, her voice the last thread of light before sleep. “Always.”

The first fingers of morning sunlight crept across the bedroom, turning the white sheets a soft, golden hue. Outside, the world was still hushed—no car doors, no barking dogs, no thundering of little feet just yet.

Inside, the bed was a tangle of limbs and warmth, the kind of closeness born from love given and received without walls.

Y/N woke first.

She blinked slowly, savoring the rare stillness, the gentle weight of Beau’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist. His hand rested lightly over the curve of her belly, fingers twitching slightly in sleep, like even in his dreams, he was tethered to her.

She smiled against the pillow, her heart full in that quiet, aching way.

She shifted just enough to turn and face him. Beau slept heavily, his features relaxed, softer than anyone else ever got to see. The faint stubble on his jaw brushed the edge of the pillow, and a few strands of his hair had gone rogue across his forehead. He looked younger like this. Looser.

Beautiful, she thought, pressing a featherlight kiss to his chest where her hand rested.

As if sensing her, he stirred.

His arms tightened around her instinctively, drawing her back into him without even opening his eyes. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice gravelly and deep.

“Morning,” she whispered back, nuzzling against him.

For a long stretch of moments, they just lay there—breathing, being. The kind of intimacy that didn’t need words, that wasn’t rushed or heavy with demands. Just there.

Eventually, Beau tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her hair. “You okay?”

She nodded, smiling. “Better than okay.”

He smiled too, slow and lazy. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on lettin’ you outta bed for a while.”

She chuckled softly. “You planning to call in backup at the station? Explain how the Luna Queen declared a family snuggle day?”

He hummed, his chest vibrating beneath her. “Think Doris would understand. Might even send supplies.”

They fell into a slow, easy kiss—no urgency, just tenderness. The kind that spoke of trust, of promises already kept.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N tucked her head under Beau’s chin, her body perfectly molded against his.

Outside the door, faint footsteps padded along the hall, followed by a muffled giggle.

“The wolves are awake,” Y/N whispered.

Beau sighed with theatrical sorrow. “Our peaceful reign has ended.”

But even as Caleb’s babbling and Eliza’s dramatic storytelling filtered through the crack beneath the door, Beau only held her tighter.

“We’ll take it slow today,” he promised, voice a rough, soft vow. “For you. For the baby. For us.”

Y/N smiled against his skin.

She knew he meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe—deep in her bones—that no matter what came next, they’d carry it together.

One quiet, steady morning at a time.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

[lightdancingwords]

Hehe! Miles likes to surprise me, I think! Wait until you see what I have planned for Friday! 😉

And yeah… CJ and Y/N are just fluffy sweet while Gabby and Miles are just sheer chaos but they work!

Thank you for commenting!

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Thirty-Two of ?

Pairings: CJ Braxton x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: Y/N is a psychology major assigned to shadow CJ at The Stand, unaware he's the one who basically saved her life four years before. CJ is unaware that she's the one who left a notable impact on him over the phone four years ago. As they navigate the work at The Stand, they develop a spark that demands revelation and connection.

Word Count: 4,718

Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut and fluff!

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Dividers: credit to @saradika-graphics

Chapter Thirty-Two: Life After Graduation

The party had faded into soft goodbyes and lingering hugs, the music now just a faint echo in the back of CJ’s mind as he opened the passenger door for Y/N.

She slid in, laughing quietly to herself as she gathered the folds of her dress and smoothed her hand down her hair—an entirely unnecessary gesture, given how adorably rumpled she looked from hours of dancing, hugging, and celebrating.

CJ shut her door with a gentle thunk and rounded the car, heart so full it felt like it could barely fit in his chest.

The drive home was slow, the city around them a blur of warm streetlights and cool night air, windows cracked just enough for the crisp scent of spring to sneak in.

Y/N tilted her head toward him, still giggling under her breath.

“What’s so funny?” CJ asked, smiling without even thinking about it.

She shrugged dramatically, a little tipsy, a lot happy. “Just… everything. Today. Us. Gabby somehow convincing Miles to dance—and then disappearing with him for twenty minutes.” She dissolved into another soft laugh. “It’s all perfect.”

CJ chuckled, reaching over at a stoplight to thread his fingers through hers. “You’re adorable when you’re tipsy.”

“I’m adorable always,” she corrected, squeezing his hand playfully.

“True.”

She smiled at him—glowing, warm, his—and it hit him all over again how deeply, completely he loved her.

When they got home, CJ barely got the door open before Y/N stumbled inside, kicking off her shoes with a little hop and twirl that made him laugh.

She turned back to him, hair falling over one eye, the faintest flush still high on her cheeks.

“You’re staring,” she said, hands on her hips.

CJ dropped the keys in the bowl by the door and walked toward her, slow and certain.

“Can you blame me?” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught as he cupped her face, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, almost like he couldn’t believe his luck even now. “You graduated today. You made it. And you’re mine.”

She swayed into him, her hands sliding up his chest to clutch his shirt lightly. “I’m yours,” she whispered back. “Always.”

He kissed her then—gentle at first, tasting of champagne and laughter and every ounce of love he couldn’t say out loud all at once.

When they broke apart, Y/N sighed happily against him, her body melting into his.

“Best day ever,” she mumbled into his chest.

CJ smiled, resting his chin atop her head, rocking her gently in his arms.

“No,” he said, voice low and full of quiet promise. “Best life ever.”

And in the warm cocoon of their little apartment—no crowds, no cameras, no expectations—CJ and Y/N held onto each other, hearts full, the world outside falling away.

Because home wasn’t just the place they came back to. It was each other.

They stood there for a long, golden moment in the middle of their little living room, Y/N tucked against CJ’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around her. The world outside the walls had faded—the noise, the memories, the complications. There was only the warmth between them, the soft beat of their hearts.

CJ pressed a kiss to the top of her head, ready to suggest they move to the couch, maybe curl up under a blanket and drift off together.

But then Y/N shifted slightly against him, a spark lighting her already bright eyes.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said, a little breathless, a little mischievous.

CJ blinked down at her, startled. “A surprise?” He leaned back enough to study her face. “You have a surprise? Y/N—today was your day. You graduated. You’re the one we’re celebrating.”

She grinned, the edges of her smile teasing and secretive. “Maybe. But I planned this before today. You didn’t think I forgot what we talked about, did you?”

Before he could ask what she meant, she wriggled out of his arms and scampered toward the front closet.

“Y/N…” he called, amused, following a step or two after her. “What are you doing?”

“No peeking!” she said, rummaging around loudly.

CJ stood there, arms crossed, utterly confused but smiling despite himself.

Finally, she emerged, her hand behind her back, her grin wicked. She approached him with a little more drama than necessary, her bare feet padding across the floor until she stood directly in front of him.

And then—

She dropped to one knee.

CJ’s heart stopped.

“Y/N…” he said, part-laughing, part-panicking, part-utterly-astonished.

She pulled her hand forward and opened a small, velvet box.

Inside sat a simple, beautiful white gold ring—elegantly crafted, with delicate snowflake etchings around the band. The same idea they had joked about. Dreamed about. Promised about.

His throat tightened instantly.

Y/N looked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and full of so much love it knocked the air straight out of his lungs.

“CJ Braxton,” she said, her voice trembling just a little, “you asked me to marry you. You gave me the most beautiful ring and the most beautiful promise. And I love you more than words could ever cover.”

She smiled, a little shaky, a little teary.

“And I know you said you didn’t need one. That just having me wear yours was enough. But I want you to have something too. I want everyone to know you’re mine just like I’m yours.”

CJ’s hands were useless at his sides, his chest aching in the best, most overwhelming way.

Y/N lifted the box a little higher.

“So…” she said, a little breathless, a little giddy. “Will you marry me, too?”

CJ dropped to his knees right in front of her, pulling her into his arms so fast and so hard that she squeaked in surprise.

“Yes,” he whispered into her hair. “God, yes.”

She laughed, the sound bright and trembling, as she fumbled to slip the ring onto his left hand.

It fit perfectly.

CJ pulled back just enough to look at it—the white gold catching the soft lamplight, the tiny snowflake etchings delicate but sure, like their promises.

His heart was thundering, a wild, joyful drumbeat.

“You’re unreal,” he murmured, cradling her face in his hands. “How did I get you?”

“You asked,” she teased, breathless. “And I said yes.”

He kissed her then—slow, fierce, full of every impossible, wordless thing he felt.

They sank into the floor right there, tangled together, laughing, kissing, ringed fingers threading between each other like they'd been meant to fit this way all along.

Graduation day. A future in hand. A promise sealed twice over.

And CJ knew, as he held her close, that this—this—was the best surprise of his life.

The soft, stunned laughter between them slowly melted into something quieter, deeper, as they remained there—on the living room floor, wrapped around each other, hearts pounding in perfect, unhurried rhythm.

CJ held Y/N close, his forehead resting against hers, their breathing syncing naturally as if their bodies had long ago decided they belonged together.

He kissed her—first gently, lingering, as if memorizing her all over again. Then deeper, slow and reverent, his hands cradling her face like she was the rarest, most precious thing he'd ever been trusted to hold.

Y/N leaned into him without hesitation, her hands slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt, fingers tracing the familiar planes of his back, his shoulders. She sighed into his mouth, a soft, contented sound that sent a shiver through him.

CJ broke the kiss only to trail his lips across her cheek, down her jawline, along the tender curve of her neck. Every kiss was a vow. Every brush of his hands over her body was a whispered I love you without needing the words.

When he lifted her slightly, gathering her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, she laughed again—breathy and sweet—and clung to him as he carried her toward the bedroom.

He laid her down with care, hovering over her like she was sacred. And when he looked into her eyes, there was nothing rushed, nothing frantic.

Just love. Deep and sure. Quiet and eternal.

CJ touched her as if he had all the time in the world. As if she was a wonder he would never, ever take for granted. His hands slid over her skin in long, slow caresses, his mouth following with feather-light kisses that made her arch beneath him, a soft gasp leaving her lips.

She reached for him, her fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, needing the full, solid weight of him above her.

He entered her slowly, carefully—still watching her, still seeing her. And Y/N's eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening again, her hands cradling his face as she whispered his name, broken and full of wonder.

CJ moved within her with a rhythm that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was love, made real in every shuddering breath, every whispered word, every soft moan that spilled from her lips.

He kissed her through it—kisses slow and lingering, mouths brushing, breaths mingling—like he couldn’t bear to stop touching her, couldn’t bear to be apart even for a second.

When they finally tumbled over the edge together, it wasn’t explosive or chaotic. It was full, rich, and whole—like they had both been holding a breath for years and finally exhaled into each other.

CJ stayed close, tucked against her, still inside her, their bodies molded together like two halves finding a perfect, natural fit.

He stroked her hair, her cheek, her back—long, soothing touches—whispering her name again and again between kisses.

“I love you,” he murmured, over and over, like it was the only truth that mattered.

Y/N pressed kisses to his jaw, his throat, the place where his heart beat wild beneath his skin.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, smiling so tenderly it broke him all over again.

There, wrapped up in each other, rings glinting faintly under the soft bedside lamp, they drifted in the quiet, sacred peace of what they'd built together.

Their future had already begun. And it was more beautiful than either of them had ever dared to dream.

The morning crept in slowly, soft and golden, filtering through the thin curtains in gentle streams.

CJ stirred first, blinking against the early light, still tangled around Y/N, their bodies a warm, perfect sprawl across the bed.

Her head rested against his chest, her arm draped loosely over his waist, one of her legs thrown comfortably across his. She slept with the kind of peace that only came from being absolutely safe—and knowing she was loved.

CJ smiled quietly to himself, running a hand slowly through her hair, trailing his fingers down her bare back in light, lazy patterns. He could feel her steady breathing, the rise and fall of her body so in sync with his own that it felt like there was no space between them at all.

He wasn’t in any hurry to move. Not today. Not ever.

Y/N stirred with a soft sound, a sleepy sigh as she shifted closer, pressing her face more firmly against his chest.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice rough and low, still half in dreams.

CJ kissed the top of her head, his lips brushing her hairline. “Morning, sweetheart.”

She hummed, eyes still closed, one hand tracing random shapes over his ribs. “We have nowhere to be today, right?”

He smiled, feeling the warmth of her even deeper. “Nowhere. No alarms. No plans. Just you and me.”

She peeked up at him through messy hair, her face relaxed, beautiful, shining with that soft Sunday glow. “Perfect.”

CJ couldn’t help it—he leaned down and captured her lips in a slow, sweet kiss. No rush. No urgency. Just the gentle press of mouths meeting, the steady beat of love humming between them.

Y/N smiled against his lips, kissing him again, slow and sleepy. She tasted like dreams and promises, and CJ found himself deepening the kiss, his hands running slowly up and down her back.

When they broke apart, she stayed close, pressing tiny kisses to his jawline, his throat, the hollow of his collarbone.

CJ chuckled lowly. “If this is how Sundays are going to be from now on, I’m never making plans again.”

She giggled into his skin. “Deal.”

They stayed like that for a long time—kissing, talking in soft murmurs, laughing into each other’s necks. Fingers weaving absentmindedly through hair. Arms tightening and loosening in lazy embraces.

Eventually, CJ nudged her gently. “Come on. Let’s stay in bed forever, but at least with pancakes.”

She perked up, sleepy but enthusiastic. “You make pancakes?”

“I make amazing pancakes,” he said, proud.

“Showoff,” she teased, nuzzling his neck.

He kissed her temple. “For you? Always.”

They moved slowly, pulling on clothes at a pace that could barely be called movement. Y/N grabbed one of CJ’s shirts, swimming in it, and he swore his heart about gave out right there.

She caught him staring and winked. “You’re stuck with me, Braxton.”

“Lucky me,” he murmured, tugging her close for another kiss before finally, finally making good on the promise of pancakes.

Their Sunday was full of sweetness. Full of kisses stolen between mixing batter and flipping pancakes. Full of laughter when CJ got flour on his nose and Y/N refused to tell him for half an hour. Full of soft hands, lingering touches, quiet smiles exchanged across a sunlit kitchen.

No expectations. No rush. Just the simple, beautiful certainty that they had built something unshakable together. The whole world could wait. Because today—today—was for them.

The kitchen filled with the warm, homey scent of pancake batter sizzling on the griddle.

CJ stood barefoot by the stove, wearing loose gray sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt, flipping pancakes with an ease that made it clear this wasn’t his first time. He was focused, relaxed, and humming under his breath—something soft and tuneless that made Y/N’s heart flutter in her chest.

She sat at the kitchen table, chin propped in her hand, completely enchanted.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome—though God, was he ever. It was the way he moved, the quiet confidence in every little thing he did for her. The way he made their home feel safe. The way he made her feel seen, cared for, loved without condition or effort.

She wasn’t sure when exactly she’d fallen so deeply in love with him. Maybe she’d always been falling, even before she realized it.

But right now—watching him sprinkle a handful of blueberries into the next batch of pancakes because he knew they were her favorite—it hit her like a tidal wave.

She loved him. In every way there was to love a person.

CJ turned slightly and caught her staring. He smiled—soft, a little crooked—and flipped another pancake onto the growing stack.

“You’re staring,” he said lightly, amused.

Y/N shrugged, grinning. “Can you blame me?”

He walked over, sliding a pancake onto her plate before leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple.

“I’m just making breakfast,” he murmured.

“You’re making magic,” she said, laughing, tugging his shirt lightly as he pulled away. “I think I’m more in love with you right now than I’ve ever been.”

CJ’s smile deepened, something tender flickering in his green eyes. He crouched slightly to meet her gaze at eye level, his hands resting on the edge of the table.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m head over heels for you too. Even when I’m covered in pancake batter.”

Y/N laughed again, the sound bubbling up warm and sweet. She reached out, curling her fingers around the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to kiss him quickly—soft, loving, and sure.

CJ lingered for a second, then straightened with a reluctant sigh. “Eat before they get cold.”

“Yes, sir,” she teased, saluting lazily as she picked up her fork.

He went back to the stove to finish the last few pancakes, humming again.

And Y/N sat there, cutting into the warm, fluffy stack on her plate, feeling so full—not just of breakfast, but of love, of contentment, of absolute certainty that her life with CJ Braxton was the most beautiful, unexpected miracle she'd ever known.

A future built on stolen kisses, quiet Sundays, and blueberry pancakes. The very best kind of life.

Y/N had just taken her second bite of pancake, humming happily at how good it tasted, when her phone buzzed against the table.

She glanced over at CJ, who was busy buttering another stack, and picked it up to check the message.

Gabby.

GABBY:

GUESS WHAT I DID LAST NIGHT!!!!! 😍😜💖

Y/N laughed quietly, already bracing herself, and quickly thumbed a response.

Y/N:

Oh no. What did you do now, Gabby?

CJ looked up at the sound of her muffled giggle but didn’t ask yet, giving her a side glance over the rim of his coffee cup.

The phone buzzed again, and Y/N nearly choked on her sip of juice as she read:

GABBY:

Soooo... closet adventure at the party 😉 (you saw us, right? Don’t lie, you totally saw) BUT THAT’S NOT EVEN THE BEST PART. Afterward, Miles took me home and was the SWEETEST GUY EVER. LIKE, CARRIED-MY-SHOES, KISSED-MY-FOREHEAD SWEET. And he stayed. Just… held me. TALKED to me. I think I’m dead. I’m dating a closet romantic and it’s MILES. 😭💖

Y/N pressed her hand over her mouth, laughing hard enough that CJ finally gave up pretending he wasn’t curious.

He leaned forward, arching a brow. “All right. What’s happening over there?”

Still laughing, Y/N slid her phone over for him to read.

CJ read Gabby’s barrage of texts, his eyes narrowing slightly, scanning, rereading, processing.

“Miles?” he said slowly.

She nodded, grinning.

He pointed at the screen. “Our Miles?”

“Yep.”

CJ blinked, like the words weren’t fully computing. “I mean, we knew they were dating…”

“We did,” Y/N agreed, her smile widening.

“But this?” CJ gestured vaguely at the phone. “Carrying shoes? Forehead kisses? Staying?”

Y/N leaned her chin into her hand, utterly amused. “Apparently, our Miles has a romantic, soft center. Like a grumpy marshmallow.”

CJ sat back in his chair, shaking his head slowly. “Gabby broke him.”

“Gabby redeemed him,” Y/N said, laughing. “Or maybe… maybe he was always like that. Just needed the right hurricane to blow through and shake it out of him.”

CJ gave her a crooked grin, the disbelief finally giving way to something warmer. “Still. Never thought I’d hear the words Miles and romantic hero in the same conversation.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed again. Another text from Gabby.

GABBY:

Just warning you: Double dates are HAPPENING. I’m already planning outfits. Miles is doomed. 😂💕

Y/N showed CJ.

He groaned dramatically, setting his fork down and dropping his forehead onto the table with a quiet thud.

Y/N laughed, reaching across to rub his back in mock sympathy. “Look on the bright side,” she teased. “At least we’re not the ones getting glitter-bombed into coordinating outfits.”

CJ lifted his head enough to glare at her, but his mouth betrayed him—pulling into a smile he couldn’t fight.

“She’s going to make him wear matching shirts, isn’t she?” he said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Y/N said brightly.

CJ shook his head again, chuckling under his breath as he grabbed his coffee. “Poor bastard.”

And as they ate their pancakes, sharing secret smiles and shaking their heads over their friends' unfolding, ridiculous love story, CJ couldn’t help but marvel at it all—

How somehow, against all odds, every chaotic, messy, imperfect part of their lives was weaving into something perfectly whole.

The morning buzzed along with the occasional clink of forks against plates and the lazy warmth of a Sunday with no real plans.

Y/N had just wiped syrup off her finger when her phone buzzed again—Gabby, predictably not even pretending to rein in her enthusiasm.

GABBY:

OKAY BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME. WHAT DID YOU AND MR. TALL-DARK-AND-BROODY DO LAST NIGHT AFTER YOU LEFT?? 👀👀👀

Y/N laughed under her breath, shaking her head, and CJ, who was now refilling her juice glass like the absurdly attentive fiancé he was, raised a questioning brow.

“She wants to know what we did last night,” Y/N explained, smiling.

CJ smirked. “She’s not ready for that answer.”

Y/N, still laughing, thumbed out a reply:

Y/N:

I proposed to CJ. 💍

There was no pause.

Her phone practically exploded in her hand as the screen lit up with Gabby’s immediate reaction.

GABBY:

YOU WHAT YOU PROPOSED??????? 😱😱😱

Y/N could practically hear Gabby’s squeal through the screen.

CJ leaned over, reading the incoming messages, amused. “You broke her brain.”

“She’ll recover,” Y/N said, typing quickly:

Y/N:

Yep. I got him a ring. Snowflake pattern. Like we talked about. Got down on one knee and everything.

GABBY:

I AM SCREAMING. YOU’RE LIVING IN A NORA ROBERTS NOVEL. NEXT YOU’LL BE MOVING INTO A QUAINT LITTLE COTTAGE WITH A WRAPAROUND PORCH. I LOVE THIS FOR YOUUUU. 🥰💕

Y/N laughed so hard she had to set her phone down, clutching her stomach.

CJ grinned, still utterly enchanted by her laughter. “Nora Roberts, huh?”

“She says we’re living in a romance novel now,” Y/N said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Probably expecting dramatic thunderstorms and declarations in the rain next.”

CJ reached across the table, taking her hand, twining their fingers together.

“We don’t need rain,” he said quietly, smiling at her in that way that still left her breathless. “You’re already everything I ever wanted.”

Y/N’s heart flipped, full to bursting.

She squeezed his hand, picked her phone back up with her free one, and typed:

Y/N:

Honestly? If this is a Nora Roberts novel, I’m never putting the book down. ❤️

Gabby’s reply came instantly.

GABBY:

YOU’RE GONNA HAVE SUCH PRETTY BABIES. 😭😭😭

Y/N laughed again, cheeks flushing, and CJ just leaned back in his chair, looking smug and very pleased with himself.

“Let her plan the double dates,” he said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll just keep living the happy ending.”

And in that sunlit kitchen, with pancake crumbs on their plates and love humming warm between them, Y/N knew—they were only just beginning.

After breakfast, they didn’t rush to clean up.

The plates stayed on the table, the leftover pancakes covered loosely with a napkin, forgotten in favor of the warm pull of the living room sofa.

Y/N curled up against CJ, her legs tucked beside her, her head resting on his chest. His arm draped lazily around her shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns over her hand.

Every so often, he turned his hand slightly to brush his thumb over her engagement ring—the delicate sparkle of it catching the light, sending tiny flares across the soft room.

He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first. It was unconscious—habitual—this need to touch her, to ground himself in the certainty of her being here, hers, his, theirs.

Y/N shifted slightly, pressing her hand more firmly into his.

CJ stared at the ring for a long moment, a quiet thought stirring at the edges of his mind. He hadn’t planned to say anything. It was too soon, really. Too big.

But the words rose anyway.

Soft. Tentative.

“Have you ever thought about kids?” he murmured, almost to himself.

Y/N blinked, lifting her head a little to study his face.

He wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t planning. Just wondering.

Her heart squeezed tenderly.

“I used to be scared of it,” she admitted after a beat, her voice low and honest. She shifted so she could see him better, her hand never leaving his. “My childhood... it left marks. Made me think maybe I wasn’t built to be a good parent. I spent a long time worrying I'd hurt a child the way I got hurt.”

CJ’s thumb stilled over her ring, his other hand coming up to cradle her cheek, brushing a lock of hair away from her face.

“You wouldn’t,” he said, sure, steady. “Not in a million years.”

She smiled, small and real. “Maybe I believe that now. Because of you.”

He pressed his forehead gently to hers, letting her feel his steady breathing.

“I don’t need it,” he whispered. “Not to love you. Not to have a future with you. You’re already everything to me.”

“I know,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But... if we ever decided to? I wouldn’t be opposed.” She smiled a little more, a twinkle of amusement dancing in her tired eyes. “One or two. Maybe.”

CJ’s heart expanded in his chest, big enough to hurt in the best way.

“One or two, huh?” he said, his voice thick with warmth. “Little hurricanes.”

“Little pieces of you,” she corrected softly, her thumb brushing his cheek. “And maybe a little of me too.”

He kissed her then—soft and lingering, a promise without words. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday. The dream was there now, stitched quietly between them, tucked inside the folds of their life.

Someday.

And for now, wrapped up in each other on their small sofa with the morning sun still warming the room, that dream was more than enough.

The soft, slow rhythms of their morning bled naturally into the rest of the day.

Eventually, with a shared smile and reluctant sighs, CJ and Y/N slid off the couch and wandered back to the kitchen, hand in hand. Their fingers remained loosely entwined as they moved around each other with a kind of lazy, tender ease, like a dance they’d practiced a thousand times without ever realizing it.

CJ rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and gathered the dishes, stacking them with quiet efficiency. Y/N rinsed plates and mugs, stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. But he always caught her. He'd grin over his shoulder. She'd laugh. It was easy. It was theirs.

When she passed by him to grab the dish soap, CJ caught her waist, tugging her gently back against him. She let out a small squeak of laughter, her wet hands suspended midair.

“CJ,” she giggled, twisting slightly. “I’m literally holding a sponge.”

“I’ll risk it,” he said, kissing her neck, savoring the simple, intoxicating fact that he could. That they had the whole day to waste, wrapped up in each other.

They eventually managed to finish the dishes—sort of. It involved more stolen kisses than it probably should have, and the drying towel somehow ended up draped over CJ’s head at one point, courtesy of Y/N’s playful hand.

He retaliated with a kiss that left her breathless and laughing, pressed against the counter, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, smiling up at him.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “You have no idea.”

When the kitchen was finally, finally clean, they stood there for a moment, arms still around each other, basking in the rare simplicity of it all.

No deadlines. No schedules. No expectations.

Just a lazy Sunday, the house smelling like coffee and pancakes, the windows open to a cool breeze that stirred the curtains and carried in the soft hum of the city beyond.

“Come back to the couch with me,” CJ said quietly, his hand smoothing up her spine.

Y/N tipped her head, pretending to consider. “Only if there’s cuddling involved.”

“Endless cuddling,” he promised, smiling that slow, devastating smile that made her knees a little weak.

And so they drifted back to the couch, collapsing into a warm tangle of limbs and laughter.

They lay there, CJ stretched out with Y/N sprawled half on top of him, her hand resting over his heart, their legs tangled beneath the throw blanket.

Nothing urgent. Nothing pulling them away. Just the deep, certain kind of love that came with being. With staying.

The kind of love built not just in grand moments, but in the quiet ones— the dishes, the soft kisses, the endless, easy Sundays where the world stopped spinning for a while. Right there, in the safety of each other’s arms, CJ and Y/N knew: they had everything they ever needed.

Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @star-yawnznn, @hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other story I’m writing!

[lightdancingwords]

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Thirty-Two of ?

Pairings: CJ Braxton x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: Y/N is a psychology major assigned to shadow CJ at The Stand, unaware he's the one who basically saved her life four years before. CJ is unaware that she's the one who left a notable impact on him over the phone four years ago. As they navigate the work at The Stand, they develop a spark that demands revelation and connection.

Word Count: 4,718

Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut and fluff!

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Dividers: credit to @saradika-graphics

Chapter Thirty-Two: Life After Graduation

The party had faded into soft goodbyes and lingering hugs, the music now just a faint echo in the back of CJ’s mind as he opened the passenger door for Y/N.

She slid in, laughing quietly to herself as she gathered the folds of her dress and smoothed her hand down her hair—an entirely unnecessary gesture, given how adorably rumpled she looked from hours of dancing, hugging, and celebrating.

CJ shut her door with a gentle thunk and rounded the car, heart so full it felt like it could barely fit in his chest.

The drive home was slow, the city around them a blur of warm streetlights and cool night air, windows cracked just enough for the crisp scent of spring to sneak in.

Y/N tilted her head toward him, still giggling under her breath.

“What’s so funny?” CJ asked, smiling without even thinking about it.

She shrugged dramatically, a little tipsy, a lot happy. “Just… everything. Today. Us. Gabby somehow convincing Miles to dance—and then disappearing with him for twenty minutes.” She dissolved into another soft laugh. “It’s all perfect.”

CJ chuckled, reaching over at a stoplight to thread his fingers through hers. “You’re adorable when you’re tipsy.”

“I’m adorable always,” she corrected, squeezing his hand playfully.

“True.”

She smiled at him—glowing, warm, his—and it hit him all over again how deeply, completely he loved her.

When they got home, CJ barely got the door open before Y/N stumbled inside, kicking off her shoes with a little hop and twirl that made him laugh.

She turned back to him, hair falling over one eye, the faintest flush still high on her cheeks.

“You’re staring,” she said, hands on her hips.

CJ dropped the keys in the bowl by the door and walked toward her, slow and certain.

“Can you blame me?” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught as he cupped her face, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, almost like he couldn’t believe his luck even now. “You graduated today. You made it. And you’re mine.”

She swayed into him, her hands sliding up his chest to clutch his shirt lightly. “I’m yours,” she whispered back. “Always.”

He kissed her then—gentle at first, tasting of champagne and laughter and every ounce of love he couldn’t say out loud all at once.

When they broke apart, Y/N sighed happily against him, her body melting into his.

“Best day ever,” she mumbled into his chest.

CJ smiled, resting his chin atop her head, rocking her gently in his arms.

“No,” he said, voice low and full of quiet promise. “Best life ever.”

And in the warm cocoon of their little apartment—no crowds, no cameras, no expectations—CJ and Y/N held onto each other, hearts full, the world outside falling away.

Because home wasn’t just the place they came back to. It was each other.

They stood there for a long, golden moment in the middle of their little living room, Y/N tucked against CJ’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around her. The world outside the walls had faded—the noise, the memories, the complications. There was only the warmth between them, the soft beat of their hearts.

CJ pressed a kiss to the top of her head, ready to suggest they move to the couch, maybe curl up under a blanket and drift off together.

But then Y/N shifted slightly against him, a spark lighting her already bright eyes.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said, a little breathless, a little mischievous.

CJ blinked down at her, startled. “A surprise?” He leaned back enough to study her face. “You have a surprise? Y/N—today was your day. You graduated. You’re the one we’re celebrating.”

She grinned, the edges of her smile teasing and secretive. “Maybe. But I planned this before today. You didn’t think I forgot what we talked about, did you?”

Before he could ask what she meant, she wriggled out of his arms and scampered toward the front closet.

“Y/N…” he called, amused, following a step or two after her. “What are you doing?”

“No peeking!” she said, rummaging around loudly.

CJ stood there, arms crossed, utterly confused but smiling despite himself.

Finally, she emerged, her hand behind her back, her grin wicked. She approached him with a little more drama than necessary, her bare feet padding across the floor until she stood directly in front of him.

And then—

She dropped to one knee.

CJ’s heart stopped.

“Y/N…” he said, part-laughing, part-panicking, part-utterly-astonished.

She pulled her hand forward and opened a small, velvet box.

Inside sat a simple, beautiful white gold ring—elegantly crafted, with delicate snowflake etchings around the band. The same idea they had joked about. Dreamed about. Promised about.

His throat tightened instantly.

Y/N looked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and full of so much love it knocked the air straight out of his lungs.

“CJ Braxton,” she said, her voice trembling just a little, “you asked me to marry you. You gave me the most beautiful ring and the most beautiful promise. And I love you more than words could ever cover.”

She smiled, a little shaky, a little teary.

“And I know you said you didn’t need one. That just having me wear yours was enough. But I want you to have something too. I want everyone to know you’re mine just like I’m yours.”

CJ’s hands were useless at his sides, his chest aching in the best, most overwhelming way.

Y/N lifted the box a little higher.

“So…” she said, a little breathless, a little giddy. “Will you marry me, too?”

CJ dropped to his knees right in front of her, pulling her into his arms so fast and so hard that she squeaked in surprise.

“Yes,” he whispered into her hair. “God, yes.”

She laughed, the sound bright and trembling, as she fumbled to slip the ring onto his left hand.

It fit perfectly.

CJ pulled back just enough to look at it—the white gold catching the soft lamplight, the tiny snowflake etchings delicate but sure, like their promises.

His heart was thundering, a wild, joyful drumbeat.

“You’re unreal,” he murmured, cradling her face in his hands. “How did I get you?”

“You asked,” she teased, breathless. “And I said yes.”

He kissed her then—slow, fierce, full of every impossible, wordless thing he felt.

They sank into the floor right there, tangled together, laughing, kissing, ringed fingers threading between each other like they'd been meant to fit this way all along.

Graduation day. A future in hand. A promise sealed twice over.

And CJ knew, as he held her close, that this—this—was the best surprise of his life.

The soft, stunned laughter between them slowly melted into something quieter, deeper, as they remained there—on the living room floor, wrapped around each other, hearts pounding in perfect, unhurried rhythm.

CJ held Y/N close, his forehead resting against hers, their breathing syncing naturally as if their bodies had long ago decided they belonged together.

He kissed her—first gently, lingering, as if memorizing her all over again. Then deeper, slow and reverent, his hands cradling her face like she was the rarest, most precious thing he'd ever been trusted to hold.

Y/N leaned into him without hesitation, her hands slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt, fingers tracing the familiar planes of his back, his shoulders. She sighed into his mouth, a soft, contented sound that sent a shiver through him.

CJ broke the kiss only to trail his lips across her cheek, down her jawline, along the tender curve of her neck. Every kiss was a vow. Every brush of his hands over her body was a whispered I love you without needing the words.

When he lifted her slightly, gathering her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, she laughed again—breathy and sweet—and clung to him as he carried her toward the bedroom.

He laid her down with care, hovering over her like she was sacred. And when he looked into her eyes, there was nothing rushed, nothing frantic.

Just love. Deep and sure. Quiet and eternal.

CJ touched her as if he had all the time in the world. As if she was a wonder he would never, ever take for granted. His hands slid over her skin in long, slow caresses, his mouth following with feather-light kisses that made her arch beneath him, a soft gasp leaving her lips.

She reached for him, her fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, needing the full, solid weight of him above her.

He entered her slowly, carefully—still watching her, still seeing her. And Y/N's eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening again, her hands cradling his face as she whispered his name, broken and full of wonder.

CJ moved within her with a rhythm that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was love, made real in every shuddering breath, every whispered word, every soft moan that spilled from her lips.

He kissed her through it—kisses slow and lingering, mouths brushing, breaths mingling—like he couldn’t bear to stop touching her, couldn’t bear to be apart even for a second.

When they finally tumbled over the edge together, it wasn’t explosive or chaotic. It was full, rich, and whole—like they had both been holding a breath for years and finally exhaled into each other.

CJ stayed close, tucked against her, still inside her, their bodies molded together like two halves finding a perfect, natural fit.

He stroked her hair, her cheek, her back—long, soothing touches—whispering her name again and again between kisses.

“I love you,” he murmured, over and over, like it was the only truth that mattered.

Y/N pressed kisses to his jaw, his throat, the place where his heart beat wild beneath his skin.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, smiling so tenderly it broke him all over again.

There, wrapped up in each other, rings glinting faintly under the soft bedside lamp, they drifted in the quiet, sacred peace of what they'd built together.

Their future had already begun. And it was more beautiful than either of them had ever dared to dream.

The morning crept in slowly, soft and golden, filtering through the thin curtains in gentle streams.

CJ stirred first, blinking against the early light, still tangled around Y/N, their bodies a warm, perfect sprawl across the bed.

Her head rested against his chest, her arm draped loosely over his waist, one of her legs thrown comfortably across his. She slept with the kind of peace that only came from being absolutely safe—and knowing she was loved.

CJ smiled quietly to himself, running a hand slowly through her hair, trailing his fingers down her bare back in light, lazy patterns. He could feel her steady breathing, the rise and fall of her body so in sync with his own that it felt like there was no space between them at all.

He wasn’t in any hurry to move. Not today. Not ever.

Y/N stirred with a soft sound, a sleepy sigh as she shifted closer, pressing her face more firmly against his chest.

“Morning,” she murmured, voice rough and low, still half in dreams.

CJ kissed the top of her head, his lips brushing her hairline. “Morning, sweetheart.”

She hummed, eyes still closed, one hand tracing random shapes over his ribs. “We have nowhere to be today, right?”

He smiled, feeling the warmth of her even deeper. “Nowhere. No alarms. No plans. Just you and me.”

She peeked up at him through messy hair, her face relaxed, beautiful, shining with that soft Sunday glow. “Perfect.”

CJ couldn’t help it—he leaned down and captured her lips in a slow, sweet kiss. No rush. No urgency. Just the gentle press of mouths meeting, the steady beat of love humming between them.

Y/N smiled against his lips, kissing him again, slow and sleepy. She tasted like dreams and promises, and CJ found himself deepening the kiss, his hands running slowly up and down her back.

When they broke apart, she stayed close, pressing tiny kisses to his jawline, his throat, the hollow of his collarbone.

CJ chuckled lowly. “If this is how Sundays are going to be from now on, I’m never making plans again.”

She giggled into his skin. “Deal.”

They stayed like that for a long time—kissing, talking in soft murmurs, laughing into each other’s necks. Fingers weaving absentmindedly through hair. Arms tightening and loosening in lazy embraces.

Eventually, CJ nudged her gently. “Come on. Let’s stay in bed forever, but at least with pancakes.”

She perked up, sleepy but enthusiastic. “You make pancakes?”

“I make amazing pancakes,” he said, proud.

“Showoff,” she teased, nuzzling his neck.

He kissed her temple. “For you? Always.”

They moved slowly, pulling on clothes at a pace that could barely be called movement. Y/N grabbed one of CJ’s shirts, swimming in it, and he swore his heart about gave out right there.

She caught him staring and winked. “You’re stuck with me, Braxton.”

“Lucky me,” he murmured, tugging her close for another kiss before finally, finally making good on the promise of pancakes.

Their Sunday was full of sweetness. Full of kisses stolen between mixing batter and flipping pancakes. Full of laughter when CJ got flour on his nose and Y/N refused to tell him for half an hour. Full of soft hands, lingering touches, quiet smiles exchanged across a sunlit kitchen.

No expectations. No rush. Just the simple, beautiful certainty that they had built something unshakable together. The whole world could wait. Because today—today—was for them.

The kitchen filled with the warm, homey scent of pancake batter sizzling on the griddle.

CJ stood barefoot by the stove, wearing loose gray sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt, flipping pancakes with an ease that made it clear this wasn’t his first time. He was focused, relaxed, and humming under his breath—something soft and tuneless that made Y/N’s heart flutter in her chest.

She sat at the kitchen table, chin propped in her hand, completely enchanted.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome—though God, was he ever. It was the way he moved, the quiet confidence in every little thing he did for her. The way he made their home feel safe. The way he made her feel seen, cared for, loved without condition or effort.

She wasn’t sure when exactly she’d fallen so deeply in love with him. Maybe she’d always been falling, even before she realized it.

But right now—watching him sprinkle a handful of blueberries into the next batch of pancakes because he knew they were her favorite—it hit her like a tidal wave.

She loved him. In every way there was to love a person.

CJ turned slightly and caught her staring. He smiled—soft, a little crooked—and flipped another pancake onto the growing stack.

“You’re staring,” he said lightly, amused.

Y/N shrugged, grinning. “Can you blame me?”

He walked over, sliding a pancake onto her plate before leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple.

“I’m just making breakfast,” he murmured.

“You’re making magic,” she said, laughing, tugging his shirt lightly as he pulled away. “I think I’m more in love with you right now than I’ve ever been.”

CJ’s smile deepened, something tender flickering in his green eyes. He crouched slightly to meet her gaze at eye level, his hands resting on the edge of the table.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m head over heels for you too. Even when I’m covered in pancake batter.”

Y/N laughed again, the sound bubbling up warm and sweet. She reached out, curling her fingers around the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to kiss him quickly—soft, loving, and sure.

CJ lingered for a second, then straightened with a reluctant sigh. “Eat before they get cold.”

“Yes, sir,” she teased, saluting lazily as she picked up her fork.

He went back to the stove to finish the last few pancakes, humming again.

And Y/N sat there, cutting into the warm, fluffy stack on her plate, feeling so full—not just of breakfast, but of love, of contentment, of absolute certainty that her life with CJ Braxton was the most beautiful, unexpected miracle she'd ever known.

A future built on stolen kisses, quiet Sundays, and blueberry pancakes. The very best kind of life.

Y/N had just taken her second bite of pancake, humming happily at how good it tasted, when her phone buzzed against the table.

She glanced over at CJ, who was busy buttering another stack, and picked it up to check the message.

Gabby.

GABBY:

GUESS WHAT I DID LAST NIGHT!!!!! 😍😜💖

Y/N laughed quietly, already bracing herself, and quickly thumbed a response.

Y/N:

Oh no. What did you do now, Gabby?

CJ looked up at the sound of her muffled giggle but didn’t ask yet, giving her a side glance over the rim of his coffee cup.

The phone buzzed again, and Y/N nearly choked on her sip of juice as she read:

GABBY:

Soooo... closet adventure at the party 😉 (you saw us, right? Don’t lie, you totally saw) BUT THAT’S NOT EVEN THE BEST PART. Afterward, Miles took me home and was the SWEETEST GUY EVER. LIKE, CARRIED-MY-SHOES, KISSED-MY-FOREHEAD SWEET. And he stayed. Just… held me. TALKED to me. I think I’m dead. I’m dating a closet romantic and it’s MILES. 😭💖

Y/N pressed her hand over her mouth, laughing hard enough that CJ finally gave up pretending he wasn’t curious.

He leaned forward, arching a brow. “All right. What’s happening over there?”

Still laughing, Y/N slid her phone over for him to read.

CJ read Gabby’s barrage of texts, his eyes narrowing slightly, scanning, rereading, processing.

“Miles?” he said slowly.

She nodded, grinning.

He pointed at the screen. “Our Miles?”

“Yep.”

CJ blinked, like the words weren’t fully computing. “I mean, we knew they were dating…”

“We did,” Y/N agreed, her smile widening.

“But this?” CJ gestured vaguely at the phone. “Carrying shoes? Forehead kisses? Staying?”

Y/N leaned her chin into her hand, utterly amused. “Apparently, our Miles has a romantic, soft center. Like a grumpy marshmallow.”

CJ sat back in his chair, shaking his head slowly. “Gabby broke him.”

“Gabby redeemed him,” Y/N said, laughing. “Or maybe… maybe he was always like that. Just needed the right hurricane to blow through and shake it out of him.”

CJ gave her a crooked grin, the disbelief finally giving way to something warmer. “Still. Never thought I’d hear the words Miles and romantic hero in the same conversation.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed again. Another text from Gabby.

GABBY:

Just warning you: Double dates are HAPPENING. I’m already planning outfits. Miles is doomed. 😂💕

Y/N showed CJ.

He groaned dramatically, setting his fork down and dropping his forehead onto the table with a quiet thud.

Y/N laughed, reaching across to rub his back in mock sympathy. “Look on the bright side,” she teased. “At least we’re not the ones getting glitter-bombed into coordinating outfits.”

CJ lifted his head enough to glare at her, but his mouth betrayed him—pulling into a smile he couldn’t fight.

“She’s going to make him wear matching shirts, isn’t she?” he said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Y/N said brightly.

CJ shook his head again, chuckling under his breath as he grabbed his coffee. “Poor bastard.”

And as they ate their pancakes, sharing secret smiles and shaking their heads over their friends' unfolding, ridiculous love story, CJ couldn’t help but marvel at it all—

How somehow, against all odds, every chaotic, messy, imperfect part of their lives was weaving into something perfectly whole.

The morning buzzed along with the occasional clink of forks against plates and the lazy warmth of a Sunday with no real plans.

Y/N had just wiped syrup off her finger when her phone buzzed again—Gabby, predictably not even pretending to rein in her enthusiasm.

GABBY:

OKAY BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME. WHAT DID YOU AND MR. TALL-DARK-AND-BROODY DO LAST NIGHT AFTER YOU LEFT?? 👀👀👀

Y/N laughed under her breath, shaking her head, and CJ, who was now refilling her juice glass like the absurdly attentive fiancé he was, raised a questioning brow.

“She wants to know what we did last night,” Y/N explained, smiling.

CJ smirked. “She’s not ready for that answer.”

Y/N, still laughing, thumbed out a reply:

Y/N:

I proposed to CJ. 💍

There was no pause.

Her phone practically exploded in her hand as the screen lit up with Gabby’s immediate reaction.

GABBY:

YOU WHAT YOU PROPOSED??????? 😱😱😱

Y/N could practically hear Gabby’s squeal through the screen.

CJ leaned over, reading the incoming messages, amused. “You broke her brain.”

“She’ll recover,” Y/N said, typing quickly:

Y/N:

Yep. I got him a ring. Snowflake pattern. Like we talked about. Got down on one knee and everything.

GABBY:

I AM SCREAMING. YOU’RE LIVING IN A NORA ROBERTS NOVEL. NEXT YOU’LL BE MOVING INTO A QUAINT LITTLE COTTAGE WITH A WRAPAROUND PORCH. I LOVE THIS FOR YOUUUU. 🥰💕

Y/N laughed so hard she had to set her phone down, clutching her stomach.

CJ grinned, still utterly enchanted by her laughter. “Nora Roberts, huh?”

“She says we’re living in a romance novel now,” Y/N said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Probably expecting dramatic thunderstorms and declarations in the rain next.”

CJ reached across the table, taking her hand, twining their fingers together.

“We don’t need rain,” he said quietly, smiling at her in that way that still left her breathless. “You’re already everything I ever wanted.”

Y/N’s heart flipped, full to bursting.

She squeezed his hand, picked her phone back up with her free one, and typed:

Y/N:

Honestly? If this is a Nora Roberts novel, I’m never putting the book down. ❤️

Gabby’s reply came instantly.

GABBY:

YOU’RE GONNA HAVE SUCH PRETTY BABIES. 😭😭😭

Y/N laughed again, cheeks flushing, and CJ just leaned back in his chair, looking smug and very pleased with himself.

“Let her plan the double dates,” he said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll just keep living the happy ending.”

And in that sunlit kitchen, with pancake crumbs on their plates and love humming warm between them, Y/N knew—they were only just beginning.

After breakfast, they didn’t rush to clean up.

The plates stayed on the table, the leftover pancakes covered loosely with a napkin, forgotten in favor of the warm pull of the living room sofa.

Y/N curled up against CJ, her legs tucked beside her, her head resting on his chest. His arm draped lazily around her shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns over her hand.

Every so often, he turned his hand slightly to brush his thumb over her engagement ring—the delicate sparkle of it catching the light, sending tiny flares across the soft room.

He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first. It was unconscious—habitual—this need to touch her, to ground himself in the certainty of her being here, hers, his, theirs.

Y/N shifted slightly, pressing her hand more firmly into his.

CJ stared at the ring for a long moment, a quiet thought stirring at the edges of his mind. He hadn’t planned to say anything. It was too soon, really. Too big.

But the words rose anyway.

Soft. Tentative.

“Have you ever thought about kids?” he murmured, almost to himself.

Y/N blinked, lifting her head a little to study his face.

He wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t planning. Just wondering.

Her heart squeezed tenderly.

“I used to be scared of it,” she admitted after a beat, her voice low and honest. She shifted so she could see him better, her hand never leaving his. “My childhood... it left marks. Made me think maybe I wasn’t built to be a good parent. I spent a long time worrying I'd hurt a child the way I got hurt.”

CJ’s thumb stilled over her ring, his other hand coming up to cradle her cheek, brushing a lock of hair away from her face.

“You wouldn’t,” he said, sure, steady. “Not in a million years.”

She smiled, small and real. “Maybe I believe that now. Because of you.”

He pressed his forehead gently to hers, letting her feel his steady breathing.

“I don’t need it,” he whispered. “Not to love you. Not to have a future with you. You’re already everything to me.”

“I know,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But... if we ever decided to? I wouldn’t be opposed.” She smiled a little more, a twinkle of amusement dancing in her tired eyes. “One or two. Maybe.”

CJ’s heart expanded in his chest, big enough to hurt in the best way.

“One or two, huh?” he said, his voice thick with warmth. “Little hurricanes.”

“Little pieces of you,” she corrected softly, her thumb brushing his cheek. “And maybe a little of me too.”

He kissed her then—soft and lingering, a promise without words. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday. The dream was there now, stitched quietly between them, tucked inside the folds of their life.

Someday.

And for now, wrapped up in each other on their small sofa with the morning sun still warming the room, that dream was more than enough.

The soft, slow rhythms of their morning bled naturally into the rest of the day.

Eventually, with a shared smile and reluctant sighs, CJ and Y/N slid off the couch and wandered back to the kitchen, hand in hand. Their fingers remained loosely entwined as they moved around each other with a kind of lazy, tender ease, like a dance they’d practiced a thousand times without ever realizing it.

CJ rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and gathered the dishes, stacking them with quiet efficiency. Y/N rinsed plates and mugs, stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. But he always caught her. He'd grin over his shoulder. She'd laugh. It was easy. It was theirs.

When she passed by him to grab the dish soap, CJ caught her waist, tugging her gently back against him. She let out a small squeak of laughter, her wet hands suspended midair.

“CJ,” she giggled, twisting slightly. “I’m literally holding a sponge.”

“I’ll risk it,” he said, kissing her neck, savoring the simple, intoxicating fact that he could. That they had the whole day to waste, wrapped up in each other.

They eventually managed to finish the dishes—sort of. It involved more stolen kisses than it probably should have, and the drying towel somehow ended up draped over CJ’s head at one point, courtesy of Y/N’s playful hand.

He retaliated with a kiss that left her breathless and laughing, pressed against the counter, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, smiling up at him.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “You have no idea.”

When the kitchen was finally, finally clean, they stood there for a moment, arms still around each other, basking in the rare simplicity of it all.

No deadlines. No schedules. No expectations.

Just a lazy Sunday, the house smelling like coffee and pancakes, the windows open to a cool breeze that stirred the curtains and carried in the soft hum of the city beyond.

“Come back to the couch with me,” CJ said quietly, his hand smoothing up her spine.

Y/N tipped her head, pretending to consider. “Only if there’s cuddling involved.”

“Endless cuddling,” he promised, smiling that slow, devastating smile that made her knees a little weak.

And so they drifted back to the couch, collapsing into a warm tangle of limbs and laughter.

They lay there, CJ stretched out with Y/N sprawled half on top of him, her hand resting over his heart, their legs tangled beneath the throw blanket.

Nothing urgent. Nothing pulling them away. Just the deep, certain kind of love that came with being. With staying.

The kind of love built not just in grand moments, but in the quiet ones— the dishes, the soft kisses, the endless, easy Sundays where the world stopped spinning for a while. Right there, in the safety of each other’s arms, CJ and Y/N knew: they had everything they ever needed.

Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @star-yawnznn, @hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other story I’m writing!

[lightdancingwords]

Novels, I swear. These stories would make such great novels....

Second Chances: Forever - Part Nineteen of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever. Word Count: 7,588 Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut/smut, so much fluff! A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Nineteen: Planning To Grow

The quiet in the living room was deep now—cozy and complete. The soft glow of the lamp bathed everything in warm amber, the kind of light that softened edges and made the night feel timeless.

Y/N rested against Beau’s chest, curled into the curve of his arm, his fingers lazily tracing the shape of her spine. Her legs were tucked beneath her, her free hand resting lightly over the swell of her belly, and her heart beat with the steady rhythm of home.

Beau tilted his head back against the couch, letting out a low, satisfied sigh. “Well,” he said, voice rough with amusement and affection, “I’d say this house is properly christened.”

Y/N snorted, muffling her laughter into his shoulder. “You say that like we deserve a medal.”

“We do,” he replied with a grin. “We worked hard.”

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze with a smirk. “It’s probably for the best I’m already pregnant. Because if I wasn’t…”

Beau gave a soft groan, resting his hand over her belly. “Yeah, I probably would’ve knocked you up in the hallway.”

“Sunroom,” she corrected with a grin.

“That too,” he said, chuckling low.

She shifted to face him more fully, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw, her gaze softening as she studied him. There was gray at his temples now, and more threading through his beard. The creases around his eyes had deepened, and laugh lines had carved stories into his face.

She loved every single one.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I used to worry about this. Getting older. The gray, the lines, my knees not working like they used to.” He shrugged, half-smiling. “Now I think I’ve made my peace with it. Comes with the territory.”

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You may be going gray, Beau Arlen, and yeah—you’ve got a few wrinkles. But you’ll never be old to me.”

His brows lifted slightly. “No?”

“No,” she said, her voice thick with love. “You’ll always be you. Strong. Steady. Fierce. The man who makes me feel safe. The man who makes me laugh when I’m too tired to think. The father of my children. My husband. My heart.”

Beau swallowed hard, his eyes shimmering just a little in the dim light. “You don’t know what that means to me.”

She curled back into his chest, her fingers brushing over the fabric of his T-shirt. “I do. And you’ll always be vibrant to me. Not because of how you look, but because of who you are. You carry everything with so much love, Beau. It shines through you.”

He held her tighter, his lips pressed to her hair. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered with a smile. “I feel it every day.”

There they stayed, wrapped in love and soft laughter, in the quiet joy of having nothing left to prove—only more to give. Age didn’t scare her. Wrinkles didn’t matter. Not when the man beside her still made her heart race with a single glance. Not when his hands still made her feel like the most treasured thing in the world.

To Y/N, Beau wasn’t growing older.

He was simply growing deeper into everything she already loved.

The room had settled into silence again, the kind that felt like a shared breath between two hearts. Y/N rested against Beau’s chest, her body warm and boneless from the long, full day—the laughter, the quiet intimacy, the slow unfolding of love in every room of their new home.

Beau hadn’t moved in a while, his fingers still drifting lazily along her spine, content to simply hold her. But as her breathing deepened and her body melted further into him, he shifted just enough to press a kiss into her hair.

Then, slowly and gently, he stood—sliding one arm under her knees, the other behind her back—and lifted her as though she weighed nothing.

“Beau,” she whispered with a sleepy laugh, her arm looping around his neck, “you really don’t have to—”

“Hush,” he murmured, brushing his lips across her temple. “Let me take care of you.”

The hallway was dim and quiet as he carried her toward their bedroom, the soft creak of the old floorboards beneath his feet the only sound between them. And as he stepped through the doorway, the glow from the bedside lamp wrapped them both in its gentle light.

He set her down with infinite care, tucking the blanket around her before sliding in beside her, his hand seeking hers beneath the covers.

“I love you,” he said softly, like a promise. “I love you, Y/N.”

Her gaze met his, sleepy but bright, her fingers tightening around his. “I know. I love you too.”

Beau leaned in, kissing her cheek, then her jaw, then lower—slow, reverent, each one a silent vow.

“I love this life we’ve built,” he murmured between kisses. “I love our kids. This house. Every second I get with you.”

His hand slid gently over her belly, and his voice dropped lower, thick with emotion. “And if you’re not too tired, sweetheart…” He lifted his eyes to hers, soft and open. “I’d really like to make love to my wife again tonight.”

Y/N didn’t answer with words. She reached for him instead, pulling him in close, her lips finding his in a kiss that spoke of shared devotion, of contentment and ache, of love so deep it didn’t need grand declarations—just this.

Just them.

And as Beau moved above her, slow and sure, as he kissed her with the care of a man who never forgot how lucky he was, their love unfolded again. Gentle. Warm. Full.

A love that didn’t need anything more than the sound of their names in the dark and the way their hearts beat together like it was all they’d ever known.

And when they finally rested, breath mingling in the quiet hush of their bedroom, Beau cradled her close, his lips brushing her hair once more.

“Always,” he whispered.

And Y/N, barely awake, whispered back, “Always.”

The early light crept through the gauzy curtains, spilling soft gold across the room. The house was still, hushed in that fragile hour before the day began—before the stampede of little feet, the calls for cereal and toast, the soft rattle of toys on hardwood floors.

Beau lay awake, arms wrapped around Y/N, her back nestled into his chest, their legs tangled beneath the covers. She slept soundly, her breaths deep and even, her body radiating warmth against him. His hand rested low over the curve of her belly, fingers splayed, not possessive but anchored.

The quiet in his heart matched the quiet in the room.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another, lingering just a beat longer against her skin. She stirred at the sensation, a soft hum escaping her lips as her hand slid over his, fingers curling into his palm.

“Morning,” she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Beau whispered, smiling against her skin. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” She turned slowly in his arms, blinking up at him, hair tousled, cheeks warm with the faint flush of sleep. “You always kiss me awake.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured. “You’re too beautiful in the morning. It’s dangerous.”

She smiled sleepily, then touched his face, her thumb brushing along his jaw where the gray was beginning to show more. “Still mine,” she said softly.

He caught her hand and kissed her palm. “Always.”

They stayed that way for a while, wrapped in silence and each other. The rest of the world could wait. But eventually, reality tapped at the edges—soft footsteps down the hall, the distant murmur of Caleb babbling to himself in his crib, and the sun climbing higher into the sky.

Beau sighed and glanced at the clock. “I should get dressed.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed him once, slow and lingering. “You should. But I’m going to miss you all day.”

“I’ll miss you more.”

He pulled away reluctantly, sliding from the bed and reaching for his clothes, the familiar routine settling into his limbs even as he glanced back at her again and again. She sat up against the pillows, her hand resting absently on her belly, watching him move with a softness in her gaze that made his heart squeeze.

As he buttoned his shirt, she said quietly, “Thank you for yesterday.”

Beau paused, looked at her fully, and walked back to her side of the bed. He leaned down, cupping her cheek in one large, steady hand. “You don’t ever have to thank me for loving you.”

“I know,” she said. “But I want to.”

He kissed her again—slow, full, grounding—before straightening, brushing a hand through his hair, and grabbing his badge off the dresser.

“I’ll be home before dinner.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

And as he stepped out of the bedroom, the soft thump of Eliza’s footsteps echoed from down the hall, followed by her small, excited voice calling out, “Daddy! The wolves are awake!”

Beau chuckled under his breath. “So’s the pack.”

Y/N smiled as she listened, her heart full.

It was just another morning in the Arlen house.

And it was perfect.

The calm after Beau’s departure didn’t last long. Y/N had barely taken two sips of her lukewarm tea when the familiar sound of small feet pounding down the hallway announced the arrival of her oldest.

Eliza burst into the kitchen with a flourish, barefoot and beaming, wearing her pajama top inside out and a bright pink tutu over leggings that didn’t quite match.

“Mama!” she declared, puffing out her chest proudly, “I dressed myself. Like a real big kid. I’m almost ready for real school now.”

Y/N turned, one hand resting on her belly, the other still loosely cradling her tea. “Well, look at you,” she said with a smile. “Pre-K doesn’t stand a chance.”

Eliza grinned, triumphant, then leaned against the table with a dramatic sigh. “But I still can’t tie my shoes fast. I tried the bunny ears, but I think they got scared and ran away.”

Y/N crouched to meet her daughter’s eye, brushing a few stray curls from her forehead. “Then we’ll practice again today, hmm? And maybe those bunny ears will be braver this time.”

“Okay,” Eliza said brightly, spinning in place until the tutu flared like a crown around her knees.

From the monitor nearby, Caleb’s babble echoed through the house—morning chattering that had quickly turned into a determined squawk.

Y/N straightened with a soft laugh. “Sounds like your brother is ready to start his morning rampage.”

“I’ll come too!” Eliza chirped, already halfway down the hallway before Y/N could stop her.

They entered the nursery to find Caleb standing in his crib, bouncing slightly on his toes, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up in every direction like a tiny whirlwind had swept through.

“Hi, bub,” Y/N cooed, scooping him up carefully. He immediately latched onto her necklace with one hand and her hair with the other.

Eliza peeked over the side of the crib. “Caleb, guess what? I’m basically in school now.”

He shrieked in approval.

Back in the kitchen, the morning fell into its usual symphony of sweet, controlled chaos.

Eliza chattered through breakfast, munching toast while reciting everything she planned to do in pre-K—including (but not limited to) teaching her friends about wolves, asking her teacher what color the moon really was, and organizing a very important playground patrol.

Caleb, meanwhile, had learned a new trick: opening the Tupperware drawer and launching its contents like party favors. By the third lid clatter, Y/N had scooped him up and strapped him into his high chair, bribing him with banana slices and a sippy cup.

By midmorning, Eliza had gone through three outfit changes—each one more fantastical than the last—and Caleb had attempted to scale the side of the couch while Y/N turned her back for ten seconds to refill her tea.

She caught him just in time, setting him back down with a breathless, laughing “No, sir,” as he grinned at her with that mischievous look that was pure Beau.

Eventually, they found a lull—Y/N curled on the couch with Caleb in her lap and Eliza tucked beside her, softly humming as she flipped through one of her picture books.

Y/N reached for her phone and snapped a photo—Caleb with one sock on and a banana smear on his cheek, Eliza mid-sentence, a pencil stuck behind her ear like a professor in training.

She sent the photo to Beau.

Y/N: Your pack says good morning. So far, no injuries. Just one banana casualty.

She smiled at the screen, then leaned back, holding both children close.

She was eighteen weeks pregnant, running on broken sleep, and running a house full of growing hearts and louder voices.

And she’d never been happier.

Beau was standing just outside the station, the Montana morning crisp against his skin, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes as he sipped his coffee. A deputy was giving a brief on a local traffic issue—nothing urgent, nothing pressing—but his phone buzzed in his breast pocket and tugged his attention away for just a second.

He glanced down at the screen and couldn’t help the slow, quiet smile that spread across his face.

Y/N: Your pack says good morning. So far, no injuries. Just one banana casualty. Attached: A photo of Caleb, mid-giggle, banana on his cheek, and Eliza proudly holding a spoon like a scepter, eyes gleaming.

Beau exhaled a soft laugh, the sound low and full.

God, he loved them.

The chaos. The noise. The wolf-themed declarations and fruit-covered battlefields. The girl who was almost too clever for her own good and the boy who had already mastered the art of joyful destruction.

And Y/N… beautiful, glowing Y/N, holding the whole mess together with grace, laughter, and the kind of quiet strength that humbled him every damn day.

He tapped out a reply, thumbs moving slower than usual, like the words deserved to be held just a moment longer.

Beau: I should’ve known the banana wouldn’t make it. Give my little warriors a kiss from their old man. And save one for you. Beau: I love you. More every day.

He tucked the phone away, but the smile stayed.

Jenny walked past him just then, raising an eyebrow. “That your wife?”

Beau nodded.

“You’ve got the dumb love-struck look again.”

He didn’t even argue. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”

Jenny smirked. “Good. Keep it.”

As she walked off, Beau turned his eyes toward the open sky, the sun climbing higher over the town he served. He still had hours left in the day—calls to return, paperwork to finish, decisions to make—but his heart? That had already made its home in that photo.

In the half-wild, wholly loved little faces.

In the woman who sent them with a message that read like a song.

And whatever the day threw his way, Beau Arlen would face it steady, sure, and smiling—

Because he was hers.

And they were his.

By early afternoon, the warmth of the sun had begun to stretch lazily across the hardwood floors of the Arlen home. It poured in through the windows, dusting the rooms with that golden glow that made everything feel softer—calmer, even if only briefly.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the living room floor with Caleb toddling in wide, determined circles around her. He had somehow claimed a plastic spoon as his prized possession, gripping it like a baton as he babbled triumphantly and tried to poke at a suspicious-looking dust bunny beneath the edge of the couch.

Eliza was nearby at the coffee table, deeply involved in her “pre-K prep workbook”—which Y/N had printed off in a fit of optimism and which Eliza had immediately renamed The Wolf Queen’s Journal. She scribbled in bright purple crayon, tongue sticking slightly out the side of her mouth as she concentrated.

“This one’s about patterns,” Eliza explained with a very official air, holding up the page. “See? Paw print, leaf, paw print, leaf… paw print. That means a leaf comes next.”

“Perfect logic,” Y/N said with a warm smile, brushing a few stray crumbs off the floor as she reached for Caleb, who had just attempted to scale the ottoman using only sheer will and a bit of drool.

“Caleb,” she murmured, scooping him up with practiced ease, “I love you, but I swear, you were born to climb mountains.”

“Daaa,” he declared, spoon raised in triumph.

“I think that’s Caleb for long live the spoon,” Eliza giggled.

Y/N nestled onto the couch with him, bouncing him gently in her lap, his chubby legs kicking rhythmically. She could feel the slow drag of tiredness creeping into her bones, the weight of being eighteen weeks pregnant, the constant go-go-go of tending to a four-year-old who had more imagination than most screenwriters and a one-year-old who had no concept of gravity or his own limits.

But still... she smiled.

This was her rhythm now. The soft chaos. The small messes and loud laughter. The sweetness of a quiet moment stolen when one child was distracted and the other simply wanted to be held.

And then, just as her eyes were fluttering half-closed, Eliza climbed up beside her with a declaration: “Mama, when I go to real school, can I still be the Alpha Wolf?”

Y/N tilted her head, amused. “You’ll always be the Alpha Wolf.”

Eliza nodded solemnly and leaned against her, resting her head on her shoulder, Caleb nestled on the other side, both of them warm and content and completely tangled into her like she was the heart of the world.

Which, she supposed, she was.

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of them—the faint trace of syrup in Eliza’s curls, Caleb’s soft baby skin—and let herself rest, just for a beat. She’d earned it. They all had.

Outside, the wind stirred the trees gently.

Inside, love lived in quiet moments and crayon-stained fingers, in baby babble and wolf logic, in the kind of afternoon that settled into memory before it even ended.

As the golden hour began to pour long shadows across the floor, Y/N knew dinner needed to start soon—but the moment she stood from the couch with Caleb on her hip and Eliza still tucked under her arm, the children had other plans.

“Mama,” Eliza whispered conspiratorially, peering up at her with wide, gleaming eyes, “I think it’s time.”

Y/N blinked, amused. “Time for what?”

Eliza leaned in close, lowering her voice like the living room itself might overhear. “For wolf patrol. There’s suspicious activity in the hallway.”

Caleb babbled in agreement, then let out a small growl—his version of following orders.

“Oh no,” Y/N said, eyes widening playfully. “We can’t have that. What should we do?”

“We need to arm ourselves with the ancient wolf tools,” Eliza declared, hopping down from the couch and retrieving two paper towel tubes from behind a toy bin. “One for me. One for Caleb.”

Y/N watched as Eliza handed her brother a cardboard tube and declared him Deputy Fang, then turned back with a serious nod. “And Mama, you’re Queen Wolf. But you need armor.”

Before she could object, Eliza ran to the laundry basket in the hallway and returned with a dishtowel, which she expertly tied around Y/N’s shoulders like a cape.

“Now you’re ready.”

“Ready for…?”

“The Floor Is Lava.”

And just like that, the rules shifted. The floor had betrayed them. Only furniture and dishtowel capes could save them now.

Y/N had played many games in her life—some as a child, some as a mother—but there was something particularly wild and wonderful about this one. Maybe it was the way Eliza threw herself into the role with such abandon, or maybe it was the look of sheer delight on Caleb’s face as he stood on a couch cushion and squealed every time Eliza howled.

Y/N, still wearing her cape, carefully stepped between cushions, laughing harder than she had in days. “Your Majesty is struggling with her balance!”

“You’re doing great!” Eliza cried. “Even Queen Wolves wobble!”

Caleb flopped onto a pillow, giggling wildly, and flailed his cardboard tube like a knight without training.

The living room was an absolute mess—blankets twisted, stuffed animals scattered, two cushions on the floor and another balanced precariously on a footstool. But to Y/N, it looked perfect.

Eventually, Eliza declared the lava calmed by peace offerings, and the patrol could end. She collapsed into Y/N’s lap, breathless and triumphant.

“I think the hallway’s safe again,” she sighed. “We did it.”

Caleb crawled into the space beside them and promptly rested his head against Y/N’s belly, sighing in the way only tiny bodies do after big victories.

Y/N smoothed their hair, cheeks warm from laughter, heart swollen with love.

And just as she was thinking now she could start dinner, the front door opened.

Boots scuffed lightly against the threshold.

And Beau’s voice drifted through the entry.

“I smell lava.”

The moment Beau’s voice echoed through the front door, Eliza’s head shot up from Y/N’s lap, eyes wide with the same electric excitement she always had when she heard her father’s boots on the floorboards.

“Daddy’s home!” she gasped, already launching herself off the couch, her tutu puffing out behind her like a war banner. “Everyone take positions!”

Y/N barely had time to grab Caleb before he rolled off the pillow he’d been using as a throne. She stood, still laughing, her dishtowel cape fluttering behind her as she hoisted him onto her hip and adjusted the paper crown Eliza had made for him.

Beau stepped into the living room and froze.

He took in the scene: pillows scattered like stepping stones across the floor, stuffed animals arranged like sentries, a half-draped blanket fort over the couch, and his wife—pregnant, radiant, barefoot, and wrapped in a dish towel—looking like she belonged in the pages of a bedtime story.

Beau’s eyes crinkled with delight. “Should I be worried?”

Eliza emerged from behind the armchair with her cardboard tube in hand, face fierce. “You should be. The floor was lava until just recently. And I don’t know if your feet are trained.”

Beau lifted a brow and glanced down at his boots. “I’ve walked through a lot of things in my day, kiddo. But lava…”

Y/N bit back a grin as she set Caleb down, who immediately toddled toward his father with a victorious yell of “DAAA!” and his cardboard sword raised above his head.

“Deputy Fang comes for your soul!” Eliza cried.

Beau held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ve returned home to chaos.”

“No,” Y/N said, voice warm as she stepped around the couch. “You’ve returned home to your pack.”

Beau reached down and scooped Caleb into his arms, swinging him up with practiced ease, letting the boy giggle and cling to his shirt. Then Eliza launched herself at his legs, arms wrapped around one knee as she beamed up at him.

Beau crouched, hugging them both, pulling them in close with one arm as he met Y/N’s eyes over the top of their heads.

And he said it, just loud enough for her to hear.

“My whole heart. Right here.”

Eliza leaned back. “Did the sheriff complete his missions today?”

Beau ruffled her curls. “Every last one. But this is the best one yet.”

Caleb babbled in agreement and flopped his head against his father’s shoulder.

Y/N crossed the room to them, slipping an arm around Beau’s waist. “Dinner’s not started. The wolves had other priorities.”

Beau kissed her temple. “No rush. Let’s take it slow.”

So they did.

He walked into his home with his daughter on one leg, his son on his arm, and his wife pressed into his side—everything around them slightly messy, loud, and impossibly perfect.

As they settled into their evening, it was clear: This wasn’t just a home. This was theirs. And in it, they were wild. They were steady. They were together.

Dinner began the way most Arlen family dinners did—with enthusiasm, mild chaos, and at least one mysterious spill before anyone even sat down.

Beau had just set Caleb in his high chair when the boy promptly grabbed his sippy cup, turned it upside down, and banged it triumphantly on the tray. “Ba!” he declared, as a ring of milk bloomed across the plastic surface.

Y/N, still in her dish towel cape, caught it with a towel from the oven handle, laughing as she handed Beau a clean bib. “He’s establishing dominance over his drinkware.”

“I think he’s winning,” Beau muttered, snapping the bib on.

Eliza appeared in the kitchen archway, still wearing her tutu and brandishing her crayon-decorated crown. “Dinner court is now in session!” she announced, climbing into her seat with great ceremony. “Everyone take your places, or face the growl of judgment.”

Y/N gave her a sideways glance as she placed a plate of chicken, peas, and buttered noodles on the table. “The growl of judgment, huh?”

Eliza nodded solemnly and pointed a fork at her brother. “Especially you, Deputy Fang.”

Caleb responded with a loud raspberry and smacked his tray again, sending a single pea flying through the air. It bounced off Beau’s shirt.

Beau didn’t even flinch. He picked up the rogue pea, flicked it into the sink, and sat down with a sigh. “I swear, we had a more organized mission brief at the station this morning.”

Y/N slid into the chair beside him, plate in hand, and gave him a grin. “This mission has better rewards.”

“Debatable,” Beau said, but he was smiling, eyes on her more than the food.

Dinner itself was a mixture of giggles, exaggerated storytelling, and occasional reminders not to put noodles in one’s hair—directed at both children.

Eliza rattled on about how her wolf pack would surely be accepted at school, especially once she taught everyone about proper howling technique. She insisted Caleb was training to be her second-in-command, and though he couldn’t say much, he enthusiastically mashed a spoon into his food as if to agree.

Beau leaned back in his chair, watching his daughter hold court with wide, expressive hands and his son slapping pureed peas with the ferocity of a drummer. He reached across the table and touched Y/N’s hand.

She glanced up, eyes warm, cheeks flushed from laughter and the heat of the kitchen. “You okay?”

He gave a soft nod. “Just… soaking it in. This. All of this.”

She looked around the table. The food, half-eaten. The tiny socks already discarded under the table. The glint of a sticker on Beau’s sleeve that definitely hadn’t been there before dinner started. The noise, the love, the mess.

Her eyes softened.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”

And as Eliza launched into a grand story about a wolf prince with rainbow eyes and Caleb tried to put a noodle on her crown, Beau leaned over and kissed Y/N’s knuckles.

Dinner wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polished. But it was theirs.

After dinner, the house slipped into that familiar post-meal rhythm—equal parts cleanup and calming down. Y/N rinsed dishes while Eliza dramatically recounted her “day of victories” to her wolf plush, now seated reverently on the couch like a trusted advisor. Caleb, meanwhile, had been stripped down to just his diaper after somehow managing to get peas in his sleeves and pasta in his hair.

Beau moved easily around the kitchen, stacking plates and drying them with a towel slung over his shoulder. He kept glancing over at Y/N with that warm, settled look in his eyes—the kind that didn’t say much but held volumes.

They were a well-oiled machine. A little clumsy, a lot tired, but together.

The sun had fully set by the time Eliza was ushered into her room. She made only mild protests about bedtime tonight—no doubt exhausted from her self-declared wolf patrol duties—and insisted on selecting the bedtime book herself.

Y/N settled on the edge of the bed with a yawn, one hand on her lower back as Eliza climbed under the covers. Beau, still damp-haired from giving Caleb a quick bath, crouched beside her and picked up the book Eliza had handed over: The Moon is a Wolf’s Lantern.

“You sure you’re not writing these stories yourself?” he teased as he flipped open the cover.

“Not yet,” Eliza said seriously. “But I could.”

Beau began to read, his voice low and even, his thumb brushing softly over the edge of the page. Eliza’s eyes fluttered as the words melted into the hush of the room, her body slowly unwinding beneath the weight of story and safety.

Y/N leaned her head on Beau’s shoulder, listening more to his voice than the story itself. And by the time the last page turned, Eliza was already half-asleep, her wolf plush tucked close and her breath soft and slow.

They tiptoed out, pausing at Caleb’s door to peek in. He was sound asleep, curled onto his belly, one chubby hand clutching the corner of his blanket. Beau gently shut the door with that practiced parental quiet.

In the hallway, dim with lamplight and shadow, Y/N reached for his hand.

“Another day survived,” she murmured, her smile lazy, loving.

Beau tugged her gently toward him, his arms circling her waist, one hand instinctively resting over her bump. “More than survived. You made it beautiful.”

She leaned into him, exhaling against his chest. “You helped.”

“I’d do it a thousand times over.”

Together, they walked the quiet hallway toward their room, their steps unhurried, wrapped in that soft end-of-day peace only parents knew—the house no longer bustling, no longer demanding. Just settled.

The wolves were asleep. The little kingdom was quiet.

And their night, their rest, their love—was just beginning.

The bedroom was dim, aglow only by the soft amber light of the bedside lamp. The sheets were turned down, the covers inviting, but neither of them moved to climb in just yet.

Beau stood by the window, one hand resting on the sill, the other rubbing absently at the back of his neck. The stars were just beginning to peek out through the gauzy curtain of clouds, the kind of sky that only Montana seemed to know how to hold—wide, endless, and still.

Y/N stepped behind him, her arms slipping around his waist, her cheek pressing between his shoulder blades. “You’re quiet,” she murmured.

Beau lowered his hand, covering hers, weaving their fingers together. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He turned in her arms then, looking down at her with that slow, open gaze that still made her breath catch. “You. The kids. This house. Us. It’s everything I ever wanted… and more than I ever thought I’d be lucky enough to have.”

Y/N smiled, touched his face, her thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw. “You built this with me.”

He kissed her gently, slow and unhurried, before whispering against her lips, “You gave it life.”

They moved to the bed, slipping beneath the covers with the kind of practiced ease only found in people who had long since learned the rhythm of each other. Y/N curled into his side, her head on his chest, one hand resting over the steady beat of his heart.

Beau’s fingers drifted lazily along her spine. “You were amazing today,” he said softly. “Wrangling the wolves. Keeping the peace. Somehow managing to look beautiful through all of it.”

She chuckled, eyes closed. “I think I wiped mashed peas off my forehead twice.”

“Still beautiful.”

They lay there in silence, that good kind of quiet—the kind that holds nothing back and asks for nothing but presence.

Y/N’s voice came softly. “Sometimes I wonder how I got this lucky.”

Beau kissed the top of her head, his voice low, steady. “We didn’t get lucky. We fought for this. We chose it—every day. And we’ll keep choosing it.”

She nodded against his chest, letting his heartbeat lull her toward sleep. “I’ll choose you. Always.”

“I’ll choose us.” He whispered the words like a vow, his arms tightening around her. “No matter what comes.”

And in that stillness, with the stars beginning to fill the sky outside and the house quiet with the soft hush of sleeping children, Beau and Y/N lay together—warm, tired, content.

No grand words.

No more to prove.

Just the quiet that belonged only to them.

The morning light filtered gently through the kitchen window, spilling golden warmth over the counter as Beau stood with his travel mug in hand. The coffee machine gurgled behind him, the scent curling through the air like a morning promise. Somewhere down the hall, the rustle of movement told him Y/N was up, Caleb likely tucked on her hip and Eliza possibly already declaring the living room a territory of wolves.

It was early—too early for real chaos, just early enough to pretend the day was still quiet.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

Emily.

Beau’s brow lifted. He smiled softly, sliding a thumb across the screen before stepping into the mudroom for a little privacy.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said, his voice still heavy with the softness of morning. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Emily breathed, and Beau could hear the nerves beneath it, the anticipation she wasn’t quite sure what to do with. “I just… I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

Beau stood straighter. “Wait for what?”

“I made it official,” she said. “I talked to my advisor last night. Sent the forms this morning. I’m transferring to the university in Big Sky. It’s all set.”

Beau let out a long breath—relief, pride, a bit of awe.

“You’re sure?” he asked, even though they’d already talked about it, even though he knew. “You feel good about it?”

“Yeah,” she said, and this time the weight in her voice was steadier. “I do. I’m sure.”

Beau leaned back against the wall, his free hand scrubbing over the back of his neck. “You’ve got no idea how glad I am to hear that.”

“I think I do,” she said gently. “You sounded close to tears the first time we talked about it.”

“Hey now,” Beau muttered, smiling. “No need to drag your old man like that first thing in the morning.”

Emily laughed, and it sounded lighter than he’d heard in a while. “It means a lot, Dad. That you and Y/N offered. That you wanted me there.”

Beau’s voice dropped, rough with emotion. “You’re family, Emily. You were always welcome. But having you want to come back?” He shook his head. “That’s the best damn thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

“I just wanted you to know. Officially. I’ll finish the semester here, then pack up. If the offer still stands…”

“It stands,” he said immediately. “There’s room for you. Always.”

They talked for a few more minutes—nothing heavy, just soft updates and plans for the weeks ahead. When they finally hung up, Beau stood there a moment longer, letting it settle. It was really happening. His daughter was coming home—not just for visits or holidays, but home.

He returned to the kitchen to find Y/N placing a bottle in front of Caleb, who sat in his high chair kicking his feet like a tiny drum solo. Eliza was under the table with a blanket draped over two chairs, declaring it “The Wolf Council’s Fort of Secrets.”

Y/N looked up, raising an eyebrow. “That was Emily?”

Beau nodded, stepping behind her to kiss her cheek. “She made it official. Transfer’s locked in. She’s coming home in a few weeks.”

Y/N’s smile bloomed slow and wide, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned back into him. “Good. I was hoping she would.”

Beau wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek against her temple. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, watching the kids with soft, shining eyes. “Yeah. It really does.”

Their family, already wild and warm and full of love, was about to grow again. And somehow, in this house they’d barely begun to settle into, it already felt like there was room for everything.

It was midmorning when the sun began streaming into the guest bedroom—Emily’s room. The walls were still bare, the bed only half-made from when Margaret last stayed, and a couple of boxes from the move still sat in the corner, untouched. But there was something about the quiet promise of that space now. Something real.

Emily was coming home.

Not just visiting. Staying.

Y/N stood in the doorway for a moment, holding a folded blanket in her arms, the familiar ache of pregnancy tugging at her lower back, and the familiar flutter of anticipation stirring somewhere deeper. She smiled softly as she stepped inside, setting the blanket on the bed and smoothing it out with one hand.

Behind her, Eliza peeked around the doorframe.

“Is this for Grandma again?” she asked.

“No, sweetheart,” Y/N said, turning to look at her. “This is going to be Emily’s room.”

Eliza’s eyes widened with delight. “Emily’s? She’s really moving in?”

Y/N nodded, brushing a bit of dust off the dresser. “She is. In a few weeks. We thought she’d like having a space that’s hers. Think you can help me get it ready?”

Eliza ran into the room, arms already flailing in the direction of a forgotten throw pillow. “Yes! I’ll make it cozy! Like a real wolf den, but for reading.”

Y/N laughed, lowering herself carefully onto the edge of the bed. “A reading wolf den. Sounds perfect.”

Together, they began putting things in place. Eliza carefully arranged pillows in mismatched patterns, declaring one the “comfort leader” and another the “guardian of dreams.” Y/N pulled out a soft woven blanket from a moving box—one Emily had left behind during her last visit and had all but forgotten—and laid it at the foot of the bed.

They wiped down the dresser together, Y/N handing Eliza a damp cloth and watching her concentrate so seriously, her little brow furrowed like this was a mission assigned by the Alpha Wolf herself.

Y/N found a small vase in another box, one she hadn't yet unpacked, and filled it with a few faux wildflowers they'd brought in from the old house. She set it on the nightstand, stepping back to take it all in.

The room wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

But it was welcoming.

Warm.

Like it already missed Emily and was quietly waiting for her return.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Eliza asked, tugging at Y/N’s hand as she stood beside her.

Y/N looked down at her daughter, then around the room, then back again. “I think she’ll love it.”

Eliza beamed. “Good. Because we’re her pack now, right?”

“We are,” Y/N whispered, brushing a curl behind Eliza’s ear. “And there’s always room in the pack for the ones we love.”

They stood in the doorway for a moment longer, mother and daughter, taking in the space made ready—not out of obligation, but out of love.

A room waiting for a daughter. A sister. A place that now felt whole.

Dinner that evening was calm in a way that felt almost rare—a softness in the air, a steadiness in the rhythm. The kind of quiet not born of exhaustion, but contentment.

The dining room, still sparsely decorated with half-unpacked boxes stacked neatly in the corner, glowed under the low amber pendant light above the table. Y/N had kept it simple—roast chicken, roasted carrots, and buttered noodles, easy comfort food for a day that had already been full.

Caleb banged his spoon happily against the tray of his high chair, more noodles stuck to his cheeks than in his mouth. Eliza narrated an elaborate story about how her plush wolf had taken over the vegetable kingdom, interrupting herself only long enough to ask for more juice.

Beau sat at the head of the table, his plate half-finished, his gaze soft and settled on his family—on Y/N, across from him, cheeks pink from the warm oven and the constant movement of the day, and on the two small whirlwinds seated between them.

He took a sip of his water, then leaned back in his chair, eyes lingering on her.

“You know,” he said, voice quiet and even, “it hit me again today. She’s really coming home.”

Y/N looked up from helping Caleb reclaim a dropped carrot. “Emily?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I knew. We talked about it. But hearing her voice this morning—hearing her say it like it was done—it felt different. Final, in the best way.”

Y/N smiled, brushing her hair back as she glanced over at him. “I felt that, too. Setting up her room with Eliza today—it just made it all feel so real. Like we were making space for her, not just in the house, but in this life.”

Beau reached across the table, his fingers brushing over hers. “You know she said yes because she felt that. Because she knows this isn’t just a house. It’s home. With us.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “She’ll come back to something solid. Something safe. That’s everything.”

Beau exhaled, something quiet and full in his chest. “It means the world to me, knowing she’ll grow the rest of her life right here. With her siblings. With you.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes misting just slightly. “With you.”

Eliza paused mid-story and looked up at them with a mouthful of noodles. “Are we talking about Emily?”

“We are, sweetheart,” Y/N said.

Eliza grinned. “I’m gonna share my wolves with her. And my crayons. But not the glitter glue. That stuff’s dangerous.”

Beau chuckled, reaching to gently smooth Eliza’s hair. “That’s very generous.”

Caleb flung his spoon with triumphant joy, and they all ducked instinctively, laughing.

Dinner carried on, easy and warm. There were second helpings and clumsy hand wipes and kisses pressed to chubby cheeks. And through it all, Beau kept stealing glances at Y/N—the woman who had built a world around him with nothing but love, patience, and quiet strength.

Emily was coming home. The house was still filling. But his heart? It had never been fuller.

The house had gone still again, the quiet settling like a blanket. Caleb had been rocked to sleep after his usual bedtime chaos, and Eliza—after three stories, a last-minute water request, and one wolf-themed lullaby—had finally surrendered to sleep with her plush tucked beneath her chin.

In their bedroom, the lights were low. The moon cast silver shapes on the floor through the open window. The sheets were pulled back, and the soft creak of the mattress followed as Y/N slid beneath the covers, tugging her sleep shirt over her legs.

Beau had just come from checking on the kids one last time. He crossed the room barefoot, shirtless, his expression soft as he pulled back the blanket and climbed into bed beside her. He reached for her immediately, instinctively, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her in close.

Y/N settled into the curve of his body with ease, her back tucked to his chest, her head resting beneath his chin.

“You good?” she whispered, her fingers brushing across his forearm.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. Then another. And another. Each one slower than the last, his lips warm against her skin.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and full of something so tender it almost caught in his throat. “I was thinkin’ about today. About her room. The way Eliza kept adding pillows like she was building a nest.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes closing, body melting into his. “She’s so excited. She keeps saying how she’s gonna be the best little sister ever.”

Beau exhaled a soft breath through his nose, his arm tightening around her. “It hit me while I was watchin’ you two get her room ready… just how full my life is.”

She turned slightly toward him, meeting his gaze.

Beau searched her face, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “I mean, I always knew I loved you. I always knew how much the kids meant to me. But knowing Emily’s coming home—that she chose this? That she wants to be with us? With you?”

He shook his head a little, the words barely holding together. “It just… it filled in something I didn’t even know I was missin’.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed him softly—slow, deliberate, her hand curling over his cheek as they breathed each other in. When she pulled back, her voice was just a murmur. “You deserve all of this, Beau.”

“So do you,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “I look at this life we’ve built… and I just feel lucky. So damn lucky.”

They lay there together, tangled in sheets and quiet joy, his fingers gently stroking over her side, her hand resting over the curve of her belly.

Their family was whole.

And so were they.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

[lightdancingwords]

HOW DID I MISS THIS?! Damn you Tumblr notifications!

RE: post-it. Haha! Maybe? 😉

RE: Kidnap a cop?! LOL! That's… not a good idea.

RE: "that therapy session was the realest I've ever read". Really? Oh wow. That's actually super flattering.

RE: "Fuck, I laughed". I do try to pepper humor in this story. It's a heavy one, after all.

RE: "his uniform sharp" - "HOW DO THEY DO THAT??"

MAGIC!

RE: Lucy&Angela: Probably, LOL.

RE: The made too much. Lol. Tim was looking for any excuse, come on….

RE: "Fine". Welll…. yeah.

RE: "Tim. TIM ! LISTEN TO ME. THIS IS A CONFESSION GODDAMNIT !"

Hehehehe. In her own way, yeeeaaahhh…. 😉

RE: Raining cats and dogs.

I think we've all felt like this about funerals, honestly. My own mother's funeral/memorial was a warm, sunny day. Never felt right that it was like that….

Breaking The Wall - Part Six of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 5,143

Tags/Warnings: Cop procedures, police work, angst (so much), tension, violence

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: This is my first foray into The Rookie universe! I'm still playing catch up on the series itself, but I was too excited about this idea to wait! So take it as an Alternate Universe where not everything will be to precise detail of the series! Enjoy!

Also: Posting schedule will be 1 to 2 times a week for this series. We'll see how it goes!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Six: Letting Go

Monday – 6:04 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The light in the apartment was soft, cool with early morning blue. It filtered in through the blinds in strips, painting the floor with quiet lines. Outside, the street was still. The city not quite awake.

Rachel stirred on the couch with a slow inhale, the blanket half-shifted down her legs, her body curved toward the armrest. One hand rested loosely beneath her cheek. Her eyes blinked open, unfocused.

For a few seconds, she didn’t move.

Her mind felt hazy, thick with sleep and something quieter—peace, maybe. Something she hadn’t felt upon waking in a long, long time.

And then, realization.

She’d fallen asleep.

Somewhere during the steady lull of conversation, somewhere after the last of the tea had gone cold. She didn’t remember closing her eyes. Just the softness in Tim’s voice, the rhythm of his presence beside her. She must’ve let go without realizing.

She sat up slowly, pushing a hand through her hair.

The other end of the couch was empty.

The throw blanket was draped carefully over her—more than before. She hadn’t done that.

She looked around the apartment.

Quiet.

Still.

But not untouched.

The faint smell of something warm drifted in from the kitchen.

She stood, padding across the room with bare feet, and found a note waiting on the counter.

Simple.

Neat.

Figured you’d wake up slow. Check the oven. Don’t pretend you’re not hungry. —Tim

Rachel stared at the paper for a second, lips parting like she might say something aloud to the empty room—but she didn’t.

She opened the oven.

Inside, on a small plate wrapped in foil, sat a perfectly made spinach omelette, still warm from where the low heat had held it steady overnight.

A second note rested on the plate.

Don’t ask what’s in it. You’ll like it anyway.

She laughed softly under her breath—barely a sound.

But it was real.

She pulled the plate out, unwrapped it, and stared at the omelette like it was something sacred.

Not because it was food.

Because someone thought of her.

Because he had.

Without asking.

Without needing thanks.

He’d known what the morning would feel like. That she’d wake up slightly adrift, not sure what to do with the space he’d filled the night before.

And he’d left this.

Something to ground her.

Something warm.

Rachel sat at her kitchen table, the plate in front of her, the apartment bathed in quiet light.

And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she had to armor up the second the sun rose.

She could just be.

Because he’d seen her.

Because he’d stayed.

Because he’d cooked.

And in the warm, quiet hush of morning—

Rachel Grace let herself smile.

Monday – 10:02 A.M. – LAPD Psychological Services Division

The waiting room was too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet Rachel liked.

The walls were painted a muted off-white, the furniture modern and deliberately soft. The receptionist behind the desk offered her a kind, distant smile when she checked in, the kind that said I’ve seen a hundred of you this week, and I’ll see a hundred more.

Rachel sat in the corner chair, back straight, arms crossed loosely over her chest. Civilian clothes today—jeans, black t-shirt, hair tied up. No badge. No vest. No shield to hide behind.

The clipboard in her lap held only her name at the top. The rest of the pages were just forms she wasn’t reading.

Her fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the side of the chair.

She hated this.

She hated being benched.

She hated that they weren’t wrong.

And most of all, she hated that Tim had been the one to see it happen.

She should’ve buried it.

She had buried it.

But that porch—that house—that sound—Jake—

Rachel blinked hard, jaw clenching before she could stop it.

The door across the room opened with a gentle click.

“Officer Grace?”

She looked up.

The department psychologist stood in the doorway, clipboard tucked against her hip, glasses perched low on her nose. Calm, professional. Probably late 40s. She didn’t smile. Just nodded.

Rachel stood slowly.

Walked in.

Monday – 10:08 A.M. – Session Room

The office was warmer than the waiting room. Personal touches on the bookshelves. A soft rug. Two chairs that didn’t look like they belonged in a precinct. It smelled faintly of chamomile.

Rachel sat in the offered chair, posture formal, arms folded.

The psychologist—Dr. Lane, according to the placard—sat across from her. Not desk-to-chair, but equal. Intentional.

“Sergeant Grey gave me the report,” Dr. Lane began, not unkindly. “He said you froze. That you had a physical and cognitive lapse during an active scene. Can you tell me what happened?”

Rachel’s jaw ticked. “It was a familiar trigger. A house that mirrored a past incident.”

“Your former partner,” Dr. Lane said.

Rachel nodded once.

Dr. Lane didn’t press further. She just waited.

Rachel exhaled slowly. “He died taking a shot meant for me. It was clean. Fast. I’ve… lived with it. Managed it.”

“You haven’t frozen before?”

“No.”

“Why now?”

Rachel looked at her, expression taut.

“I don’t know.”

Dr. Lane didn’t flinch.

Rachel looked away.

“I saw the house. The siding. The porch. I wasn’t in that moment—I was that moment.”

She swallowed.

“I couldn’t move. I didn’t even hear my name. I thought I had it under control.”

“Until you didn’t.”

Rachel nodded, once.

Then, a breath later, quieter:

“I thought control was the same as healing.”

Dr. Lane leaned back, just slightly. “It’s not.”

Rachel said nothing.

But she didn’t argue.

The silence stretched between them.

Then:

“Who brought you home that day?” Dr. Lane asked.

Rachel’s eyes flicked up.

Not sharp.

But caught off guard.

“Why does it matter?”

“It tells me if you’re letting yourself have support.”

Rachel hesitated.

Then, finally:

“Tim Bradford.”

Dr. Lane gave a slow nod. “And did he ask you to talk?”

“No.”

“Did you?”

Rachel’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Yes.”

There it was.

The truth she hadn’t said aloud until now.

Dr. Lane’s voice softened. “Sometimes support doesn’t mean leaning. Sometimes it means allowing someone to sit beside you, quietly, until you’re ready.”

Rachel’s throat was tight.

But she nodded.

And for the first time in that room—

She didn’t feel like she had to defend herself.

Monday – 10:26 A.M. – Session Room, LAPD Psychological Services

The silence between Rachel and Dr. Lane had settled. Not uncomfortable. Just waiting.

Dr. Lane shifted slightly in her chair, pen resting lightly against her clipboard, though she hadn’t written anything down in several minutes.

“What did you do this weekend?” she asked, casually. Not like a trap. Like a bridge.

Rachel hesitated.

Then: “Stayed in.”

Dr. Lane tilted her head, waiting.

Rachel exhaled.

“I didn’t go out. Didn’t take any calls. I just… let it be quiet.”

A pause.

Then, without being asked again, she continued.

“Friday night, I wasn’t expecting anyone. I woke up Saturday and found a note. He’d stayed. Slept on the couch. Left without waking me.”

Dr. Lane’s gaze stayed steady. “Tim?”

Rachel nodded. “He made me tea. Left a spinach omelette in the oven. Wrapped it. Left a second note telling me not to pretend I wasn’t hungry.”

The barest twitch of a smile touched the corner of her mouth.

“And were you?”

“Starving,” she admitted.

Dr. Lane didn’t smile—but her voice gentled.

“What happened after that?”

Rachel looked down at her hands. “I didn’t know if I should call him. I thought about it all day. Opened his contact. Stared at the screen. Closed it again.”

“And did you?”

“I texted him. That night. Asked if he wanted Thai.”

A pause.

Rachel’s voice dropped just slightly.

“He showed up twenty minutes later. Knew my order without asking. Stayed for dinner.”

Dr. Lane wrote a single word this time—nothing more.

Rachel kept going, slower now, as if the words were falling out in a rhythm she hadn’t rehearsed.

“We didn’t talk about the shooting. Or Jake. Not directly. We just… talked. About other things. About painting. About giving things up. About what control really means.”

“And?”

Rachel looked up.

“It didn’t feel like therapy,” she said. “It felt like I could exist. Without performing.”

Dr. Lane studied her for a moment.

“You’ve had a lot of eyes on you, Officer Grace. For years.”

Rachel nodded once. “I got used to being watched.”

“But not seen.”

That landed hard.

Rachel didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.

The silence answered for her.

“And now?” Dr. Lane asked.

Rachel was quiet.

Then: “Now someone sees me.”

The words weren’t soft.

But they were vulnerable.

Honest.

Dr. Lane leaned back, satisfied. Not because Rachel had said what she wanted—because she’d finally said what she needed.

Monday – 10:56 A.M. – Outside LAPD Psychological Services

The door clicked shut behind her, the low hum of the building swallowed by the city sounds just outside the steps. A car engine somewhere. The rustle of a breeze through palm trees. Faint conversation across the street.

Rachel stepped into the sun, the warmth brushing against her like something unfamiliar.

The manila envelope in her hand felt heavier than it was—two pages inside, signed and stamped.

Return to duty: conditional. Supervised reintroduction to active fieldwork. Ongoing check-ins required.

She’d expected more scrutiny. More delay. But Dr. Lane had seen something in her—not resolution, but readiness.

Not perfection.

Progress.

Rachel stood at the top of the stairs, the envelope tucked under one arm. Her other hand slid slowly into her pocket, pulled out her phone.

She didn’t stare at the screen this time.

She didn’t second-guess the decision.

She found his name.

Tapped the call button.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

“Hey.”

His voice was calm. Familiar. Like the end of a long day, even when it was still morning.

Rachel exhaled through her nose, a breath that released more than just air.

“I saw Dr. Lane.”

Tim didn’t jump in.

Didn’t ask.

Just waited.

“I’m cleared,” she said. “Conditionally. Back under observation. Mandatory check-ins.”

A pause.

Then—soft, almost teasing: “So don’t get shot while I’m babysitting you.”

Tim chuckled, low and warm.

“I’ll try to keep my record clean.”

Rachel smiled—small, but there.

“I just… wanted you to know.”

There was a pause on his end. Not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that let the words land.

“I’m glad you called,” he said.

And he meant it.

Rachel looked down at the sidewalk. Her voice dropped.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone else first.”

Tim’s voice was quieter now. “Yeah?”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched again—comfortable, steady.

Then he added, “Want to grab a late lunch after? Celebrate being back on the leash?”

Rachel smirked faintly. “You’re buying.”

Tim didn’t miss a beat. “Wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

She hung up a moment later and stood there in the sun, her phone still in her hand.

For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t afraid of going back.

Because when she did—she wouldn’t be alone.

Monday – 1:32 P.M. – A Small Corner Diner, West of the Precinct

The booth wasn’t crowded. Just tucked away at the back of a small corner diner known more for its coffee refills than the menu. Vinyl seats. Scratched table. A jukebox in the corner that hadn’t worked in years.

Rachel sat with her elbows resting lightly on the table, her water glass sweating slowly beside her plate. No vest. No uniform. Just jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. Her hair was tied back, loosely—not like a duty shift, but comfortably.

Tim slid into the booth opposite her, setting down two folded paper menus. “I told you this place still exists.”

“I believed you,” she said. “I just wasn’t convinced it served anything that didn’t come frozen.”

He smirked. “You wound me.”

“I doubt it.”

Their eyes met across the table—and something in Rachel’s gaze softened. Not dramatically. Just… open. Present. Her walls weren’t down. But they weren’t impenetrable either.

The waitress came and went. Orders placed. No fuss. Water refilled without asking.

Silence stretched between them for a few moments, but neither reached to fill it.

When the food arrived—omelet for her, club sandwich for him—they ate without rush. The kind of quiet meal people share when they’ve already said the important things.

And then—midway through a bite of egg, Rachel asked, casual but curious:

“Were you always like this?”

Tim looked up. “Like what?”

She tilted her head slightly. “Quiet. Patient. Steady.”

He swallowed, wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Depends who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

Tim leaned back slightly, gaze steady. “No. I wasn’t.”

Rachel nodded once. “Thought so.”

“I used to think being steady meant being in control. Turns out, it means knowing when not to hold too tight.”

Rachel paused at that.

The line echoed something deep in her.

“Is that how you knew? To not push me?”

Tim didn’t answer right away.

Then: “I’ve been where you are. Different reasons, same silence. I figured the best thing I could do was not make you explain it while it was still echoing in your chest.”

She sat with that.

Chewed slowly.

Then said, “You’re annoying, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“You’re right. Too often.”

Tim smirked. “You think this is annoying? Wait till you’re back on shift and I start quoting policy again.”

Rachel shook her head—but there was a smile tugging at her mouth now. Real. Easy.

“I’ve missed this,” she said softly.

Tim met her eyes. “I never stopped.”

For a beat, she looked like she might say more.

Instead, she returned to her plate, ate another bite.

But her foot tapped once under the table—and bumped his.

She didn’t apologize.

Didn’t pull away.

Tim didn’t mention it.

He just let it sit there.

Like everything else between them—

Unspoken, but understood.

Tuesday – 7:04 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Grey’s Office

The early morning pace in the precinct was just starting to build. Radios crackled. Boots echoed down the hallway. The scent of too-strong coffee drifted from the break room.

Rachel stood outside Grey’s office, knocking once against the doorframe.

He looked up immediately.

“Come in, Officer Grace.”

She stepped inside, her uniform clean and precise. Hair pulled back in regulation. Badge clipped sharp against her chest. But her posture—while upright—was no longer tense.

Grey gestured to the chair across from his desk.

She sat.

He leaned back, folding his arms slowly. “Dr. Lane sent me the clearance report last night.”

Rachel nodded. “Conditional reinstatement. Supervised field return. Weekly check-ins.”

Grey didn’t respond right away.

He studied her—eyes calm, measured, but direct.

“You look better than the last time you sat in that chair.”

Rachel didn’t bristle.

Didn’t deflect.

She met his gaze and said, simply, “I am.”

Grey gave the barest nod.

“I’m not interested in perfection,” he said. “I care about presence. I care about stability. And I care that the person standing beside her partner is someone aware of the weight they carry.”

Rachel’s throat tightened. She nodded once.

Grey’s voice dropped a fraction.

“What happened on that call wasn’t a failure. It was a moment catching up to you. Happens to the best. And when it does, we don’t shove it down and wait for it to poison us.”

He paused.

“We face it. We treat it. We talk about it.”

Rachel’s voice was quieter now.

“I’m learning.”

“That’s all I ask.”

He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a small envelope, and slid it across the desk.

Assignment slip.

Her first shift back—paired, as always, with Bradford.

“She’s yours again,” Grey said. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Rachel allowed a flicker of a smirk.

“You won’t.”

As she stood, Grey added one more thing—voice low, but certain:

“And Grace?”

She paused at the door.

“I’m proud of the way you’ve come back.”

Rachel didn’t smile.

But she nodded.

And this time?

There was peace in it.

Tuesday – 7:42 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Locker Room

The click of Rachel’s boots echoed across the floor as she stepped into the locker room. Morning energy was in full swing—officers chatting, zipping up their gear, the scuff of locker doors closing and opening again in rhythm.

Her presence drew a few glances. Not stares. Just acknowledgment.

The kind that passed between cops who knew the unspoken weight of someone coming back.

Rachel moved to her locker with easy precision, spinning the dial, swinging the door open. Her gear was just as she’d left it. Badge polished. Duty belt hanging like it had been waiting for her.

She moved through the routine without hesitation—belt buckled, radio clipped, sidearm checked and secured. Her body remembered the rhythm, and this time, her mind didn’t fight it.

She was back.

Not forcing it.

Ready.

Behind her, the low thump of the locker room door opening again.

Tim’s voice came first, steady, casual. “Coffee’s better upstairs, but the vending machine down here still pretends to care.”

Rachel didn’t turn immediately.

She just smiled—small, private.

And then she turned.

Tim stood a few feet away, his uniform sharp, his coffee in hand. He looked the same.

But something between them didn’t.

There was a warmth now. Not loud. Not obvious. Just settled.

“Missed that complaint,” she said, zipping her vest.

“I missed having someone ignore it,” he replied.

Their eyes met.

Held.

It wasn’t flirtation.

It wasn’t tension.

It was recognition.

Lucy Chen—halfway down the aisle—watched them from her spot near the lockers. She was tying her boots, head tilted slightly, brows raised in quiet observation.

And when she saw Rachel pass Tim her gloves without a word—and saw Tim take them like it was second nature—

That was the moment.

Lucy didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

But her eyes followed the pair as they walked out of the locker room together.

Side by side.

Not brushing shoulders.

Not touching.

But so clearly moving as one.

Angela appeared beside her seconds later, slipping her badge onto her belt.

“What’d I miss?”

Lucy gave a tiny shake of her head, lips curving just slightly.

“Nothing,” she said. “And everything.”

Angela frowned. “You’re gonna make me work for this, aren’t you?”

Lucy smirked. “Oh yeah.”

And behind them, Rachel and Tim disappeared into the hallway.

And for the first time since her transfer—

Rachel Grace didn’t feel like she was walking into duty alone.

Tuesday – 9:16 A.M. – Neighborhood Patrol, Mid-City

Their first call was routine.

Suspicious person loitering near a corner market. Reported by an elderly resident with a history of false alarms. Rachel scanned the sidewalk before they even parked—body relaxed, voice calm as she said, “Corner’s clear, but he might’ve ducked behind the dumpster.”

Tim nodded. “Want to take left?”

“I’ll take right.”

They moved in sync, not rushed, not forced. Two halves of a whole.

The man behind the market turned out to be a homeless vet looking for shade, dehydrated but polite. They offered water and a few resource pamphlets from the back of the cruiser. Rachel crouched to speak with him while Tim watched the perimeter.

Nothing dramatic.

But Rachel didn’t flinch when the man reached for her hand to thank her.

And Tim didn’t have to intervene.

He just nodded once when they walked away.

“Well handled.”

Rachel smirked faintly. “We’re easing back in, right?”

Tim grinned. “Don’t jinx it.”

10:47 A.M. – Possible Burglary, Wilshire Blvd.

The call came through light—neighbor reporting a broken side gate, house possibly unoccupied. Rachel took the lead this time, stepping through the gate while Tim scanned the yard.

It was a tight approach—narrow walkway, high fence, nowhere to maneuver if things went sideways.

Rachel’s hand hovered near her weapon. Not tense—ready.

Tim moved opposite her, mirroring her steps.

They cleared the perimeter, side by side.

Rachel tapped the earpiece. “Side gate’s open but no forced entry on back door. No sounds inside.”

Tim checked the windows. “No movement. Windows intact. Let’s check the front.”

Rachel gave a single nod.

No hesitation. No freeze. No flicker of the past.

And when they rounded the corner, a dog barked through the window—enough to send both of them back a half-step before the homeowner, red-faced and sheepish, opened the door and waved them off with apologies.

Rachel didn’t laugh.

But her eyes sparkled with restrained amusement.

“You jinxed it,” she said on the way back to the cruiser.

Tim shrugged. “It’s the uniform. People see us coming and remember they left their door open.”

Rachel shook her head—but her voice was lighter now.

So was her step.

12:03 P.M. – Welfare Check, Senior Complex, Fairfax Area

The last call before lunch took them to a senior housing facility—a neighbor concerned about a woman who hadn’t answered her door in two days.

They walked the long carpeted hallway in silence. Rachel knocked first, calm and clear.

“Ma’am? LAPD. We’re here to check on you.”

No response.

Tim looked to her.

Rachel nodded once.

They followed procedure. Spoke with the building manager. Gained access. And when the door opened and the woman inside turned out to be napping with noise-canceling headphones in, Rachel crouched by her gently—soft voice, no edge.

The woman woke, embarrassed.

Rachel stayed with her, offered to make her tea.

Tim filled out the check-in report quietly from the kitchen counter.

As they left, the woman waved at Rachel and said, “You’ve got kind eyes.”

Outside, in the sunlight again, Rachel muttered, “First time someone’s called me that in about a decade.”

Tim smirked as he opened the cruiser door. “They weren’t wrong.”

Rachel paused before getting in. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Letting you lead,” he said. “Like I said… easing in.”

She climbed in and buckled her seatbelt, but didn’t speak right away.

Then:

“I didn’t freeze today.”

Tim didn’t look over.

But his voice was low.

“You didn’t even blink.”

And that?

Was everything.

Tuesday – 6:48 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Cruiser Bay

The sun was beginning to slip behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across the concrete floor of the cruiser bay. The soft clang of lockers echoed faintly from inside, and somewhere down the corridor, someone laughed—familiar precinct noise, fading as the shift changed hands.

Rachel leaned against the open cruiser door, unhooking her duty belt with practiced ease. Her movements were slow—not tired. Measured.

The shift had been smooth. Unremarkable.

But for her, it meant everything.

Her heart had stayed steady.

Her hands hadn’t trembled once.

And the only voice that pulled her focus was Tim’s—and not because she needed it.

But because she wanted it.

Tim stood on the other side of the car, slipping his notebook into the console, double-checking the MDT before shutting it down.

He didn’t look over when he spoke. “Smooth shift.”

Rachel glanced at him, nodding once. “No notes.”

He shut the door gently and moved to stand beside her, not close enough to crowd, not far enough to feel like goodbye.

“I figured it’d take you a couple days to ease in,” he said, casually.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

Tim smirked. “Impressed.”

She scoffed lightly. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Their eyes met.

And in that look, there was an entire conversation.

Thank you. I see you. I’m still here.

Rachel broke the gaze first, but her expression had softened—shoulders relaxed, mouth tugged faintly into the edge of a smile.

She didn’t reach for her bag right away.

Didn’t step back toward the locker room.

Just stayed there.

Lingering.

Tim noticed.

Of course he did.

He leaned back slightly against the cruiser, giving her room, waiting without pushing.

Rachel crossed her arms loosely and looked out at the sky.

“I used to hate the end of shift,” she said quietly. “Felt like I had to go back to something… unfinished. Stifling.”

Tim didn’t interrupt.

“But now…”

She stopped.

Didn’t finish the sentence.

Tim didn’t ask her to.

He just said, “You don’t have to rush out tonight.”

Rachel looked at him again.

And this time, she didn’t look away.

“I’m not.”

Not yet.

They stood like that a few moments longer—side by side, bathed in the soft gold of a city exhaling after a long day.

The job hadn’t changed.

But they had.

And the silence between them wasn’t silence at all.

It was something beginning.

Tuesday – 7:52 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Front Door

Rachel stood inside the doorway, barefoot, hair loose from its earlier tight hold. She hadn’t changed out of her jeans yet, but the jacket was gone and her sleeves were pushed up.

She stared at her phone for a moment, thumb hovering over Tim’s name in her recent calls—not in hesitation, but in habit. That slight beat of resistance she used to feel was… gone.

This wasn’t about convincing herself.

She knew exactly what she wanted.

Her fingers tapped once.

RACHEL: You home?

She didn’t have to wait long.

TIM: Just walked in.

RACHEL: You eat?

Another pause.

Then:

TIM: Not yet.

RACHEL: I made too much. Come by.

There was no reason attached.

No cover.

She didn’t apologize. Didn’t explain.

There was no address.

No explanation.

TIM: On my way.

Tuesday – 8:17 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment

The scent of garlic and something roasted filled the air. A simple meal—nothing fancy. A sheet pan of vegetables, marinated chicken, rice on the stove. Two plates already on the counter.

Rachel was pouring water into glasses when the knock came.

She opened the door without looking through the peephole this time.

Tim stood there in jeans and a dark sweater, hair slightly messy from the day. He gave her a smile—low, quiet, present.

She stepped back, let him in.

He moved past her without ceremony, heading to the kitchen like he’d done it a dozen times. Rachel shut the door, her body already relaxing in his presence.

Tim glanced at the food. “You said too much. You meant enough for a SWAT team.”

Rachel handed him a glass. “Eat or don’t. But I’m not apologizing for leftovers.”

Tim grinned, taking the glass. “Not complaining.”

They stood together in the kitchen, quiet. Rachel served without asking his preferences. He didn’t question the portions. Everything moved with that same ease they’d found in the field—familiar now, even off-duty.

And when they sat—this time at her small two-person table, plates full and the city humming low outside the windows—there was no weight between them.

No unspoken crisis.

Just presence.

Halfway through the meal, Tim looked up at her, voice softer now.

“No anniversary. No incident. You just wanted company.”

Rachel didn’t look away.

“Yeah,” she said.

Then, with the barest lift of her brow: “That a problem?”

Tim smiled slowly. “Not even a little.”

They ate the rest in companionable silence.

And when the meal was over, Rachel didn’t rush to clear the plates.

She just leaned back in her chair, tucked one leg beneath her, and said—

“So… what now?”

Tim matched her posture, arms relaxed, gaze steady.

“Now,” he said, “you let me keep showing up.”

Rachel nodded once.

Not just accepting it.

Wanting it.

And in the quiet of her kitchen, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she needed to close the door behind him.

Because she finally understood—he was always going to knock again.

Wednesday – 4:14 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Briefing Room

The shift had been easy. Too easy.

One noise complaint, two routine patrols, and a mid-afternoon coffee stop where Tim had grumbled about the new guy at the drive-thru forgetting to add cream.

Rachel hadn’t laughed.

She’d barely smiled.

Tim noticed.

Of course he did.

They were seated in the back of the briefing room now, waiting for an updated BOLO dispatch. The lights overhead buzzed faintly. Paper rustled. A few officers filtered in and out, grabbing updates and heading back out.

Rachel sat forward slightly, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on a blank spot on the table.

She hadn’t said much in the last hour.

Tim glanced at her. Then at the clock. Then back.

“You good?” he asked, low.

Her response was automatic. “Fine.”

He didn’t buy it.

Didn’t push either.

Just said, “You’ve got that look. Like your head’s miles away.”

Rachel’s jaw tightened.

She nodded once.

Then stood.

“I’m gonna grab water.”

She didn’t wait for him to follow.

Wednesday – 4:22 P.M. – Women’s Locker Room

The door clicked shut behind her.

Rachel stepped inside, breathing harder than she should’ve been. She reached the sink, gripped the edges of the porcelain, stared at her reflection.

Her face was calm.

Too calm.

But inside?

Chaos.

Her stomach had turned the moment she glanced at the calendar that morning, flipping ahead to check her rotation.

Friday.

Jake’s birthday was Friday.

She hadn’t said it aloud in two years. Hadn’t marked it. Hadn’t visited the cemetery. Hadn’t touched his dog tags.

But the date lived in her skin.

And now it was screaming.

She closed her eyes.

Tried to breathe.

But her chest wouldn’t open.

Her hands trembled—just a little—but enough that she noticed.

She turned on the faucet. Washed them slowly. Twice.

The cold didn’t help.

The ache behind her sternum pressed harder.

Two days.

Jake should be forty-two.

She blinked hard and grabbed a paper towel, dabbing water from her face she didn’t remember splashing there.

Someone knocked at the door.

Tim.

He didn’t come in.

He didn’t say her name.

Just knocked—twice—and waited.

Because he knew.

And that was worse somehow.

Because she didn’t want to say it.

Didn’t want to break this fragile peace.

But she couldn’t stop what was coming.

Not now.

Wednesday – 4:31 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Quiet Hallway Outside the File Room

The station buzzed with the usual late-shift rhythm—phones ringing, boots scuffing tile, the low crackle of voices over radios. But just past the records room, tucked between two offices that hadn’t been updated since 1998, there was a pocket of stillness.

Tim waited there, back against the wall, arms loosely crossed. He wasn’t watching the door. He didn’t need to.

He felt her coming before he saw her.

Rachel stepped out of the locker room like someone walking through a fog—controlled, composed, but something in her posture had cracked just slightly. Like the tension she used to wear as armor wasn’t holding anymore.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t beckon.

Just stepped back and gave her a choice.

And she followed him.

Down the corridor.

Around the corner.

To the only kind of quiet a police station ever allowed.

She stopped. Back still straight. Head up.

But her hands were shaking.

Not visibly.

Just enough for him to notice.

Rachel drew a breath. Held it. Let it go.

And then said, voice thin:

“I didn’t forget.”

Tim didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Rachel’s eyes were fixed on a scuff mark on the linoleum floor.

“He would’ve been forty-two on Friday.”

The words hung between them.

Alive.

Sharp.

Heavy.

She swallowed, hard.

“I tried to push past it. Keep the days moving. But I looked at the calendar this morning and it just hit me. That weight. That burn in your chest like your lungs are too full.”

Her eyes stayed locked on that spot on the floor.

“It was this time of year,” she said quietly. “Late May. Hot. Green everywhere. The kind of weather that makes you want to be outside.”

Her voice cracked—just once.

“And I remember thinking at his funeral, it should’ve been raining. It should’ve been gray. There should’ve been thunder or something. But it was just… sunshine. The air smelled like jasmine. And I hated it.”

She shook her head slowly.

“It felt wrong to bury someone you love when everything else looked like it was still alive.”

Tim’s voice was low when it came.

“You never told me that.”

Rachel glanced at him.

“I’ve never told anyone that.”

A long pause followed.

She looked like she might break.

Might fold.

Instead, she breathed in again. Deep. Controlled.

“I didn’t want to bring this into us. I didn’t want this part of me to touch that.”

And that’s when Tim spoke again—soft, unwavering.

“You’re not bringing it in.”

“You’re letting me carry part of it.”

Rachel’s jaw clenched.

Her arms folded tighter.

But her eyes?

Red-rimmed.

“I hate that I still feel it this deep.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

She looked at him now.

Fully.

Exposed.

Like she wasn’t sure if she’d made a mistake saying any of it out loud.

But Tim?

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look away.

And he didn’t fill the silence.

He gave it to her.

And Rachel Grace—who had lived most of her life never needing anyone—

Let herself stand in it.

Not alone.

Not this time.

Wednesday – 8:43 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment

The apartment was dark except for the low amber glow of a lamp in the corner. Outside, the street hummed with late spring life—distant laughter, a car engine, the hiss of a sprinkler. The air smelled faintly of warm asphalt and night jasmine, carried through the slightly cracked window above her kitchen sink.

Rachel stood barefoot in the center of her living room, unmoving. She hadn’t changed out of her uniform yet. The vest was gone, her boots kicked to the side, but she was still wearing the same dark shirt, sleeves shoved up to her elbows, fingers loosely curled at her sides.

The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful tonight.

It was tight.

Claustrophobic.

Her gaze was fixed on the photograph tucked halfway behind a stack of unopened mail on the bookshelf. She hadn’t meant to look at it. Hadn’t touched it in a year.

But there it was.

Jake.

Smiling. In civilian clothes. One arm around her shoulder, the other holding a beer, his laugh caught mid-motion, frozen forever in the late May sunlight. She was in that photo too—hair windswept, grinning like someone who hadn’t learned the meaning of loss yet.

Rachel walked over.

Slow.

She picked up the photo like it might break in her hand. Her thumb traced the corner. Not his face. Not her own. Just the edges—because the center was too much.

He was buried on a day like this.

Hot. Unapologetically blue-skied. And she’d stood over that grave with her fists clenched at her sides, furious at the sun for shining.

Her throat tightened.

And something inside her said: Go.

Not out of guilt.

Not obligation.

Not penance.

Just… go.

But the next thought came heavier.

Don’t go alone.

Her hands curled tighter around the frame.

Rachel walked back toward the kitchen, grabbing her phone off the counter.

She stared at the screen for too long.

Then opened his contact.

No text written yet.

Just the blinking cursor waiting for her to make a decision.

Her thumb hovered.

Because this wasn’t routine.

It wasn’t about backup or safety.

It was about trust.

Letting someone stand beside her in the place she’d refused to be seen.

And she trusted him.

She trusted him.

Her chest rose with a sharp inhale.

And she typed.

RACHEL: I’m going to visit Jake’s grave Friday. His birthday.

She stared at the blinking cursor for a long time.

Then added—slow, careful, vulnerable:

RACHEL: I don’t want to go alone.

Seconds passed.

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.

The message hung there. She set the phone down on the counter like it was glass. Backed away.

Crossed the room.

Waited.

Her heart hammered.

Then the screen lit up.

TIM: Tell me what time. I’ll be there.

That was it.

Simple.

Solid.

Exactly what she needed.

Rachel sat down on the edge of her couch, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor.

For the first time in years, she wasn’t bracing to face that day.

She was just preparing to walk into it.

And someone would be waiting at her side.

Friday – 9:02 A.M. – Forest Hill Cemetery

The air was already warm, the sun bright enough to make the pavement shimmer. Spring had spilled into summer like it hadn’t asked permission—green everywhere, full bloom, birdsong in the distance, the world obnoxiously alive.

Rachel stood at the top of the small slope near Jake’s headstone, motionless.

She wore black.

Not her uniform.

A black, sleeveless dress—clean lines, modest, but feminine in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. Her shoulders bare in the sun, hair half-pinned back. No jewelry. No watch.

Just the glint of dog tags wrapped twice around her hand.

And a small silver ring tucked into her palm.

She hadn’t spoken since they arrived.

Tim stood a few respectful feet behind her, wearing dark slacks and a short-sleeved button-up, quietly present. He hadn’t commented on her appearance when she opened the door that morning. He hadn’t needed to.

The weight of it said everything.

Now, he waited.

Not hovering.

Not interrupting.

Just with her.

Rachel took a slow breath and stepped forward onto the grass. Her heels barely made a sound. Her eyes were locked on the stone: Jake O’Hare. Beloved son. Partner. Protector.

And beneath the engraved letters, a tiny line etched so faintly you had to look closely to see it.

He was everything.

Rachel knelt.

Carefully.

Hands trembling now.

She placed the dog tags on the stone, smoothing the chain like it deserved peace. Then opened her palm.

The ring rested in the center—small, simple, gold.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Not broken.

Wrecked with reverence.

“I found this in the back of your dresser,” she whispered. “After. Tucked in a box with receipts and spare cufflinks.”

She swallowed.

“You were going to ask me. And I would’ve said yes.”

Her eyes stayed fixed on the ring.

“I would’ve said yes so fast.”

The breeze moved through the trees, shifting the sunlight over the headstone. Rachel blinked quickly.

“I didn’t want to come. Not the first year. Not the second. Not even now, if I’m honest. But I couldn’t let it pass again like it was just another day.”

Her shoulders shook—just once.

“I still see you in the corners of rooms. I still think about what we would’ve done. Who we would’ve become.”

She set the ring down gently on the grass beneath the stone, pressing it into the earth with two fingers.

“I loved you,” she said. “I never stopped. But I need to let the rest of you go.”

Silence.

Grief held.

Then—Rachel straightened, stood slowly, brushing her hands on the back of her dress. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy.

But there was something in her posture now.

A release.

She turned.

And Tim was still there.

Unmoved.

Watching her like she was the only person that existed.

Rachel didn’t say anything at first.

She just walked toward him.

Each step lighter.

And when she stopped in front of him, the distance between them thinner than it had ever been, she whispered—like it cost her something to say:

“Thank you for coming.”

Tim didn’t offer a smile. He didn’t need to.

He just said, steady as ever:

“You didn’t need to be alone today.”

And Rachel Grace?

For the first time in years—

Believed it.

Friday – 9:24 A.M. – Forest Hill Cemetery

Rachel stood a few paces from the headstone, unmoving.

The sun was higher now, warm against her shoulders, the back of her neck. The dress clung lightly to her skin, breeze catching the hem. But she didn’t shift. Didn’t fidget.

She just stood there.

Breathing.

Grieving.

Releasing.

Her eyes stayed locked on the ring, on the dog tags, on the patch of grass where she’d knelt. And though not a single tear spilled down her cheek, her face was flushed with the effort of holding steady—of letting the storm inside her settle without crumbling beneath it.

Behind her, Tim said nothing.

Didn’t move.

He simply waited, his presence firm and constant like the trees lining the cemetery road.

It wasn’t silence he offered.

It was space.

And Rachel took it.

She breathed. Again. And again. Deeper. Slower. Until something in her finally let go—like a pressure valve releasing.

Her shoulders eased.

Her jaw unclenched.

She blinked once, long and heavy.

And turned toward Tim.

Her voice was low. Worn. Soft.

“I’m ready.”

Tim nodded.

But before they stepped away, he gently lifted a hand.

“Can I…?”

Rachel’s eyes softened. She knew what he meant.

She stepped back with a quiet nod.

Tim moved forward, boots crunching slightly against the gravel path. He stopped just short of the headstone, hands loose at his sides, head bowed—not in prayer, but in something closer to respect.

He took a breath.

Then said, barely above a whisper:

“I never knew you, Jake.”

Another pause.

“But I know her.”

His eyes never left the stone.

“And you had one hell of a woman.”

A beat passed—just wind through leaves and the faint call of a mourning dove in the trees.

Tim’s voice lowered.

“I can’t replace you. I won’t try. But I’ll be there. I’ll have her back. Always.”

He didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t overdo it.

He simply stood there a moment longer—acknowledging the man, the memory, the love that shaped the woman beside him.

Then he turned.

Rachel hadn’t moved.

Her eyes were locked on him.

Not surprised.

Not overwhelmed.

Just quietly, profoundly seen.

They didn’t say anything else as they walked back toward the car.

They didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in years, Rachel Grace wasn’t just letting go of the past—

She was finally stepping forward.

And Tim?

He was already walking with her.

Friday – 9:47 A.M. – Rachel’s Car, Leaving the Cemetery

The engine hummed softly, steady beneath them. No music played. No words were spoken. Just the sound of tires rolling slowly over the cemetery’s narrow gravel path and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees overhead.

Rachel sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely in her lap. Her fingers weren’t curled tight like usual. Her shoulders weren’t locked in place. She looked ahead, eyes calm, not blank.

Her dress moved slightly in the breeze drifting through the half-lowered windows. The air outside was warm, dry, tinged with blooming grass and sun-baked pavement. It wrapped around them—not stifling. Still.

Tim sat in the passenger seat, relaxed in that way only someone completely aware of the moment could be. He didn’t glance at her. Didn’t search for signs of struggle or need. He just sat beside her, still and present, one elbow resting against the armrest, gaze turned out the window.

The silence between them was profound.

Not awkward.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… true.

Rachel’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror for a moment—watching the green slope of the cemetery grow smaller behind them. She didn’t look away with guilt. She didn’t turn back.

She simply watched it recede.

Then let it go.

Her gaze shifted forward again, both hands on the wheel now.

And still, no one spoke.

The wind through the window lifted strands of her hair. Her breathing was slow. Steady. Her hands didn’t tremble. Her lips were parted slightly—not like she was about to speak, but like she didn’t need to keep her mouth set tight against feeling anymore.

This was the aftermath.

Not of collapse.

But of release.

She had stood on holy ground, buried the last thing she’d been afraid to feel, and walked away not with emptiness… but with room.

Room for the quiet.

Room for herself.

Room for him.

After a while, she said nothing—but her hand shifted, resting just slightly closer to the center console. Not asking. Not inviting. Just… near.

And Tim didn’t take it.

Didn’t reach for it.

But his hand settled beside hers.

Close.

Still.

And the silence remained.

And in it—

She breathed.

Friday – 10:21 A.M. – Willow Park, Edge of the Playground

The sun was climbing higher now, pushing the late morning into full summer brightness. It beat gently down through green leaves, filtered in gold across the grass, and dappled the winding footpaths in shifting shadows.

Rachel sat on a bench beneath a tall tree, her dress brushing lightly over her knees, feet flat on the ground, hands resting in her lap. The wind tugged at the loose ends of her hair. She hadn’t bothered to fix it. Didn’t seem to care that it had come undone.

To her left, a little girl squealed with delight as she chased bubbles across the grass. A young couple lounged nearby on a picnic blanket. A man jogged past with a dog too small for his stride, leash tugging behind him.

Life was everywhere.

Unapologetic. Loud. Present.

And somehow, for the first time in a long time, Rachel didn’t resent it.

She didn’t feel like a ghost walking among the living.

She just felt quiet.

Rooted.

Beside her on the bench, Tim sat silently. Elbows on his knees, eyes following the slow curve of a frisbee in the air, the chaotic game of tag around the jungle gym. His presence wasn’t invasive. He didn’t press her for thoughts or try to make the moment mean something.

He just shared it.

Rachel’s gaze drifted across the park—taking in the colors, the laughter, the rhythm of life pulsing forward with no regard for grief or memory.

And she exhaled.

Not because she was finished hurting.

But because for the first time, the hurt wasn’t everything.

She glanced at Tim then.

He looked over at the same moment.

They didn’t speak.

But something passed between them in that look—acknowledgment. Affection. Ease.

And then, softly, Rachel said, “It shouldn’t feel okay.”

Tim didn’t move.

But his voice came steady.

“It doesn’t have to be okay. Just real.”

She turned her gaze forward again.

A toddler wobbled across the grass chasing a butterfly. A woman laughed so loudly across the lawn, it startled a pigeon from the railing behind them.

Rachel smiled.

Faint. But real.

“I haven’t let myself sit in a place like this in years.”

Tim’s voice was low. “You belong in it.”

Rachel’s brow creased—almost reflexively.

“I used to think I didn’t. That I was… cut off. Like I stayed frozen in the cemetery while everything else moved on.”

“You didn’t,” he said quietly. “You just didn’t have someone to walk with when you were ready.”

Her throat tightened again.

But this time it didn’t choke her.

It cleared something.

She nodded.

And they stayed there—

On a bench surrounded by joy, by movement, by strangers.

And for the first time in a long, long time,

Rachel didn’t feel out of place.

She just felt alive.

And not alone.

Friday – 12:03 P.M. – Walking Path Outside Willow Park

The sun had climbed to its peak, heat settling into the concrete, rippling against the parked cars along the street. Birds called from the trees overhead, and the breeze that had kept them company on the bench had stilled, leaving the air heavy, warm, and golden.

Rachel and Tim walked side by side along the cracked sidewalk, the cemetery far behind them, the park at their backs.

Neither spoke.

The day had already said enough.

Tim’s car was parked a few blocks down, tucked beneath the shade of a tall jacaranda tree that had begun to drop its purple blooms. A soft trail of petals lined the sidewalk.

Rachel walked with her arms relaxed at her sides, the edge of her black dress brushing against her legs. Her expression was calm—not vacant, but settled. Her eyes were distant, yet present. Her pace matched his without thought.

And then—

Their hands brushed.

Just lightly.

A faint, accidental graze of skin.

And they both felt it.

Rachel’s fingers twitched—not recoiling, but reacting.

Tim didn’t look over.

But his hand moved, ever so slightly, fingers straightening.

For one suspended heartbeat, they both hovered in the same question—

Reach?

Wait?

They didn’t close the distance.

Not today.

But they didn’t move away either.

Their hands remained close. Close enough to know what it would feel like to give in to the touch. Close enough to know they weren’t quite ready.

But they would be.

A breeze returned as they reached the car, lifting the hem of Rachel’s dress and sending a few purple petals spinning across the hood.

She turned toward him.

Tim opened the passenger door for her—not because he needed to, but because he wanted to.

Rachel hesitated.

Not with uncertainty.

But with recognition.

And when she stepped in, there was a look in her eyes—not loud, not romantic.

Just real.

A quiet thank you.

A promise not yet spoken.

He closed the door gently.

And the silence, once again, was not empty.

It was becoming theirs.

Saturday – 7:42 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment

The room was still when she woke.

Not with tension.

Not with dread.

Just… still.

Sunlight bled in through the edges of the curtain, soft and gold. Outside, the sounds of the city were just beginning—car doors, birdsong, the low hum of distant traffic. The air was already warm. Summer had arrived in full.

Rachel lay on her side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting loosely against her stomach. The sheets were tangled at her feet. Her hair had fallen around her face in soft disarray.

And for the first time in as long as she could remember—

She had slept.

Not the fitful, half-alert sleep of someone bracing for ghosts. Not the restlessness of a heart still clenched in grief.

But deep, undisturbed sleep.

She hadn’t dreamed of Jake’s last breath. She hadn’t jerked awake to the phantom echo of gunfire. She hadn’t woken with tears dried against her temples or pain locked into her spine.

She had drifted down.

And something in her—somewhere quiet—had let go.

There was a strange peace in that.

Not dramatic.

Not triumphant.

Just ease.

Like somewhere in the long hush of night, Jake had touched her once more—not to haunt, not to hold—but to say go on. And this time?

She did.

Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

Not urgent.

Just there.

She reached for it with fingers still warm from sleep.

A single message lit up the screen.

TIM: Morning. Just checking in. How’d you sleep?

Rachel stared at it for a long second.

Then—without a smile, without hesitation, just truth—

She typed back:

RACHEL: Like I was allowed to.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Then:

TIM: Good.

She didn’t answer right away. She set the phone down. Laid back into the pillows. Stared at the ceiling.

Her hand rested gently over her ribs. She could still feel the ache of grief there. The space where love used to burn too hot. But it wasn’t choking her anymore.

It just was.

Present. Quiet. Carried.

And as the sun poured through the curtains and the city stirred fully awake—

Rachel Grace stayed in bed a little longer. Because she could. Because she was still here. And someone out there was waiting to walk beside her. When she was ready.

Saturday – 10:11 A.M. – Residential Path Along the River Trail

The sun was already high but filtered through thick green trees lining the trail. The path stretched in gentle curves beside a quiet river, the water catching light like a silver thread. Families walked with strollers, cyclists passed with murmured apologies, and joggers gave nods without slowing down.

Rachel and Tim walked without urgency, side by side.

This time, her shoulders weren’t held stiff like she was bracing for the world. Her stride was easy, arms loose at her sides, a light tank top catching the breeze and a pair of soft joggers that said she hadn’t planned anything today.

Neither had spoken much since the first few blocks.

There hadn’t been a need.

The silence between them was no longer about what wasn’t said—it was about what didn’t need to be.

But when they rounded a bend and the crowds thinned, Tim’s voice broke in. Quiet. Level. Intentional. “Tell me about Jake.”

Rachel blinked, her step faltering just slightly. Her head turned.

He didn’t look at her. His eyes were on the path ahead, hands in his pockets. His tone wasn’t casual. But it wasn’t intrusive either. It was steady. Respectful. Rachel knew immediately what he didn’t mean. He didn’t want the citations, the medal ceremony, the near-mythic legacy still whispered through the department.

No.

This was different.

He wanted to know who Jake had been when the badge came off.

Rachel looked down at the path, breath catching in her chest—not painfully. Just unexpectedly. After a moment, she nodded once. A quiet acceptance. And she began to speak.

“He called his parents every Sunday night. Always at the same time. Six-thirty. His mom made chicken parm, and they’d sit on the couch and talk about everything but the job.”

Her voice was soft. Even. Unrushed.

“He used to laugh in this way… this full-body kind of laugh. Like he wasn’t holding anything back. It came out of nowhere and made you want to laugh too, even if the joke wasn’t that funny.”

A small smile tugged at her mouth.

“He was the guy who remembered everyone’s birthday. Who left notes on lockers. Bought extra granola bars to keep in the cruiser because he knew I never ate breakfast before a shift.”

She paused. The weight in her throat building.

“He loved like it was a decision he made every morning. Consistently. Quietly. Without making it about him.”

She looked ahead again, her eyes glinting slightly.

“He never doubted me. Not once. Even when I doubted myself.”

Tim remained quiet, listening. Letting her fill the space.

Rachel swallowed. “The department got the hero. I got the man who remembered to turn the porch light on before I came home.”

That stopped her.

She looked down at the pavement. And then—softly—she added, “I don’t talk about him like this. Not with anyone.”

“I know,” Tim said, voice low. And he meant it.

He wasn’t asking to compare. He was asking to know—to see all of her, even the parts still wrapped in sorrow. They walked on for another moment, the hush between them more intimate than any words.

And then—Rachel’s hand brushed his again.

This time, neither of them pulled away.

Tag List: @immastealurkneecaps, @maybefanficting, @kmc1989, @fuckingsimp4azriel

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here!

[lightdancingwords]

Ha! Now there's a thought: Eliza growing up to be a children's book author!

Beau is definitely making himself the top romance novel protagonist, isn't he? (I have friends telling me I should write a version of him into a novel. I'd be rich!)

As for Y/N's pregnancy... I'm actually drawing from my real life experience! I had a doctor expression concern about how my blood pressure had been steadily rising, but thankfully never reached the danger zone when my wee babe was born.

Lots of little real life experiences being snuck into these stories!

Thank you for commenting!

Second Chances: Forever - Part Twenty of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever. Word Count: 6,153 Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut/smut, fluff, a touch of medical/pregnancy concern A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Twenty: Ringing The Alarm

The clinic room was peaceful in its own way—muted tones, soft lighting, the kind of quiet that usually comforted Y/N during her routine check-ups. She sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table, one hand resting absently over the swell of her belly, eyes tracing the mobile hanging from the ceiling above the monitor. A paper cutout of a bear floated in slow, lazy circles. Her baby moved faintly beneath her palm.

She smiled, small and calm.

Until the door opened, and Dr. Thomas entered with her usual warmth—but a touch more weight behind her eyes.

“Hi, Y/N,” she greeted, sitting on her stool and rolling a little closer. “Everything with baby looks great—heartbeat’s strong, measurements are right where they should be. But I want to go over your vitals before you leave.”

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly. “Okay.”

The doctor folded her hands. “Your blood pressure has increased again—slowly, but steadily since your twelve-week appointment. And I want to talk to you about what that might mean moving forward.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening slightly over her belly.

“We’re not in a danger zone yet,” Dr. Thomas reassured her. “But you’re eighteen weeks, and this kind of trend is something we don’t ignore—especially not in a pregnancy with multiple young children at home, and especially given how preeclampsia develops.”

Y/N’s heart gave a quiet flutter. “You think it might be… that?”

Dr. Thomas was honest but gentle. “It’s too early to say. But preeclampsia can begin showing signs with elevated blood pressure. And while it's most commonly diagnosed in the third trimester, we do sometimes see signs earlier. What’s important now is monitoring closely and adjusting anything we can—diet, rest, stress levels.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, nodding again.

“You’ve already got a lot on your plate—young children, a full house, a partner in law enforcement. You’re not doing anything wrong, Y/N,” she added quickly, seeing the guilt flicker in her patient’s eyes. “This isn’t something you cause. But it is something we need to take seriously. If it progresses, it can become dangerous for both you and the baby.”

“What happens if it does?” Y/N asked quietly.

“Depends on how early, how high, and how fast,” the doctor replied. “Sometimes we can manage it with more frequent monitoring and rest. In more serious cases, it can mean hospitalization. We’d talk about that if we had to. But we’re not there now.”

The room was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the faint rhythmic hum of the monitor still tracking her baby’s heartbeat.

Y/N nodded, the information settling like a quiet weight in her chest—not panic, but a deep awareness. “So we take it seriously. We pay attention.”

Dr. Thomas nodded. “Exactly. You don’t have to live in fear. But don’t brush off the signs either. If you get headaches that don’t go away, sudden swelling, or any changes in vision, you call immediately. And let your partner help. I know it’s hard to slow down, especially when you're used to taking care of everyone else. But now, it’s your turn to be looked after, too.”

Y/N offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes—but it was grateful. “Thank you.”

They scheduled an earlier follow-up, and when she walked out into the Montana daylight, the warmth on her face grounded her a little more.

In the car, she sat still for a beat, processing it all. Not spiraling—but aware. And then she called Beau.

“Hey,” he answered on the first ring. “Everything alright?”

“Mostly,” she said. “Baby’s perfect. But my blood pressure’s climbing again.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, his voice low and firm. “What’d they say?”

She relayed it all—Dr. Thomas’s calm but clear explanation, the mention of preeclampsia, the next steps.

Beau didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, his voice cracked just enough to reveal how tightly he was holding himself together.

“I’m comin’ home,” he said. “I want to be there with you. We’ll make whatever changes we have to. Just… thank you for tellin’ me. For not carrying it alone.”

“I never do,” she said quietly.

And she didn’t.

Because Beau wasn’t just her husband. He was her partner in all of it—the joy, the mess, the fear, the hope. And now, more than ever, they’d lean on that bond.

Together.

Beau’s truck pulled into the driveway barely an hour after Y/N had returned home. She hadn’t expected him to drop everything, but when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel, saw the familiar silhouette through the window—broad shoulders, purposeful stride—her heart cracked open a little with relief.

She stood in the kitchen, a hand resting on the edge of the counter, the other gently curled over the curve of her belly. Caleb sat in his high chair gnawing on a teether, while Eliza knelt on the floor with crayons spread around her like a battlefield of color, narrating a story about a wolf prince and his magical blueberry crown.

Beau stepped through the front door, his eyes finding hers instantly.

He gave her a small, quiet smile—one of those rare ones that said everything he didn’t need to say aloud. She smiled back, her heart thudding soft with love.

“Hey, Daddy!” Eliza chirped without looking up. “You’re home early! Did the crime-fighting wolves send you back for backup?”

Beau crouched beside her and kissed the top of her head. “They sure did. Needed someone strong to help Mama today.”

“I am strong,” Eliza said seriously, flexing both arms. “But I’m also busy making wolf maps.”

“Then I’ll handle the backup part,” Beau said gently, rising and walking to Y/N.

They met at the kitchen island, his hands reaching for her waist, hers finding his shirt like second nature. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, slow and steady, then pulled back just enough to look at her—really look.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I am now.”

They stood like that for a moment longer before the soft sound of Caleb babbling brought them back to the present. Beau glanced at the kids and lowered his voice.

“Wanna step outside? Just for a minute.”

She nodded again, and they both moved easily, fluidly—two people used to sharing space and weight and life.

Eliza looked up. “Where are you going?”

“Just outside for a minute, sweetheart,” Y/N said. “You keep working on that map. Daddy and I need to make a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“For making sure things stay peaceful in the kitchen,” Beau said with a wink.

“Tell the wolves I said hi,” she called after them.

They stepped onto the porch, the door clicking softly behind them. The wind was cool and gentle, brushing across the yard in slow, sweeping breaths.

Beau turned to her, his hand resting over hers on the railing. “Tell me everything. I want to hear it from you.”

So she did—again. Slower this time, more measured. She told him about the rise in blood pressure, the doctor’s concern, the explanation of preeclampsia, the plan for closer monitoring. She repeated Dr. Thomas’s gentle warning about rest, about stress, about slowing down.

And Beau listened, every line in his face drawn tight with focus.

When she finished, he pulled her in again, his hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed a kiss there.

“I hate that I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she said, tucking her face into his chest. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “You just reminded me how much I love you. And how damn hard I’ll fight to keep you safe.”

They stood like that a moment longer—quiet, close, anchored.

Then Beau exhaled and gently pulled back. “Alright. We keep things calm. Keep meals easy. You stay off your feet when you can. I’ll handle more with the kids. We do this smart.”

Y/N looked up at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “We already do.”

Inside, Eliza’s voice echoed faintly—something about a crown that needed polishing.

They both smiled, then slipped back into the house, side by side, ready to keep walking forward.

Together.

That evening, after the children were in bed and the house had grown still, Beau stood alone in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a notepad in hand and the weight of the day quietly settled on his shoulders.

The porch light cast long shadows across the floor, and in the hush that followed bedtime lullabies and sleepy whispers, he let himself think—really think—about what Y/N needed, and how he could give it to her without her feeling like the world had shifted too much beneath her feet.

She wouldn’t ask him to change anything. He knew that. She’d downplay the pressure, the fatigue, the slow increase in blood pressure as just another hurdle. That was who she was—steady, resilient, fiercely protective of the normal, even when it cost her everything.

But Beau had seen the flicker of concern in her eyes, the way her hand hovered just a little longer over her belly when she didn’t think anyone was watching.

And that was enough.

He jotted a few notes on the pad—meals he could prep ahead, errands he could handle before coming home from work. He could swap a couple of his longer patrol days with Carter or Jenny, maybe shift his hours just a little. He didn’t need to explain everything—just say it was a family adjustment.

Because it was.

He’d make it work.

He had to.

He opened a cabinet and started pulling down ingredients—nothing elaborate. Just what he needed to prep tomorrow’s dinner in advance. Something warm and easy to reheat. Maybe some soup and roasted vegetables. Comfort food without the work.

He moved quietly, setting things aside, scribbling a grocery list as he went. They had a babysitter for the day after tomorrow—he’d use the time to stock up on meals he could freeze. That way Y/N wouldn’t have to cook unless she wanted to.

He’d even thought about bringing Margaret back for a few days—but not just yet. Not unless Y/N asked. He didn’t want to take away her independence. He just wanted to support it.

After he finished, he rinsed the cutting board and wiped down the counter, the sound of water soft and steady in the sink.

Then he padded down the hall to check on the kids—Caleb fast asleep with one arm flung out, Eliza curled around her favorite plush. He adjusted their blankets, kissed their foreheads, and returned to the bedroom where Y/N lay curled on her side, half-asleep, the softest smile on her lips as she stirred at the sound of his entrance.

“You okay?” she murmured, barely lifting her head.

“Yeah,” he said, stripping down to his T-shirt and boxers before sliding in beside her. “Just made a few notes. Gonna make the next few weeks easier on you.”

“You’re already doing so much,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed again.

Beau slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close until her back fit perfectly against his chest. “I love you,” he said into her hair. “And I’m gonna take care of you, whether you’re carrying a baby or just carrying the whole family like you always do.”

She gave a soft sound of gratitude, her hand finding his and lacing their fingers together.

And as the silence folded around them again, Beau let his plans settle deep into his bones—not grand gestures, not dramatic shifts.

Just love.

One steady, quiet adjustment at a time.

The next morning came gently.

No shrieks. No banging of sippy cups or declarations of wolf patrols. Just light filtering through the curtains, soft and golden, the kind that always made the world feel slower, easier.

Beau stirred first.

His arm was already around Y/N, tucked beneath the swell of her belly where it rested naturally in the crook of her side. Her back was warm against his chest, her breaths deep and even, her hair spilling over the pillow in a dark wave. He didn’t move, not yet. He just stayed there, listening to the rhythm of her breathing and the faint, muffled cooing of doves outside the window.

This—this—was what he fought for. The stillness before the noise. The peace that came from knowing she was beside him, safe, warm, alive with the kind of love he still couldn’t fully wrap his hands around.

Y/N shifted slightly, her hand moving to rest over his. “You’re awake.”

“Didn’t want to be,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “But I couldn’t stop watching you sleep.”

She turned a little, just enough to see his face in the soft light. “That’s a little creepy, Sheriff.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling with affection. “The sweetest kind.”

Her smile was slow, tired but real. “Sleep okay?”

“With you? Always.” He moved closer, his hand spreading gently over her bump. “How’re you feelin’ this morning?”

She paused a moment, thoughtful. “Tired. But okay.”

Beau watched her closely. “Really okay?”

Y/N met his gaze, searching it. “I know you’re worried.”

“Damn right I am.”

She sighed, resting her forehead to his. “I don’t want to be treated like I’m breakable.”

“You’re not,” he said softly. “But you’re carryin’ our baby. And I’ve already got two little wild things out there who look up to you like you hung the moon. I can’t—won’t—risk anything happenin’ to you.”

She kissed him then, quiet and slow. “I know.”

He kissed her back with a kind of ache, the kind that only comes from loving someone so deeply it stretches through your bones.

“Then let me take a little more off your plate,” he said against her lips. “Let me handle the grocery runs. The messes. I’ve got a few deputies who owe me favors. And I can move things around with the babysitter for your next appointment.”

Y/N blinked, the words settling slowly in her chest. “You already started planning?”

“I did,” he admitted. “Last night. Just little things. Just so you don’t have to keep holding it all.”

Her eyes shimmered as she whispered, “You’re a good man, Beau Arlen.”

“No,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I’m just a man who got lucky enough to love you. And smart enough to not take that for granted.”

She pulled him closer, curling into his warmth. “I love you.”

“I know.” His voice was low, tender. “But I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

The rest of the house began to stir—the soft thud of little feet, the giggle of a baby, the faint clang of something being knocked over.

Beau sighed. “That’ll be our wolves.”

Y/N laughed softly, already reaching for the blankets. “Back to the real world.”

He kissed her once more before they sat up—two parents, two partners, two people trying to love each other better than the day before.

And with a smile passed between them, they rose—ready to meet the noise and joy and mess of another day.

Together.

Beau had always been good at reading people.

It came with the job—years of watching body language, listening between the lines, understanding when someone said they were fine but meant anything but. But that skill had only sharpened when it came to Y/N.

He’d known the moment she said “I’m okay” yesterday that she was holding back a little. That she didn’t want to worry him. That she didn’t want to need help.

So now, he was going to help in the way she’d accept—quietly. Steadily. Without making a show of it.

After morning breakfast wrangling and wolf patrol storytelling courtesy of Eliza, Beau kissed his wife softly and headed out the door. He paused with one hand on the knob, looking back.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said.

“I will.”

“You mean it?”

Y/N gave him a look. “Beau.”

He grinned and stepped outside, the door clicking softly behind him.

The day at the department started early, as always. But Beau had arrived an hour ahead of the others. He dropped his bag behind his desk and pulled out the notepad he’d scribbled on the night before.

The first thing he did was place a call to the babysitter they trusted most—the one who knew Eliza’s “wolf rules” and Caleb’s dramatic snack preferences.

“Think you can help out a little more this week?” Beau asked. “Just a few hours, every couple days. Give Y/N a breather.”

The sitter agreed in a heartbeat.

Next, he popped into Doris’s office. She glanced up from her computer, instantly suspicious. “You’re about to ask me for something.”

“I need to swap shifts with Carter next Friday,” Beau said, leaning against the doorway. “Y/N has a follow-up appointment. I want to be there.”

Doris nodded, tapping it into the calendar without question. “Anything else, or just being a responsible husband?”

He smiled faintly. “Both.”

Jenny found him an hour later in the break room, mid-coffee refill.

“You’re in early,” she noted. “Trying to impress someone?”

Beau shrugged. “Got a lot on my plate. Needed the head start.”

She studied him a beat longer, then her tone softened. “How’s Y/N?”

“She’s okay,” he said. “Baby’s okay. But her blood pressure’s creeping up. They’re watching it close. I’m just… trying to make sure I don’t let her carry more than she has to.”

Jenny handed him a new pen from her jacket pocket—one of the good ones. “You’re already doing that just by showing up.”

Back in his office, Beau cleared his schedule as much as he could, pushed unnecessary meetings off his plate, and coordinated with Carter about taking a few patrols off his hands.

By lunch, his notebook had turned into a list of meals to prep, chores to knock out, and quiet plans to give Y/N more space to breathe.

Because she deserved more than just his love.

She deserved his presence. His effort. His partnership.

When Beau pulled into the driveway later that day—an armful of groceries balanced at his side, a bouquet of soft yellow daisies tucked between them—he felt the same weightless peace he always did when he saw that front porch.

Inside was the reason for everything.

And with every adjustment, every shift of his time and his energy, he was telling her without words—

I’ve got you. I always will.

The house was quieter than usual, but not silent. Eliza was in the living room, her latest wolf council meeting currently held between two plushies and a stack of crayons, while Caleb napped in his crib—miraculously, without protest.

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a cup of chamomile tea she hadn’t reheated for once, eyes skimming across the list Beau had left stuck to the fridge that morning.

It was simple. Just a few bullet points scribbled in his familiar, careful hand:

Dinner ideas for the week

Babysitter confirmed for Thursday & Saturday

Eliza’s pre-K forms printed—on my desk

You come first. Let me carry more. I love you.

She blinked at the last line, the words catching somewhere low in her throat.

God, he loved her well.

And it wasn’t just the sweeping gestures or whispered I love yous in bed. It was in the way he noticed when she was too tired to finish folding laundry. In how he picked up more diapers without being asked. In how he spoke with calm certainty when she told him about her rising blood pressure—no panic, just quiet resolve.

This was the man she’d built a life with.

And right now, she was trying—really trying—to let him help her without guilt.

So she let herself slow down.

After breakfast, she’d watched cartoons with Eliza, curled on the couch with her daughter tucked under her arm, both of them munching toast. They’d read two full stories, one of which Eliza insisted she read to Y/N—her words jumbled and mispronounced, but her pride clear.

“You’re resting because the new baby’s growing fast,” Eliza had said matter-of-factly, brushing a crumb from Y/N’s shirt. “It’s okay if you don’t do everything.”

Y/N had smiled and kissed her forehead. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Daddy said it when you were brushing your teeth last night.”

Now, in the quiet that followed, Y/N stood from the table and moved slowly, easing herself into one of the armchairs by the window. She’d resisted resting for rest’s sake, always finding something else that needed to be done. But today—today she listened.

She put her feet up.

She read a few pages of a book.

She closed her eyes for a minute when the sun hit the chair just right.

And when Caleb’s monitor finally crackled to life, she stretched, stood, and moved to his room with the ease of a mother who knew the steps by heart—but with the gentle calm of someone who was finally letting herself breathe.

She scooped him up, nuzzled his cheek, and held him just a moment longer than she had to.

Because this life was beautiful.

Messy. Complicated. Precious.

And for the first time in a while, she felt it fully—without the rush.

Y/N was just finishing wiping down Caleb’s tray after a late afternoon snack—a few abandoned blueberries still clinging to the edge—when she heard the sound of tires on the gravel outside. The familiar engine hum settled into silence, and her breath caught gently in her chest.

She didn’t expect him home yet. Not this early.

A moment later, the front door eased open.

“Hey,” Beau called softly, as if sensing the quiet rhythm of the house and not wanting to disturb it.

Y/N peeked around the corner, Caleb perched on her hip. Eliza popped her head out from behind the couch with a crayon in her hair and glitter stuck to her elbow.

“You’re home,” Y/N said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Surprise,” Beau replied, stepping fully inside. He looked warm and wind-kissed, the faintest line of weariness around his eyes—but something in his expression was brighter. Lighter. “I shuffled things around. Didn’t make sense to stay when I could be here.”

In one hand, he held a brown paper grocery bag. In the other, a small bouquet of soft yellow daisies.

Y/N blinked, touched.

He walked up, kissed her on the cheek, then turned to Caleb. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, giving his son’s round belly a gentle pat. Caleb responded with a delighted squeal and immediately tried to grab the daisies.

“These are for your mama,” Beau said, handing them to Y/N.

“They’re beautiful,” she said softly, brushing her fingers along the petals. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said. “You don’t have to earn rest or softness, Y/N. You deserve it.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, this time lingering a little longer. Then, setting down the groceries, he turned toward Eliza, who had now crept into the kitchen with a suspicious look in her eyes.

“What’s all that?” she asked, pointing to the bag.

“Provisions,” Beau said seriously. “We’ve got soup, fresh bread, a chocolate treat and the ingredients for pancakes tomorrow morning.”

Eliza gasped. “That’s pack celebration food!”

Beau winked. “Exactly.”

He moved with familiar grace through the kitchen—putting the bread away, sliding the soup into the fridge, placing a wrapped chocolate bar high enough that Eliza wouldn’t find it until he handed it over himself. And Y/N stood there, hand on her belly, watching him in quiet wonder.

He had always been good at loving her in the ways that mattered most.

“I made a few more adjustments today,” he said casually as he unpacked. “Shift changes. Babysitter’s lined up through the week. Got the grocery list settled for the next few days, and I’ll take over dinner tomorrow.”

Y/N stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm. “Beau.”

He paused.

“You’re not just helping,” she said quietly. “You’re holding us all together. And I see it. I feel it.”

He looked at her then—soft, full—and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not doing anything more than what you deserve.”

She kissed him again, then pressed Caleb gently into his arms.

“Take this one. He’s been climbing furniture since his nap.”

Beau grinned. “A wild little wolf, huh?”

“The wildest.”

As he moved toward the living room with Caleb tucked against him and Eliza trailing close behind asking questions about pancakes, Y/N gathered the daisies in a jar and set them on the kitchen windowsill. The sun caught the petals just right.

She exhaled slowly.

Loved.

Seen.

And never, ever alone.

Beau sat on the living room floor, his legs stretched out, a toy firetruck resting against one knee, and Caleb crawling in a wide, clumsy circle between him and Eliza. The room pulsed with that cozy afternoon rhythm—sunlight casting warm stripes across the carpet, Eliza narrating a story about “the great wolf feast,” and Caleb occasionally stopping to examine his own fingers like they were new.

Y/N watched from the nearby couch, curled into the cushions with a cup of lukewarm tea in hand and her other resting lightly on her belly. Her smile was lazy, full of that rare sort of peace that came from watching her world be—wild, sweet, noisy, and perfectly intact.

Caleb, still gripping a rubber spoon, paused in front of Beau and looked up with a big, gummy grin.

“Da!” he chirped, tapping Beau’s knee with the spoon.

Beau grinned back. “That’s right, little man.”

But then—without prompting, without fanfare—Caleb turned toward his sister and pointed, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Eliza,” Beau said softly, watching.

Caleb nodded once, almost like he’d made a final decision.

“Ee-sa!”

Beau blinked.

Y/N sat up a little straighter.

Eliza gasped, her crayon rolling off the table. “Did he just—he did! He said my name!”

“Ee-sa!” Caleb repeated proudly, bouncing where he sat.

Beau scooped him up with a laugh, lifting him high in the air. “That’s your sister, alright. You know her now, huh?”

Caleb giggled, delighted by the reaction.

Then, as Beau pulled him in close for a hug, the toddler twisted in his arms and looked toward the couch.

His eyes lit up.

“Mama!”

Y/N froze for just a second, her heart catching so completely it made her breath hitch.

Beau turned, still holding Caleb. “What did you say, buddy?”

Caleb grinned, pointing directly at Y/N, his chubby hand waving.

“Mama.”

Y/N’s smile bloomed slowly, eyes glistening as she set her tea aside and rose to her feet. “Oh, sweetheart…”

She walked over, and Beau lowered Caleb into her arms. The little boy curled into her like he belonged there—which, of course, he did—and tucked his face against her shoulder with a happy little sigh.

Eliza clapped like it was a royal announcement. “He knows all of us now! He said Mama and Da and Ee-sa. That means he’s officially pack-certified!”

Y/N laughed softly, tears threatening the edges of her lashes as she kissed Caleb’s cheek. “You’ve got your whole family in your heart now, don’t you, baby boy?”

Beau wrapped an arm around both of them, his other hand reaching for Eliza to pull her in too. And just like that, they were tangled in a warm, laughing, loving heap of limbs and hearts and words that meant everything.

“Mama,” Caleb murmured again, content and sure.

And Y/N closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the beauty of such a small word carrying such a big, beautiful life inside it.

The scent of rosemary and roasted chicken drifted through the house like an invitation, warm and grounding. Y/N moved through the kitchen at a gentle pace, stirring gravy with one hand, her other resting lightly on the small of her back. Beau hovered close, not hovering in a suffocating way—just present, always ready to step in with a steady hand or a dish towel.

Eliza sat at the dining table, completely engrossed in folding napkins into "wolf scrolls" and assigning each family member an animal title. “Mama,” she said thoughtfully, “you can be the Luna Wolf Queen. Caleb’s the baby Alpha-in-training. And Daddy… you’re the Elder Alpha.”

Beau raised a brow from where he was pouring water into glasses. “Elder?”

Eliza shrugged. “Because you’ve got, you know… those little white hairs in your beard.”

Y/N covered her laugh with a cough. “She’s observant.”

Beau gave Eliza a mock stern look. “That’s distinguished, little wolf.”

“Okay, okay,” Eliza said, waving her hands. “Distinguished Elder Alpha.”

Caleb, bouncing in his high chair, smacked his spoon down and exclaimed, “Ee-sa! Mama! Da!”

Y/N paused in her movements, warmth blooming in her chest all over again. Every time he said it, it struck her fresh. The wonder of it. The rightness.

They sat down to eat, the clink of silverware and the rustle of napkins filling the air between snippets of Eliza’s commentary and Caleb’s delighted babbling. Y/N’s plate was already prepared for her by Beau—he’d made sure she didn’t have to lift a finger more than necessary.

“Everything smells so good,” she said softly, taking a bite and letting herself lean into the moment.

Beau reached across the table, brushing his fingers over hers. “Only the best for my Luna Queen.”

Eliza beamed. “See? I told you the titles made sense!”

As the meal went on, Caleb tried to feed his peas to his stuffed bear. Eliza launched into a dramatic tale involving wolves, forest mushrooms, and a magical teacup. Y/N laughed until her sides ached. Beau wiped mashed carrots off Caleb’s forehead without missing a beat.

The light outside dimmed slowly, golden fading into the dusky lavender of early evening, and still, they lingered—plates half-finished, stories halfway told, love absolutely everywhere.

No one said it aloud, but they all felt it.

This table held more than dinner.

It held belonging.

Y/N leaned into Beau’s side as he stood to clear the dishes, whispering, “Thank you. For this. For today.”

He looked down at her, brushing his lips against her hair. “Thank you for giving me this life.”

And with the children giggling in the background and the last of the warmth lingering in the kitchen, they moved as a unit—this wild, wonderful pack they had created.

Together.

The house had gone still in that way it only ever did after bedtime.

The dishes were done, toys tucked away, and the gentle hum of the baby monitor crackled quietly on the nightstand. The air in their bedroom was cool and quiet, the scent of clean sheets and faint lavender lingering in the space they now called theirs.

Y/N lay curled on her side, already half-drifting when Beau stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, hair slightly damp. He moved quietly, as he always did in the dark—careful, steady—but when he reached the edge of the bed and saw her watching him, something softened even further in his eyes.

She reached out, fingers grazing the back of his hand. “You’re still awake.”

He slid under the sheets beside her, propping himself on one elbow. “Couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, trailing down to rest his hand against her belly. “You. Today. Everything you’re carrying.”

She turned into his touch, her voice soft. “I’m alright, Beau.”

“I know,” he murmured, though the hesitation in his voice lingered. “But still… with your blood pressure, I didn’t want to push. I’ve been holding back. I don’t want to risk anything.”

Y/N shifted closer, threading her hand through his. “Loving me doesn’t put me at risk.”

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”

She leaned in, pressing a kiss just under his jaw, slow and sure. “Then let me show you I’m okay. Let me remind you that I still need this—need you.”

His breath caught, the tension in his shoulders softening as she guided his hand to her waist. His fingers spread instinctively, anchoring to her. His forehead met hers, and he waited—silent, reverent.

“You sure?” he whispered.

She smiled, her voice low. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

So he kissed her—slow, lingering, full of everything he couldn’t say with words. And when he touched her next, it was with the kind of tenderness that spoke of knowing every inch of her. Every shift of breath. Every beat of the life they’d built together.

They moved like a memory. No rush. No urgency. Just reverence.

He whispered her name like it was something sacred, his hand splayed across her belly as he moved within her—measured, patient, full of devotion. She held him close, fingertips tracing the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the heart of the man who never stopped holding her—even when she tried to carry everything alone.

It was quiet between them, soft moans and sighs tucked between kisses and promises spoken only in touch. Their bodies knew the rhythm of love that wasn’t about passion alone—but about presence.

When they came together, it wasn’t a crescendo—it was a deep exhale. A return. A reminder.

After, they lay tangled beneath the covers, limbs still warm, breaths beginning to slow.

Beau brushed the hair from her forehead, still watching her like she might vanish if he blinked. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Y/N smiled, eyes half-closed. “For what?”

“For letting me love you like that,” he whispered. “For being mine.”

She curled closer, her voice the last thread of light before sleep. “Always.”

The first fingers of morning sunlight crept across the bedroom, turning the white sheets a soft, golden hue. Outside, the world was still hushed—no car doors, no barking dogs, no thundering of little feet just yet.

Inside, the bed was a tangle of limbs and warmth, the kind of closeness born from love given and received without walls.

Y/N woke first.

She blinked slowly, savoring the rare stillness, the gentle weight of Beau’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist. His hand rested lightly over the curve of her belly, fingers twitching slightly in sleep, like even in his dreams, he was tethered to her.

She smiled against the pillow, her heart full in that quiet, aching way.

She shifted just enough to turn and face him. Beau slept heavily, his features relaxed, softer than anyone else ever got to see. The faint stubble on his jaw brushed the edge of the pillow, and a few strands of his hair had gone rogue across his forehead. He looked younger like this. Looser.

Beautiful, she thought, pressing a featherlight kiss to his chest where her hand rested.

As if sensing her, he stirred.

His arms tightened around her instinctively, drawing her back into him without even opening his eyes. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice gravelly and deep.

“Morning,” she whispered back, nuzzling against him.

For a long stretch of moments, they just lay there—breathing, being. The kind of intimacy that didn’t need words, that wasn’t rushed or heavy with demands. Just there.

Eventually, Beau tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her hair. “You okay?”

She nodded, smiling. “Better than okay.”

He smiled too, slow and lazy. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on lettin’ you outta bed for a while.”

She chuckled softly. “You planning to call in backup at the station? Explain how the Luna Queen declared a family snuggle day?”

He hummed, his chest vibrating beneath her. “Think Doris would understand. Might even send supplies.”

They fell into a slow, easy kiss—no urgency, just tenderness. The kind that spoke of trust, of promises already kept.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N tucked her head under Beau’s chin, her body perfectly molded against his.

Outside the door, faint footsteps padded along the hall, followed by a muffled giggle.

“The wolves are awake,” Y/N whispered.

Beau sighed with theatrical sorrow. “Our peaceful reign has ended.”

But even as Caleb’s babbling and Eliza’s dramatic storytelling filtered through the crack beneath the door, Beau only held her tighter.

“We’ll take it slow today,” he promised, voice a rough, soft vow. “For you. For the baby. For us.”

Y/N smiled against his skin.

She knew he meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe—deep in her bones—that no matter what came next, they’d carry it together.

One quiet, steady morning at a time.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

[lightdancingwords]

Second Chances: Forever - Part Twenty of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever. Word Count: 6,153 Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut/smut, fluff, a touch of medical/pregnancy concern A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Twenty: Ringing The Alarm

The clinic room was peaceful in its own way—muted tones, soft lighting, the kind of quiet that usually comforted Y/N during her routine check-ups. She sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table, one hand resting absently over the swell of her belly, eyes tracing the mobile hanging from the ceiling above the monitor. A paper cutout of a bear floated in slow, lazy circles. Her baby moved faintly beneath her palm.

She smiled, small and calm.

Until the door opened, and Dr. Thomas entered with her usual warmth—but a touch more weight behind her eyes.

“Hi, Y/N,” she greeted, sitting on her stool and rolling a little closer. “Everything with baby looks great—heartbeat’s strong, measurements are right where they should be. But I want to go over your vitals before you leave.”

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly. “Okay.”

The doctor folded her hands. “Your blood pressure has increased again—slowly, but steadily since your twelve-week appointment. And I want to talk to you about what that might mean moving forward.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening slightly over her belly.

“We’re not in a danger zone yet,” Dr. Thomas reassured her. “But you’re eighteen weeks, and this kind of trend is something we don’t ignore—especially not in a pregnancy with multiple young children at home, and especially given how preeclampsia develops.”

Y/N’s heart gave a quiet flutter. “You think it might be… that?”

Dr. Thomas was honest but gentle. “It’s too early to say. But preeclampsia can begin showing signs with elevated blood pressure. And while it's most commonly diagnosed in the third trimester, we do sometimes see signs earlier. What’s important now is monitoring closely and adjusting anything we can—diet, rest, stress levels.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, nodding again.

“You’ve already got a lot on your plate—young children, a full house, a partner in law enforcement. You’re not doing anything wrong, Y/N,” she added quickly, seeing the guilt flicker in her patient’s eyes. “This isn’t something you cause. But it is something we need to take seriously. If it progresses, it can become dangerous for both you and the baby.”

“What happens if it does?” Y/N asked quietly.

“Depends on how early, how high, and how fast,” the doctor replied. “Sometimes we can manage it with more frequent monitoring and rest. In more serious cases, it can mean hospitalization. We’d talk about that if we had to. But we’re not there now.”

The room was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the faint rhythmic hum of the monitor still tracking her baby’s heartbeat.

Y/N nodded, the information settling like a quiet weight in her chest—not panic, but a deep awareness. “So we take it seriously. We pay attention.”

Dr. Thomas nodded. “Exactly. You don’t have to live in fear. But don’t brush off the signs either. If you get headaches that don’t go away, sudden swelling, or any changes in vision, you call immediately. And let your partner help. I know it’s hard to slow down, especially when you're used to taking care of everyone else. But now, it’s your turn to be looked after, too.”

Y/N offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes—but it was grateful. “Thank you.”

They scheduled an earlier follow-up, and when she walked out into the Montana daylight, the warmth on her face grounded her a little more.

In the car, she sat still for a beat, processing it all. Not spiraling—but aware. And then she called Beau.

“Hey,” he answered on the first ring. “Everything alright?”

“Mostly,” she said. “Baby’s perfect. But my blood pressure’s climbing again.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, his voice low and firm. “What’d they say?”

She relayed it all—Dr. Thomas’s calm but clear explanation, the mention of preeclampsia, the next steps.

Beau didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, his voice cracked just enough to reveal how tightly he was holding himself together.

“I’m comin’ home,” he said. “I want to be there with you. We’ll make whatever changes we have to. Just… thank you for tellin’ me. For not carrying it alone.”

“I never do,” she said quietly.

And she didn’t.

Because Beau wasn’t just her husband. He was her partner in all of it—the joy, the mess, the fear, the hope. And now, more than ever, they’d lean on that bond.

Together.

Beau’s truck pulled into the driveway barely an hour after Y/N had returned home. She hadn’t expected him to drop everything, but when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel, saw the familiar silhouette through the window—broad shoulders, purposeful stride—her heart cracked open a little with relief.

She stood in the kitchen, a hand resting on the edge of the counter, the other gently curled over the curve of her belly. Caleb sat in his high chair gnawing on a teether, while Eliza knelt on the floor with crayons spread around her like a battlefield of color, narrating a story about a wolf prince and his magical blueberry crown.

Beau stepped through the front door, his eyes finding hers instantly.

He gave her a small, quiet smile—one of those rare ones that said everything he didn’t need to say aloud. She smiled back, her heart thudding soft with love.

“Hey, Daddy!” Eliza chirped without looking up. “You’re home early! Did the crime-fighting wolves send you back for backup?”

Beau crouched beside her and kissed the top of her head. “They sure did. Needed someone strong to help Mama today.”

“I am strong,” Eliza said seriously, flexing both arms. “But I’m also busy making wolf maps.”

“Then I’ll handle the backup part,” Beau said gently, rising and walking to Y/N.

They met at the kitchen island, his hands reaching for her waist, hers finding his shirt like second nature. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, slow and steady, then pulled back just enough to look at her—really look.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I am now.”

They stood like that for a moment longer before the soft sound of Caleb babbling brought them back to the present. Beau glanced at the kids and lowered his voice.

“Wanna step outside? Just for a minute.”

She nodded again, and they both moved easily, fluidly—two people used to sharing space and weight and life.

Eliza looked up. “Where are you going?”

“Just outside for a minute, sweetheart,” Y/N said. “You keep working on that map. Daddy and I need to make a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“For making sure things stay peaceful in the kitchen,” Beau said with a wink.

“Tell the wolves I said hi,” she called after them.

They stepped onto the porch, the door clicking softly behind them. The wind was cool and gentle, brushing across the yard in slow, sweeping breaths.

Beau turned to her, his hand resting over hers on the railing. “Tell me everything. I want to hear it from you.”

So she did—again. Slower this time, more measured. She told him about the rise in blood pressure, the doctor’s concern, the explanation of preeclampsia, the plan for closer monitoring. She repeated Dr. Thomas’s gentle warning about rest, about stress, about slowing down.

And Beau listened, every line in his face drawn tight with focus.

When she finished, he pulled her in again, his hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed a kiss there.

“I hate that I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she said, tucking her face into his chest. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “You just reminded me how much I love you. And how damn hard I’ll fight to keep you safe.”

They stood like that a moment longer—quiet, close, anchored.

Then Beau exhaled and gently pulled back. “Alright. We keep things calm. Keep meals easy. You stay off your feet when you can. I’ll handle more with the kids. We do this smart.”

Y/N looked up at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “We already do.”

Inside, Eliza’s voice echoed faintly—something about a crown that needed polishing.

They both smiled, then slipped back into the house, side by side, ready to keep walking forward.

Together.

That evening, after the children were in bed and the house had grown still, Beau stood alone in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a notepad in hand and the weight of the day quietly settled on his shoulders.

The porch light cast long shadows across the floor, and in the hush that followed bedtime lullabies and sleepy whispers, he let himself think—really think—about what Y/N needed, and how he could give it to her without her feeling like the world had shifted too much beneath her feet.

She wouldn’t ask him to change anything. He knew that. She’d downplay the pressure, the fatigue, the slow increase in blood pressure as just another hurdle. That was who she was—steady, resilient, fiercely protective of the normal, even when it cost her everything.

But Beau had seen the flicker of concern in her eyes, the way her hand hovered just a little longer over her belly when she didn’t think anyone was watching.

And that was enough.

He jotted a few notes on the pad—meals he could prep ahead, errands he could handle before coming home from work. He could swap a couple of his longer patrol days with Carter or Jenny, maybe shift his hours just a little. He didn’t need to explain everything—just say it was a family adjustment.

Because it was.

He’d make it work.

He had to.

He opened a cabinet and started pulling down ingredients—nothing elaborate. Just what he needed to prep tomorrow’s dinner in advance. Something warm and easy to reheat. Maybe some soup and roasted vegetables. Comfort food without the work.

He moved quietly, setting things aside, scribbling a grocery list as he went. They had a babysitter for the day after tomorrow—he’d use the time to stock up on meals he could freeze. That way Y/N wouldn’t have to cook unless she wanted to.

He’d even thought about bringing Margaret back for a few days—but not just yet. Not unless Y/N asked. He didn’t want to take away her independence. He just wanted to support it.

After he finished, he rinsed the cutting board and wiped down the counter, the sound of water soft and steady in the sink.

Then he padded down the hall to check on the kids—Caleb fast asleep with one arm flung out, Eliza curled around her favorite plush. He adjusted their blankets, kissed their foreheads, and returned to the bedroom where Y/N lay curled on her side, half-asleep, the softest smile on her lips as she stirred at the sound of his entrance.

“You okay?” she murmured, barely lifting her head.

“Yeah,” he said, stripping down to his T-shirt and boxers before sliding in beside her. “Just made a few notes. Gonna make the next few weeks easier on you.”

“You’re already doing so much,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed again.

Beau slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close until her back fit perfectly against his chest. “I love you,” he said into her hair. “And I’m gonna take care of you, whether you’re carrying a baby or just carrying the whole family like you always do.”

She gave a soft sound of gratitude, her hand finding his and lacing their fingers together.

And as the silence folded around them again, Beau let his plans settle deep into his bones—not grand gestures, not dramatic shifts.

Just love.

One steady, quiet adjustment at a time.

The next morning came gently.

No shrieks. No banging of sippy cups or declarations of wolf patrols. Just light filtering through the curtains, soft and golden, the kind that always made the world feel slower, easier.

Beau stirred first.

His arm was already around Y/N, tucked beneath the swell of her belly where it rested naturally in the crook of her side. Her back was warm against his chest, her breaths deep and even, her hair spilling over the pillow in a dark wave. He didn’t move, not yet. He just stayed there, listening to the rhythm of her breathing and the faint, muffled cooing of doves outside the window.

This—this—was what he fought for. The stillness before the noise. The peace that came from knowing she was beside him, safe, warm, alive with the kind of love he still couldn’t fully wrap his hands around.

Y/N shifted slightly, her hand moving to rest over his. “You’re awake.”

“Didn’t want to be,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “But I couldn’t stop watching you sleep.”

She turned a little, just enough to see his face in the soft light. “That’s a little creepy, Sheriff.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling with affection. “The sweetest kind.”

Her smile was slow, tired but real. “Sleep okay?”

“With you? Always.” He moved closer, his hand spreading gently over her bump. “How’re you feelin’ this morning?”

She paused a moment, thoughtful. “Tired. But okay.”

Beau watched her closely. “Really okay?”

Y/N met his gaze, searching it. “I know you’re worried.”

“Damn right I am.”

She sighed, resting her forehead to his. “I don’t want to be treated like I’m breakable.”

“You’re not,” he said softly. “But you’re carryin’ our baby. And I’ve already got two little wild things out there who look up to you like you hung the moon. I can’t—won’t—risk anything happenin’ to you.”

She kissed him then, quiet and slow. “I know.”

He kissed her back with a kind of ache, the kind that only comes from loving someone so deeply it stretches through your bones.

“Then let me take a little more off your plate,” he said against her lips. “Let me handle the grocery runs. The messes. I’ve got a few deputies who owe me favors. And I can move things around with the babysitter for your next appointment.”

Y/N blinked, the words settling slowly in her chest. “You already started planning?”

“I did,” he admitted. “Last night. Just little things. Just so you don’t have to keep holding it all.”

Her eyes shimmered as she whispered, “You’re a good man, Beau Arlen.”

“No,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I’m just a man who got lucky enough to love you. And smart enough to not take that for granted.”

She pulled him closer, curling into his warmth. “I love you.”

“I know.” His voice was low, tender. “But I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

The rest of the house began to stir—the soft thud of little feet, the giggle of a baby, the faint clang of something being knocked over.

Beau sighed. “That’ll be our wolves.”

Y/N laughed softly, already reaching for the blankets. “Back to the real world.”

He kissed her once more before they sat up—two parents, two partners, two people trying to love each other better than the day before.

And with a smile passed between them, they rose—ready to meet the noise and joy and mess of another day.

Together.

Beau had always been good at reading people.

It came with the job—years of watching body language, listening between the lines, understanding when someone said they were fine but meant anything but. But that skill had only sharpened when it came to Y/N.

He’d known the moment she said “I’m okay” yesterday that she was holding back a little. That she didn’t want to worry him. That she didn’t want to need help.

So now, he was going to help in the way she’d accept—quietly. Steadily. Without making a show of it.

After morning breakfast wrangling and wolf patrol storytelling courtesy of Eliza, Beau kissed his wife softly and headed out the door. He paused with one hand on the knob, looking back.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said.

“I will.”

“You mean it?”

Y/N gave him a look. “Beau.”

He grinned and stepped outside, the door clicking softly behind him.

The day at the department started early, as always. But Beau had arrived an hour ahead of the others. He dropped his bag behind his desk and pulled out the notepad he’d scribbled on the night before.

The first thing he did was place a call to the babysitter they trusted most—the one who knew Eliza’s “wolf rules” and Caleb’s dramatic snack preferences.

“Think you can help out a little more this week?” Beau asked. “Just a few hours, every couple days. Give Y/N a breather.”

The sitter agreed in a heartbeat.

Next, he popped into Doris’s office. She glanced up from her computer, instantly suspicious. “You’re about to ask me for something.”

“I need to swap shifts with Carter next Friday,” Beau said, leaning against the doorway. “Y/N has a follow-up appointment. I want to be there.”

Doris nodded, tapping it into the calendar without question. “Anything else, or just being a responsible husband?”

He smiled faintly. “Both.”

Jenny found him an hour later in the break room, mid-coffee refill.

“You’re in early,” she noted. “Trying to impress someone?”

Beau shrugged. “Got a lot on my plate. Needed the head start.”

She studied him a beat longer, then her tone softened. “How’s Y/N?”

“She’s okay,” he said. “Baby’s okay. But her blood pressure’s creeping up. They’re watching it close. I’m just… trying to make sure I don’t let her carry more than she has to.”

Jenny handed him a new pen from her jacket pocket—one of the good ones. “You’re already doing that just by showing up.”

Back in his office, Beau cleared his schedule as much as he could, pushed unnecessary meetings off his plate, and coordinated with Carter about taking a few patrols off his hands.

By lunch, his notebook had turned into a list of meals to prep, chores to knock out, and quiet plans to give Y/N more space to breathe.

Because she deserved more than just his love.

She deserved his presence. His effort. His partnership.

When Beau pulled into the driveway later that day—an armful of groceries balanced at his side, a bouquet of soft yellow daisies tucked between them—he felt the same weightless peace he always did when he saw that front porch.

Inside was the reason for everything.

And with every adjustment, every shift of his time and his energy, he was telling her without words—

I’ve got you. I always will.

The house was quieter than usual, but not silent. Eliza was in the living room, her latest wolf council meeting currently held between two plushies and a stack of crayons, while Caleb napped in his crib—miraculously, without protest.

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a cup of chamomile tea she hadn’t reheated for once, eyes skimming across the list Beau had left stuck to the fridge that morning.

It was simple. Just a few bullet points scribbled in his familiar, careful hand:

Dinner ideas for the week

Babysitter confirmed for Thursday & Saturday

Eliza’s pre-K forms printed—on my desk

You come first. Let me carry more. I love you.

She blinked at the last line, the words catching somewhere low in her throat.

God, he loved her well.

And it wasn’t just the sweeping gestures or whispered I love yous in bed. It was in the way he noticed when she was too tired to finish folding laundry. In how he picked up more diapers without being asked. In how he spoke with calm certainty when she told him about her rising blood pressure—no panic, just quiet resolve.

This was the man she’d built a life with.

And right now, she was trying—really trying—to let him help her without guilt.

So she let herself slow down.

After breakfast, she’d watched cartoons with Eliza, curled on the couch with her daughter tucked under her arm, both of them munching toast. They’d read two full stories, one of which Eliza insisted she read to Y/N—her words jumbled and mispronounced, but her pride clear.

“You’re resting because the new baby’s growing fast,” Eliza had said matter-of-factly, brushing a crumb from Y/N’s shirt. “It’s okay if you don’t do everything.”

Y/N had smiled and kissed her forehead. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Daddy said it when you were brushing your teeth last night.”

Now, in the quiet that followed, Y/N stood from the table and moved slowly, easing herself into one of the armchairs by the window. She’d resisted resting for rest’s sake, always finding something else that needed to be done. But today—today she listened.

She put her feet up.

She read a few pages of a book.

She closed her eyes for a minute when the sun hit the chair just right.

And when Caleb’s monitor finally crackled to life, she stretched, stood, and moved to his room with the ease of a mother who knew the steps by heart—but with the gentle calm of someone who was finally letting herself breathe.

She scooped him up, nuzzled his cheek, and held him just a moment longer than she had to.

Because this life was beautiful.

Messy. Complicated. Precious.

And for the first time in a while, she felt it fully—without the rush.

Y/N was just finishing wiping down Caleb’s tray after a late afternoon snack—a few abandoned blueberries still clinging to the edge—when she heard the sound of tires on the gravel outside. The familiar engine hum settled into silence, and her breath caught gently in her chest.

She didn’t expect him home yet. Not this early.

A moment later, the front door eased open.

“Hey,” Beau called softly, as if sensing the quiet rhythm of the house and not wanting to disturb it.

Y/N peeked around the corner, Caleb perched on her hip. Eliza popped her head out from behind the couch with a crayon in her hair and glitter stuck to her elbow.

“You’re home,” Y/N said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Surprise,” Beau replied, stepping fully inside. He looked warm and wind-kissed, the faintest line of weariness around his eyes—but something in his expression was brighter. Lighter. “I shuffled things around. Didn’t make sense to stay when I could be here.”

In one hand, he held a brown paper grocery bag. In the other, a small bouquet of soft yellow daisies.

Y/N blinked, touched.

He walked up, kissed her on the cheek, then turned to Caleb. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, giving his son’s round belly a gentle pat. Caleb responded with a delighted squeal and immediately tried to grab the daisies.

“These are for your mama,” Beau said, handing them to Y/N.

“They’re beautiful,” she said softly, brushing her fingers along the petals. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said. “You don’t have to earn rest or softness, Y/N. You deserve it.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, this time lingering a little longer. Then, setting down the groceries, he turned toward Eliza, who had now crept into the kitchen with a suspicious look in her eyes.

“What’s all that?” she asked, pointing to the bag.

“Provisions,” Beau said seriously. “We’ve got soup, fresh bread, a chocolate treat and the ingredients for pancakes tomorrow morning.”

Eliza gasped. “That’s pack celebration food!”

Beau winked. “Exactly.”

He moved with familiar grace through the kitchen—putting the bread away, sliding the soup into the fridge, placing a wrapped chocolate bar high enough that Eliza wouldn’t find it until he handed it over himself. And Y/N stood there, hand on her belly, watching him in quiet wonder.

He had always been good at loving her in the ways that mattered most.

“I made a few more adjustments today,” he said casually as he unpacked. “Shift changes. Babysitter’s lined up through the week. Got the grocery list settled for the next few days, and I’ll take over dinner tomorrow.”

Y/N stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm. “Beau.”

He paused.

“You’re not just helping,” she said quietly. “You’re holding us all together. And I see it. I feel it.”

He looked at her then—soft, full—and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not doing anything more than what you deserve.”

She kissed him again, then pressed Caleb gently into his arms.

“Take this one. He’s been climbing furniture since his nap.”

Beau grinned. “A wild little wolf, huh?”

“The wildest.”

As he moved toward the living room with Caleb tucked against him and Eliza trailing close behind asking questions about pancakes, Y/N gathered the daisies in a jar and set them on the kitchen windowsill. The sun caught the petals just right.

She exhaled slowly.

Loved.

Seen.

And never, ever alone.

Beau sat on the living room floor, his legs stretched out, a toy firetruck resting against one knee, and Caleb crawling in a wide, clumsy circle between him and Eliza. The room pulsed with that cozy afternoon rhythm—sunlight casting warm stripes across the carpet, Eliza narrating a story about “the great wolf feast,” and Caleb occasionally stopping to examine his own fingers like they were new.

Y/N watched from the nearby couch, curled into the cushions with a cup of lukewarm tea in hand and her other resting lightly on her belly. Her smile was lazy, full of that rare sort of peace that came from watching her world be—wild, sweet, noisy, and perfectly intact.

Caleb, still gripping a rubber spoon, paused in front of Beau and looked up with a big, gummy grin.

“Da!” he chirped, tapping Beau’s knee with the spoon.

Beau grinned back. “That’s right, little man.”

But then—without prompting, without fanfare—Caleb turned toward his sister and pointed, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Eliza,” Beau said softly, watching.

Caleb nodded once, almost like he’d made a final decision.

“Ee-sa!”

Beau blinked.

Y/N sat up a little straighter.

Eliza gasped, her crayon rolling off the table. “Did he just—he did! He said my name!”

“Ee-sa!” Caleb repeated proudly, bouncing where he sat.

Beau scooped him up with a laugh, lifting him high in the air. “That’s your sister, alright. You know her now, huh?”

Caleb giggled, delighted by the reaction.

Then, as Beau pulled him in close for a hug, the toddler twisted in his arms and looked toward the couch.

His eyes lit up.

“Mama!”

Y/N froze for just a second, her heart catching so completely it made her breath hitch.

Beau turned, still holding Caleb. “What did you say, buddy?”

Caleb grinned, pointing directly at Y/N, his chubby hand waving.

“Mama.”

Y/N’s smile bloomed slowly, eyes glistening as she set her tea aside and rose to her feet. “Oh, sweetheart…”

She walked over, and Beau lowered Caleb into her arms. The little boy curled into her like he belonged there—which, of course, he did—and tucked his face against her shoulder with a happy little sigh.

Eliza clapped like it was a royal announcement. “He knows all of us now! He said Mama and Da and Ee-sa. That means he’s officially pack-certified!”

Y/N laughed softly, tears threatening the edges of her lashes as she kissed Caleb’s cheek. “You’ve got your whole family in your heart now, don’t you, baby boy?”

Beau wrapped an arm around both of them, his other hand reaching for Eliza to pull her in too. And just like that, they were tangled in a warm, laughing, loving heap of limbs and hearts and words that meant everything.

“Mama,” Caleb murmured again, content and sure.

And Y/N closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the beauty of such a small word carrying such a big, beautiful life inside it.

The scent of rosemary and roasted chicken drifted through the house like an invitation, warm and grounding. Y/N moved through the kitchen at a gentle pace, stirring gravy with one hand, her other resting lightly on the small of her back. Beau hovered close, not hovering in a suffocating way—just present, always ready to step in with a steady hand or a dish towel.

Eliza sat at the dining table, completely engrossed in folding napkins into "wolf scrolls" and assigning each family member an animal title. “Mama,” she said thoughtfully, “you can be the Luna Wolf Queen. Caleb’s the baby Alpha-in-training. And Daddy… you’re the Elder Alpha.”

Beau raised a brow from where he was pouring water into glasses. “Elder?”

Eliza shrugged. “Because you’ve got, you know… those little white hairs in your beard.”

Y/N covered her laugh with a cough. “She’s observant.”

Beau gave Eliza a mock stern look. “That’s distinguished, little wolf.”

“Okay, okay,” Eliza said, waving her hands. “Distinguished Elder Alpha.”

Caleb, bouncing in his high chair, smacked his spoon down and exclaimed, “Ee-sa! Mama! Da!”

Y/N paused in her movements, warmth blooming in her chest all over again. Every time he said it, it struck her fresh. The wonder of it. The rightness.

They sat down to eat, the clink of silverware and the rustle of napkins filling the air between snippets of Eliza’s commentary and Caleb’s delighted babbling. Y/N’s plate was already prepared for her by Beau—he’d made sure she didn’t have to lift a finger more than necessary.

“Everything smells so good,” she said softly, taking a bite and letting herself lean into the moment.

Beau reached across the table, brushing his fingers over hers. “Only the best for my Luna Queen.”

Eliza beamed. “See? I told you the titles made sense!”

As the meal went on, Caleb tried to feed his peas to his stuffed bear. Eliza launched into a dramatic tale involving wolves, forest mushrooms, and a magical teacup. Y/N laughed until her sides ached. Beau wiped mashed carrots off Caleb’s forehead without missing a beat.

The light outside dimmed slowly, golden fading into the dusky lavender of early evening, and still, they lingered—plates half-finished, stories halfway told, love absolutely everywhere.

No one said it aloud, but they all felt it.

This table held more than dinner.

It held belonging.

Y/N leaned into Beau’s side as he stood to clear the dishes, whispering, “Thank you. For this. For today.”

He looked down at her, brushing his lips against her hair. “Thank you for giving me this life.”

And with the children giggling in the background and the last of the warmth lingering in the kitchen, they moved as a unit—this wild, wonderful pack they had created.

Together.

The house had gone still in that way it only ever did after bedtime.

The dishes were done, toys tucked away, and the gentle hum of the baby monitor crackled quietly on the nightstand. The air in their bedroom was cool and quiet, the scent of clean sheets and faint lavender lingering in the space they now called theirs.

Y/N lay curled on her side, already half-drifting when Beau stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, hair slightly damp. He moved quietly, as he always did in the dark—careful, steady—but when he reached the edge of the bed and saw her watching him, something softened even further in his eyes.

She reached out, fingers grazing the back of his hand. “You’re still awake.”

He slid under the sheets beside her, propping himself on one elbow. “Couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, trailing down to rest his hand against her belly. “You. Today. Everything you’re carrying.”

She turned into his touch, her voice soft. “I’m alright, Beau.”

“I know,” he murmured, though the hesitation in his voice lingered. “But still… with your blood pressure, I didn’t want to push. I’ve been holding back. I don’t want to risk anything.”

Y/N shifted closer, threading her hand through his. “Loving me doesn’t put me at risk.”

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”

She leaned in, pressing a kiss just under his jaw, slow and sure. “Then let me show you I’m okay. Let me remind you that I still need this—need you.”

His breath caught, the tension in his shoulders softening as she guided his hand to her waist. His fingers spread instinctively, anchoring to her. His forehead met hers, and he waited—silent, reverent.

“You sure?” he whispered.

She smiled, her voice low. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

So he kissed her—slow, lingering, full of everything he couldn’t say with words. And when he touched her next, it was with the kind of tenderness that spoke of knowing every inch of her. Every shift of breath. Every beat of the life they’d built together.

They moved like a memory. No rush. No urgency. Just reverence.

He whispered her name like it was something sacred, his hand splayed across her belly as he moved within her—measured, patient, full of devotion. She held him close, fingertips tracing the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the heart of the man who never stopped holding her—even when she tried to carry everything alone.

It was quiet between them, soft moans and sighs tucked between kisses and promises spoken only in touch. Their bodies knew the rhythm of love that wasn’t about passion alone—but about presence.

When they came together, it wasn’t a crescendo—it was a deep exhale. A return. A reminder.

After, they lay tangled beneath the covers, limbs still warm, breaths beginning to slow.

Beau brushed the hair from her forehead, still watching her like she might vanish if he blinked. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Y/N smiled, eyes half-closed. “For what?”

“For letting me love you like that,” he whispered. “For being mine.”

She curled closer, her voice the last thread of light before sleep. “Always.”

The first fingers of morning sunlight crept across the bedroom, turning the white sheets a soft, golden hue. Outside, the world was still hushed—no car doors, no barking dogs, no thundering of little feet just yet.

Inside, the bed was a tangle of limbs and warmth, the kind of closeness born from love given and received without walls.

Y/N woke first.

She blinked slowly, savoring the rare stillness, the gentle weight of Beau’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist. His hand rested lightly over the curve of her belly, fingers twitching slightly in sleep, like even in his dreams, he was tethered to her.

She smiled against the pillow, her heart full in that quiet, aching way.

She shifted just enough to turn and face him. Beau slept heavily, his features relaxed, softer than anyone else ever got to see. The faint stubble on his jaw brushed the edge of the pillow, and a few strands of his hair had gone rogue across his forehead. He looked younger like this. Looser.

Beautiful, she thought, pressing a featherlight kiss to his chest where her hand rested.

As if sensing her, he stirred.

His arms tightened around her instinctively, drawing her back into him without even opening his eyes. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice gravelly and deep.

“Morning,” she whispered back, nuzzling against him.

For a long stretch of moments, they just lay there—breathing, being. The kind of intimacy that didn’t need words, that wasn’t rushed or heavy with demands. Just there.

Eventually, Beau tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her hair. “You okay?”

She nodded, smiling. “Better than okay.”

He smiled too, slow and lazy. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on lettin’ you outta bed for a while.”

She chuckled softly. “You planning to call in backup at the station? Explain how the Luna Queen declared a family snuggle day?”

He hummed, his chest vibrating beneath her. “Think Doris would understand. Might even send supplies.”

They fell into a slow, easy kiss—no urgency, just tenderness. The kind that spoke of trust, of promises already kept.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N tucked her head under Beau’s chin, her body perfectly molded against his.

Outside the door, faint footsteps padded along the hall, followed by a muffled giggle.

“The wolves are awake,” Y/N whispered.

Beau sighed with theatrical sorrow. “Our peaceful reign has ended.”

But even as Caleb’s babbling and Eliza’s dramatic storytelling filtered through the crack beneath the door, Beau only held her tighter.

“We’ll take it slow today,” he promised, voice a rough, soft vow. “For you. For the baby. For us.”

Y/N smiled against his skin.

She knew he meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe—deep in her bones—that no matter what came next, they’d carry it together.

One quiet, steady morning at a time.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

[lightdancingwords]

Cue me: reads Reads, laughs Reads, laughs some more Reads, chortles Reads, laughs hard enough to dislodge a cat from laugh and wins offended look from said cat

I so love your reviews!

As for the titles... I do try to make them match the story. Sometimes I succeed!

Thank you for commenting!

Breaking The Wall - Part Seven of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 7,976

Tags/Warnings: Cop procedures, police work, angst (so much), a touch of fluff

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: This is my first foray into The Rookie universe! I'm still playing catch up on the series itself, but I was too excited about this idea to wait! So take it as an Alternate Universe where not everything will be to precise detail of the series! Enjoy!

Also: Posting schedule will be 1 to 2 times a week for this series. We'll see how it goes!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Seven: Waking Up

Saturday – 10:26 A.M. – Riverside Trail, Near the Old Footbridge

The river beside them babbled softly over smooth stones. A dragonfly zipped past, catching the light. A boy’s laughter echoed from further down the trail, bouncing off the trees like some remnant of a life Rachel used to imagine having.

They’d been quiet for several minutes since she spoke about Jake—his laugh, his devotion, the way he loved.

Tim didn’t push for more. But as the path curved near an old, graffiti-tagged footbridge, his voice came again. Still gentle. Still steady. But searching now.

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

Rachel turned her head slightly.

He met her eyes only for a second. “You and Jake,” he clarified. “I mean, everyone guessed. Rumors made their rounds. But no one ever confirmed anything. Not even after.”

Rachel looked away, her eyes focusing on a low branch swaying in the breeze. “It was policy,” she said, after a moment. “Back then, even the possibility of something between us would’ve gotten us split up.”

Her voice didn’t carry bitterness. Just truth.

“We were good together—in the field. Sharp. Fast. We anticipated each other’s moves. Trusted each other without blinking. Neither of us wanted to risk losing that.”

Tim nodded slightly. “So you kept it quiet.”

Rachel nodded, too. “At first it was just glances. Inside jokes. Late-night calls that weren’t about reports. Then it became… more. Quiet nights off. Mornings after shift. The kind of love that fits into cracks between everything else.”

Her voice cracked just a touch—but she kept going. “We kept it quiet because the job was sacred. And we didn’t want to give them a reason to separate us. Maybe it clouded things. Maybe it shouldn’t have mattered as much.”

She slowed her steps. Tim did too. “But it was us. And we didn’t want to lose it.”

The wind picked up again, scattering leaves across the trail. Rachel’s next words were quieter. “He didn’t hesitate. That day.”

She didn’t have to explain.

Tim already knew what she meant.

“He moved in front of me,” she continued. “Instinct. Love. I don’t know. But it cost him everything.” She looked at him then—not pleading. Just offering. “I used to think that if we hadn’t been together, he might’ve hesitated. That maybe he wouldn’t have taken the shot.”

Tim didn’t interrupt. Didn’t correct her. He let the weight of the memory stand.

Rachel’s shoulders lifted with a slow, measured breath. “But if the roles were reversed, I would’ve done the same. In a heartbeat.”

Tim’s voice was low. “And that’s how I know it wasn’t wrong.”

She stared at him. Eyes raw. But not wounded. Just open. Tim looked ahead again, letting her hold her moment. Letting her keep Jake’s memory without asking her to rewrite it. And when they walked again, neither of them said another word for a while. But the air between them?

It was different now.

Not clearer. Not cleaner. But shared. And for Rachel Grace, that was more than she ever thought she’d allow.

Saturday – 10:41 A.M. – End of the Trail, Resting Near a Fenced Outlook

They had stopped for water at the overlook where the trees opened wide to reveal the river at its broadest. Below, the city shimmered in summer haze, buildings rising between green, stretching into a skyline Rachel had learned to navigate both on foot and from the inside of a cruiser.

Rachel leaned on the railing, water bottle in one hand, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Tim stood a few feet away, close enough that she could feel his presence even if he didn’t speak.

And that was when he did. Quiet. Measured. But direct. “Why the transfer?”

Rachel didn’t react at first. She kept her eyes ahead, like she’d known the question was coming. Because of course it was. When she finally answered, her voice was low. “I was cleared. Psych signed off. Fit for duty, no flags.”

A beat passed. She continued. “But I wasn’t the same. Not after Jake.”

Tim didn’t respond. Let her take her time.

Rachel’s fingers tightened slightly around the bottle. “My captain… he tried. Kept me partnered up. Moved me through training details, admin slots. But I kept everyone at arm’s length. Maybe further.”

She exhaled slowly. “And after a while, the silence in the precinct got loud.”

Her eyes dropped to the ground below, following the movement of people in the park below—so distant, so normal. “He called me in one morning. Said I was doing my job. Said there was no disciplinary record. Said the department had no cause to take me off the street.”

She paused again. “But he also said I was a ghost. That no one knew how to talk to me anymore. That they were always waiting for me to snap or vanish.”

Her voice cracked—not with pain, but resignation. “He said he didn’t know how to help me anymore.”

Tim turned his head slightly. Watching her now. Quietly.

Rachel added, “So he suggested the transfer. Said it might be a reset. A place to re-learn how to be something other than haunted.”

She let out a sharp breath. “He didn’t say it like that, but that’s what he meant.”

“And Grey?” Tim asked.

Rachel shrugged. “He reached out. Offered the spot within a day.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I figured he had a need.”

Tim nodded once, carefully. “He did,” he said softly.

He didn’t say the rest. He didn’t tell her that Grey had done it not because of department need, but because of a favor called in across precinct lines. Because Jake O’Hare was once Grey’s best. Because Jake died a hero, and Grey would never be done honoring that debt—not by talking about Jake, but by protecting what Jake left behind.

Tim kept that part. Because Rachel didn’t need to know that this new chapter had been carved from grief and legacy. She needed to believe she had earned it. Because she had. She always had.

Tim said nothing more. And neither did she. They stood side by side in the rising heat, the sun climbing higher. And while she stared at the city ahead, Rachel never noticed the way Tim watched her.

Not with pity. Not with doubt. But with something quietly profound. Recognition. She was still standing. And now—he knew why.

Saturday – 10:58 A.M. – Back on the Trail, Returning Toward the Street

The sun was higher now, casting sharper shadows through the trees. The breeze had stilled again, and their footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path. Families passed them in reverse—headed to the river, to shaded benches and picnic tables.

Rachel and Tim walked slower than before. Not tired. Just thoughtful. The silence between them was companionable, but full—full of what had already been said and what was still waiting.

And then Tim asked—casually, but with quiet intention: “What now?”

Rachel glanced at him, brow twitching faintly. He wasn’t asking what’s next today. He wasn’t asking about logistics. He was asking about her life. She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she looked forward—eyes catching on the curve of the trail ahead, on a young girl holding her father’s hand, skipping through patches of light.

She watched them go. Then looked down at the ground between her own feet as they moved. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

It wasn’t an evasion. It was a confession. She let the silence breathe.

“I’ve always loved the job,” she continued after a long beat. “I loved the rhythm of it. The certainty. The moments where instinct takes over and you just move. The feeling of doing something real.”

Tim nodded once. Not prompting. Just giving her the space to speak.

“But somewhere along the way, I stopped letting the rest of life exist around it. Like if I just kept going shift after shift, I wouldn’t have to face how everything else got… quiet.”

Her voice softened. “After Jake, I stopped imagining anything outside the job. It was the only thing I could carry.” She looked at him now. Fully.

“And now?”

She exhaled—long, slow. “Now… I think maybe it’s time for more.”

Tim held her gaze. Didn’t smile. Didn’t rush. Just absorbed that truth like it mattered. Because it did.

Rachel looked back ahead, the trail narrowing as it neared the street. “I don’t know what more looks like yet,” she admitted.

“That’s okay,” Tim said, tone low, even.

She looked at him, brow raised.

He shrugged slightly. “You’ve got time.”

Rachel didn’t respond right away. But a moment later, she said quietly—

“Maybe now, for the first time, I actually believe that.”

They kept walking. No hand-holding. No big gestures. But their shoulders drew just a little closer as the sidewalk came into view, and the day kept moving.

And Rachel Grace—

For the first time in a long, long time—

Wasn’t just surviving.

She was starting to live.

Saturday – 1:14 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Kitchen

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, catching on the edges of a half-diced bell pepper and a carton of eggs she hadn’t committed to yet. Rachel stood barefoot on the cool tile floor, hair loosely gathered at the nape of her neck, one hand resting on her hip as she stared down at the open fridge.

Nothing appealed. Or maybe everything did. She wasn’t sure. The day had been… full. Not in the way that overwhelmed her. Not like it used to. Just full in a way that left her needing a different kind of pause. Something less intense. Something… lighter.

She reached for her phone on the counter, opened her recent calls. Tim. She hovered a beat. Then tapped. Two rings.

“Grace,” he answered, voice relaxed. Familiar.

“You sound like you just woke up.”

“I’m fully dressed and even made my bed. Don’t ruin my rep.”

Rachel smirked and leaned back against the counter. “That the bar now? Beds and pants?”

“You say that like it’s not high-functioning adulthood.”

She chuckled under her breath. It surprised her—how easy it was to laugh. “I was debating lunch,” she said, still eyeing the fridge like it was the enemy.

“Let me guess,” Tim said. “You’ve got five random ingredients and no idea what to do with them.”

“Six. Don’t shortchange me.”

He sounded like he was smiling. “And none of them go together, right?”

Rachel glanced at the fridge door, then the counter. “Red pepper, eggs, a suspicious wedge of cheese, half an avocado, one sad tomato, and leftover rice.”

A pause.

“You could make something out of that,” he said.

“Says the man who left me a spinach omelette like a breakfast ninja.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“You didn’t have to. You didn’t throw it out, and in your world, that’s high praise.”

She rolled her eyes and dropped into the nearest kitchen chair. “I was thinking maybe rice and eggs. Lazy bowl.”

“Add the tomato. Maybe cheese. Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re weirdly invested in my food decisions.”

“I’m just making sure you don’t live off coffee and air.”

Rachel tilted her head, smile tugging at the edge of her mouth. “I eat.”

“Questionable.”

“You done?”

“Not even close.”

A silence followed—but it wasn’t dead air. It was ease. She let it stretch. And when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Today was hard. But it wasn’t… heavy.”

“I know.”

“Thanks for asking me to talk about Jake.”

Tim didn’t respond right away. Then, “You didn’t have to answer.”

“I know. That’s why I did.”

Another pause. Long enough to mean something. Then Tim said, “If the lazy rice bowl turns out edible, I expect a photo.”

Rachel smirked. “And if it doesn’t?”

“I’ll pretend it looks gourmet and lie to protect your dignity.”

“That’s what partners are for?”

“Exactly.”

Rachel didn’t hang up. She stayed on the line while she got up, pulled the rice from the fridge, and started heating the pan. Neither of them said anything more for a while. But the silence? It was full. Alive. And hers to share.

Saturday – 7:03 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The sun had dipped low enough to throw amber light across the floorboards, the sky outside her window caught somewhere between blue and gold. Rachel sat cross-legged on the couch, still in the same joggers and tank top from earlier, hair pulled into a loose, slightly crooked bun.

Her dinner had been nothing special—rice, eggs, tomato, just enough seasoning not to hate it. But it had been enough. And for some reason she couldn’t quite name, she found herself lifting her phone and snapping a picture of it.

Not artfully arranged. Not filtered. Just real. A moment, captured. She opened her messages and attached it without overthinking.

RACHEL: Not a masterpiece, but edible. Don’t judge the presentation.

She hit send.

It took maybe a minute before the reply came in.

TIM: Solid C+ plating. Would still eat. Hold on.

Another minute passed. Then another message landed. This one had a photo. A container of roasted chicken, green beans, and potatoes, neatly boxed and clearly from somewhere takeout-adjacent.

TIM: Mine came from someone with actual kitchen training. I still feel like yours wins.

Rachel raised an eyebrow at the photo.

RACHEL: You bought dinner.

TIM: I assembled it on a plate. That’s cooking-adjacent.

RACHEL: Sure. We’ll call that culinary effort.

Another pause. Then his next message arrived:

TIM: Next time, we make it together.

Rachel stared at the screen. It didn’t make her heart skip. It didn’t twist her stomach. It just… settled something. A weightless kind of invitation. No pressure. No implications.

Just two people who had spent enough time in silence and sorrow, finally allowing room for something else.

RACHEL: Deal.

She set the phone down and leaned back against the couch. And this time? She didn’t feel like she was ending the day alone. She felt like she was continuing something. Slow. Quiet. Steady. Exactly as it should be.

Monday – 6:51 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The buzz of early shift filled the air—lockers closing, radios squawking, boots moving with half-caffeinated purpose. Officers checked rosters, flipped through call logs, and hovered near the coffee pot as though it were life support.

Rachel Grace walked in quietly. But this time, it wasn’t the kind of quiet that dared you to approach her. It was calm. Balanced. She moved with intention—uniform sharp, vest clipped without a wrinkle, hair cleanly pulled back, but not like she was hiding behind it. Just ready.

There was no hardness in her eyes this morning. No flat edge to her voice as she greeted the officer at the end of the hallway with a low, “Morning.”

A real morning. Not a test. Not a wall.

Lucy Chen glanced up from where she was talking with Angela and caught it right away. She blinked. Paused. Her eyes flicked to Tim, who’d just walked in a step behind Rachel, holding his coffee.

His expression was unreadable—but Lucy had known him too long to miss the way his shoulders dropped the slightest bit as Rachel peeled off toward her locker without hesitation.

Relaxed. Trusting.

“Okay,” Lucy muttered under her breath, crossing her arms. “Something’s different.”

Angela raised a brow. “She smile or something?”

“No.” Lucy tilted her head. “But I didn’t flinch walking past her, which—if you remember a few months ago—felt like a miracle.”

Angela looked down the hallway again, considering.

Rachel was greeting another officer—just a nod and a low word, but the other woman nodded back without hesitation.

Lucy narrowed her eyes, then turned to Tim, who was just about to slide past them with a low nod. “Bradford,” Lucy called.

He stopped. “Yeah?”

Lucy gave him a half-smile, subtle, eyes sharp. “She seems… lighter.”

Tim shrugged. “Maybe she is.”

Angela’s voice was quieter now. “You?”

Tim didn’t answer. He just looked past them—toward the end of the hallway, where Rachel was closing her locker, buckling her belt in rhythm with the buzz of the day around her. And when she turned, met his eyes across the room—

She smiled. Just the faintest hint. A real one. And Tim? He nodded once. Then walked toward her. No fanfare. No drama. Just two officers who moved like they’d been doing this forever.

Monday – 10:39 A.M. – Fairfax Residential Complex, Active Call

The call came in as a suspicious vehicle and loitering complaint—routine enough to warrant caution, but not urgency. By the time Rachel and Tim arrived on scene, two other patrol units were already canvassing the area, canvasing half-heartedly under the mid-morning sun.

A white van sat idling near a service alley, windows rolled up, no plates. The kind of detail that sets something off in your gut before your brain catches up. But it was Rachel who saw it first. She stood at the edge of the alley, hands on her vest, surveying the scene.

The way the van was parked—half-shielded by dumpsters. The slight angle that gave just enough view of the stairwell near the building’s east exit. A strategic line of sight.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “No one else is looking at the building,” she murmured to Tim. “They’re focused on the van.”

Tim followed her gaze. A maintenance door was cracked open. Not wide—but just enough to be deliberate. Rachel’s jaw tightened.

“Something’s wrong.”

Tim trusted her instinct. Didn’t question it. He radioed in immediately.

Grey arrived minutes later with two SWAT-trained officers and stood beside her as she calmly laid out her observations—cracked door, angle of the vehicle, likely surveillance of building residents, possible intent to intercept foot traffic coming from inside.

She was cool. Precise. No nerves. No overcompensation. Just sharp tactical reading. Grey listened, arms crossed over his chest, eyes trained on the scene—but his focus was all on Rachel.

When officers swept the building? They found two suspects inside—one with a warrant for trafficking, the other on federal watch lists. The van was loaded with gear. Surveillance tech. Zip ties.

Rachel’s call had prevented something bigger than a loitering charge. As the suspects were cuffed and escorted out, Grey stepped beside her. His voice was low. Measured. But Rachel caught the weight of it immediately.

“Good work.”

She gave a short nod, her eyes still scanning the perimeter. “It felt wrong.”

“It was.” Grey paused. Then added—quieter: “It’s good to see you back.”

Rachel didn’t answer right away. Because she knew what he meant. He wasn’t talking about her psych clearance. Wasn’t talking about the field-readiness logs. He meant her.

The part of her that everyone thought might never resurface. The part buried with Jake. The woman who used to see everything, and move like she belonged to the world, not just the job.

She turned to him then, steady. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

Grey gave her a short nod, already walking away. But Rachel stood a little taller. Not because she was proud. But because she was present. And Tim? He said nothing. Just walked beside her to the cruiser. And when he opened the door for her, their eyes met again—calm. Real. Familiar.

Rachel got in, buckled up. And in that still moment before the engine started—she finally knew she belonged again.

Monday – 1:02 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Report Room

The precinct had slowed into that late-afternoon lull, where the caffeine was wearing off and everyone was halfway between writing reports and staring blankly at screens.

Rachel sat at one of the long tables near the front of the report room, sleeves rolled, pen in hand, jotting down the sequence of events from the call that morning. Her brows were slightly drawn, focused, but not tense.

Just present.

Lucy passed by the doorway, catching sight of her. Then spotted Tim down the hall—just exiting the armory, shifting his radio back into place. She watched him for a second, calculating something with her usual quiet sharpness. Then stepped forward.

“Bradford.”

He turned, one brow lifting. “Chen.”

“Got a second?”

He glanced toward Rachel, still deep in her report, then nodded and followed Lucy a few paces down the hallway—just far enough not to be overheard.

She didn’t drag it out. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t prod. Her tone was gentler than usual. “She's different.”

Tim looked back toward the report room. “Yeah.”

“She walked in this morning like the floor wasn’t going to fall out from under her.”

Tim said nothing.

Lucy’s eyes softened. “I’ve been watching her since day one. We all have. She didn’t just go quiet—she evaporated. But today…” She paused, then said it plainly: “Today, she was Rachel Grace again.”

Tim glanced at the floor. Then said, low: “She never stopped being her.”

Lucy gave a faint smile. “No. But she stopped letting anyone see it.”

Tim looked toward the report room again.

Rachel hadn’t noticed them. Still writing, hair tucked behind one ear, jaw set in quiet determination.

“She let you see it,” Lucy added softly.

Tim didn’t react outwardly. But Lucy caught the subtle shift in his posture—the quiet weight of that truth. “I don’t think she even knows she did,” Lucy said. “But I hope you do.”

She clapped his shoulder gently, just once. Then walked away without waiting for a response.

Tim stood there another few seconds, watching Rachel from a distance. Not smiling. Just grounded. Because Lucy was right. Rachel was back.

And she’d let him see her first.

Monday – 1:28 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The sound of Rachel’s pen scratching across the last line of her report was crisp, final. She capped it with a small click, flipped the folder shut, and slid it across the table with practiced ease.

She didn’t sigh. Didn’t stretch. She simply stood—quietly efficient—adjusted her belt, and tugged her sleeves back down with a fluid motion that had always been part habit, part armor. Only this time… there was no weight in the movement.

She gathered her folder, nodded once to the admin officer at the desk, and turned toward the exit.

Tim was already waiting just beyond the archway. No words. No gesture. Just presence. He fell into step beside her without needing to check if she was ready. She didn’t glance over to see if he was coming.

They both just moved. In rhythm. Down the hallway, past the lockers, toward the exit. Their boots struck the tile in steady tandem, the murmur of other officers fading behind them. Tim held the door open like he always did—not out of habit, but out of respect.

Rachel stepped through it without hesitation.

Outside, the sun had started to lower behind the buildings, casting long afternoon shadows across the pavement. The air smelled like heat and distant flowers. They didn’t speak. There was no need. And as they walked toward the lot, neither reached out.

Neither lingered. But the silence between them wasn’t a wall anymore. It was a foundation. And for the first time since she’d transferred to Wilshire—maybe the first time since Jake died—Rachel Grace didn’t feel like she was trying to survive the day.

She just lived through it. And Tim? He didn’t have to say anything to know it mattered. Because they both felt it—They weren’t walking alone anymore.

Tuesday – 6:02 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The room buzzed with the energy unique to early mornings in law enforcement—half-drowsy, half-focused. Radios chirped softly. Badges clipped into place. Vests tightened. Coffee cups were clutched like lifelines. Chairs scraped the floor, the occasional laugh broke through the haze, and the dry overhead lights painted everything in an amber, pre-sunrise glow.

Tim was already at his usual spot, leaning back in a chair along the wall, sipping his coffee while scanning the call board. His uniform was squared away. He looked calm, collected—the same kind of presence he always brought. Reliable. Grounded.

The door opened behind him. Rachel walked in. Not rushed. Not like she was bracing for anything. Just part of the room now.

Her hair was pulled back in the way she always wore it—clean, simple, professional. Her vest hugged her frame like it belonged there. She nodded to a passing officer. Returned a quiet “morning” when someone offered one.

Not closed off. Not overcompensating.

Just there.

She walked past the front row, not needing to scan for where Tim was. She already knew. Her steps slowed as she approached. Tim looked up and offered a nod—calm. Familiar. She gave one in return and settled into the seat beside him without a word.

Their elbows didn’t touch. Their bodies didn’t lean. But the space between them didn’t feel separate anymore. It felt shared. From the front of the room, Sergeant Grey stepped up to the podium and looked out over the gathered team.

“All right,” he called, voice crisp but even. “Let’s get started.”

Rachel leaned back slightly in her seat, one leg crossed loosely at the ankle, pen already poised between her fingers. She didn’t look stiff. Didn’t look guarded.

And Tim? He didn’t look at her once. Because he didn’t need to. They were already in sync.

Grey started briefing the shifts, passing around updated reports, assigning responses, but even as he spoke, his eyes flicked once—briefly—toward Rachel.

And he gave the faintest nod. No one else saw it. But Rachel did. And in that moment, sitting beside her partner, surrounded by the everyday noise of the job, Rachel Grace didn’t feel like the new transfer.

She didn’t feel like the cautionary tale. She just felt like herself. And she was ready to move.

Tuesday – 10:13 A.M. – On Patrol, Wilshire Boulevard

The cruiser moved in a slow, steady rhythm through late-morning traffic. Sunlight streaked through the windshield, and the city bustled quietly around them—too early for chaos, too late for stillness.

Rachel sat in the passenger seat, right elbow propped against the door, fingers loose near the radio mic. Her eyes flicked along the sidewalks, storefronts, alleyways—a routine sweep.

Until they passed a small, timeworn storefront tucked between a dry cleaner and a florist.

A hand-painted sign above the door read: “Wilshire Art & Supply.”

There were easels in the window—worn, wooden frames propped with care. Jars of old paintbrushes. Bright tubes of acrylics, soft pastels stacked like little soldiers. A sketch of a cityscape hung in the corner—pinned, not framed. Faint dust on the glass.

Rachel’s gaze lingered. A breath longer than usual. Her right hand twitched—an unconscious flex of the fingers. Tim noticed. Of course he did. He kept one hand on the wheel, glancing once in the rearview mirror before his voice cut softly through the silence.

“You ever think about picking it up again?”

Rachel didn’t answer immediately. She blinked, her head tilting slightly like she’d only just realized how long she’d been staring.

“I think about it,” she said finally. “Then I don’t.”

Tim nodded, eyes still on the road. “You looked at that place like it was calling you back.”

She huffed—barely. Not a real laugh. But close. “You’re very poetic today.”

“I call it observational talent.”

Rachel looked out the window again, eyes softer now. Thoughtful. “Time used to vanish when I painted,” she said quietly. “Hours gone in a blink. There’s not a lot of space for that kind of quiet anymore.”

Tim didn’t press. But he said, just under his breath— “Maybe it’s time to make space.”

Rachel didn’t look at him. But her fingers flexed again. And the thought… lingered.

Tuesday – 6:47 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Front Door

Rachel had just stepped out of the shower, towel slung over her shoulders, hair damp and curling at the ends. She wore an old gray t-shirt soft with age and a pair of black drawstring pants—comfortable, lived-in, private.

The knock was soft. Two short raps.

She frowned slightly, drying her hands on the towel before crossing the small space to the door. She didn’t bother with the peephole—something about the knock told her exactly who it was.

When she opened it, she found Tim Bradford standing there in jeans and a fitted navy shirt, casual in a way that looked unintentional but always was. His hair was a little wind-tousled, and he held a brown paper bag in one hand.

He didn’t speak right away. Just offered a slight smile. “I know it’s probably out of line,” he said. “But I figured… maybe you don’t have any supplies anymore.”

He lifted the bag slightly, not pushing it toward her—just showing her. Offering.

Rachel’s eyes dropped to it, then back to his face. Her expression didn’t shift much, but something in her chest tightened. “Tim…”

He gave a small, one-shouldered shrug, the bag still hanging at his side.

“If you need to hit me for being presumptuous, I won’t stop you.”

Her lips parted, then pressed together again. She didn’t take the bag right away. She didn’t laugh, either. Instead, her voice came low. Real. “I’m not gonna hit you.”

She stepped back half a pace—just enough space to close the distance between them without saying a word. Tim took it. Crossed the threshold. Gently placed the bag on the entry table near her keys. Then stepped back again, giving her space.

She looked at the bag, then at him. Her throat bobbed with the effort to keep composure. Inside the paper sack, she knew without opening it that it would be thoughtful. Not grand. Not overdone. But intentional.

And it was.

“You didn’t have to,” she said softly.

“I know,” Tim replied, voice steady. “I just… saw the way you looked at that window. Thought maybe you hadn’t let yourself look like that in a while.”

She looked down. The moment stretched.

Then—

A quiet breath.

“Thank you,” she said.

Tim didn’t smile. He didn’t nod. He just met her eyes—present. And after another heartbeat, he stepped back toward the door.

“I’ll let you go,” he said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You will.”

And then—She did something she hadn’t done before. As he stepped into the hallway, she called after him—just before the door shut.

“Tim?”

He paused, looked back.

Rachel stood with one hand on the doorframe, the bag beside her, her gaze steady. “This meant more than you probably think.”

Tim didn’t respond with words. He just held her gaze for one long moment. Then left her with the silence. And the gift. And the first step back to something she hadn’t touched in years.

Tuesday – 9:42 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The apartment was quiet. No TV. No music. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint noise of traffic humming outside her window.

Rachel sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, hair still slightly damp, tucked behind one ear. She wore a different shirt now—looser, older, more lived-in. Her phone was off. The lights dim.

And in front of her—The contents of the bag. The charcoal pencils had been carefully wrapped in a folded kitchen towel. The sketchpad was fresh, untouched. The paint tubes—just two—sat beside her like quiet promises of color, waiting for a future she hadn’t let herself imagine.

But it was the pencil she reached for first.

She held it in her right hand, fingers still familiar with the weight and balance, even after all this time. It felt heavier than she remembered. She opened the sketchpad. The first blank page met her eyes like an old friend—one she’d ghosted for too long.

For a while, she just sat there. Not drawing. Just breathing. And then, slowly, the pencil moved. No plan. No reference. No hesitation. She sketched the line of a jaw. The edge of a shoulder. The fold of a shirt sleeve. Not military straight. Not posed. Just stillness in motion.

She worked quietly, brow furrowed, breathing steady. A line between the brows. Not from anger—from focus. The slight curve of a mouth that wasn’t smiling, but wasn’t guarded either.

Eyes. Steady. Watching. But soft. And when she leaned back, hand smudged with charcoal, thumb pressing gently against the corner of the page to keep it from curling—

She saw him.

Tim Bradford.

As he’d stood in her doorway that evening. Bag in hand. Uninvited. Unassuming. Exactly what she hadn’t known she needed.

Rachel stared at the image for a long time. She didn’t label it. Didn’t sign it. She just turned the sketchpad closed, laid the pencil across the cover, and leaned back against the couch.

Her heart felt like it was stretching inside her chest. Not breaking. Waking. She closed her eyes. And for the first time in years…

She didn’t feel like she was alone in the room.

Wednesday – 6:03 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The early shift settled into its usual rhythm—boots on tile, murmured greetings, the crackle of radios as calls filtered in from other districts. The harsh fluorescent lighting did nothing to soften the mood, but the day had begun.

Tim Bradford leaned against the side of the briefing table, a half-full cup of station coffee in hand—more obligation than enjoyment. He was scanning the call board, mentally mapping the day's rotation, when a familiar presence appeared beside him.

Rachel.

Not unusual. What was unusual was what she held in her hand. Not coffee. Not a protein bar or granola or anything tactical. It was a small white paper bag, the kind used at boutique bakeries or farmers markets.

She didn’t say anything at first—just offered it to him like it wasn’t a big deal. But she was watching him, carefully. Tim raised a brow and took it. He opened the bag, glanced inside—then blinked, surprised.

“Cinnamon raisin scone?” he said, looking at her.

Rachel shrugged, casually. “You mentioned it. Once. That place you liked in Silver Lake, right? Said they stopped carrying them.”

Tim looked down at the pastry again.

He remembered the conversation. It hadn’t been about food—it had been about old habits, years ago, maybe a late shift or a long drive, and he’d mentioned missing that one particular thing.

He hadn’t expected anyone to remember. Especially not her.

“You tracked it down?”

She gave a faint nod. “There’s a new place near me. Bakes fresh. Figured it was close enough to the original.”

Tim stared at her.

She met his gaze, expression neutral but not cold. Understated. Present. “If it’s terrible, you can lie,” she added dryly. “But I won’t believe you.”

Tim smiled. For real. “Thanks,” he said, voice quieter now. “Seriously.”

Rachel didn’t respond with words. Rachel was already turning toward the chairs near the back, settling into her usual spot. But something in the air was different. Looser. Not open. Not vulnerable. But unlocked.

Tim watched her for a beat too long before catching himself and following. He sat down beside her, same posture, same rhythm as always. But this time— He didn’t need to fill the silence.

And Rachel? She didn’t guard it like a shield. She let it just be. And for Tim? It wasn’t the coffee that caught him off balance. It was her. Making the first move. No wall. No ask. Just a gesture. A choice.

And he felt it settle deep in his chest.

Quiet.

But certain.

She was starting to reach.

And he’d be there to meet her—every time.

Wednesday – 10:42 A.M. – East Hollywood, Multi-Unit Building – 911 Call: Suspicious Person, Possible Burglary

The call had come through fast—a tenant reported someone trying to access an apartment that wasn’t theirs. No known weapons. No reported screams. But the unease was clear in the dispatcher’s voice.

Rachel and Tim were first on scene, cruiser parked cleanly out front. Rachel stepped out, checking the building’s layout as she adjusted her vest. Her eyes scanned the rows of doors, the line of balconies, the second-floor walkway.

“Northwest stairwell gives them easiest exit if they’re spooked,” she said, already moving.

Tim nodded. “You want interior or perimeter?”

Rachel didn’t hesitate. “Interior. You sweep the lot, watch for run.”

He didn’t question it. “On it.”

They split.

Tim circled around to the far side of the complex, radio clipped to his shoulder. He trusted her inside. Knew her judgment. Knew her presence was sharp and steady now—nothing reactive, nothing forced.

Rachel moved into the stairwell with calm control, nodding to a neighbor who peeked out of their door. “LAPD,” she said clearly. “Stay inside, please.”

Second floor. Unit 2B.

She approached the door—soft footsteps, low breathing, hand resting gently near her holster. She listened. No movement inside. But the lock was scratched, and the frame slightly splintered.

Rachel knocked once, firm. “LAPD. If you’re inside, make yourself known.”

A pause. Then—scuffing. Movement. She didn’t wait for confirmation. “Possible 459,” she said into the radio. “Making entry.”

Tim’s voice came back immediately. “Copy. I’ve got eyes on rear stairs. No movement yet.”

She stepped back, drew her weapon—not rushed. Smooth. Then kicked the door. It opened. The suspect bolted from the bedroom. Rachel reacted in one clean motion—side-stepping, controlling the space, voice sharp.

“Police! Hands—!”

The suspect froze. Not because of the gun. Because of her voice. She held position, weapon steady, until backup arrived from the next cruiser over. Then she stepped back, breathing steady, lowered her arm with practiced ease.

Downstairs, Tim spotted movement—another man cutting through the lot toward a back gate.

Rachel’s voice came over the radio. “One suspect detained. There’s a second.”

“Already on it,” Tim said. “Engaging.”

The second suspect didn’t get far.

Later – 11:27 A.M. – On Scene, Briefing with Grey

Sergeant Grey arrived ten minutes after both suspects were in cuffs. He walked the scene calmly, talking to witnesses, checking reports. He found Rachel and Tim near the cruiser, filling out incident logs. He didn’t say much. Didn’t need to.

But after glancing over the scene—and the two suspects now seated on the curb—he looked at Rachel and said, simply: “You led that clean.”

Rachel, who had just capped her pen, blinked once. “Thank you, sir.”

Grey’s eyes moved between her and Tim, something measuring in his gaze. “I remember when you first got here,” he said. “Didn’t think we’d ever get this version of you again.”

Rachel didn’t respond. But something in her posture eased. Tim just glanced sideways at her—then back to Grey. Grey gave a short nod, then turned to head back to his vehicle. Tim finished his note, handed Rachel the clipboard. She took it with a faint, quiet smile. And he knew without asking: She’d felt that, too.

Wednesday – 5:58 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Rear Lot

The sun had started to slide toward the horizon, turning the edges of buildings gold. The air was warm, tinged with the fading scent of asphalt and distant street food from the corner stand.

Tim walked across the lot toward his truck, radio finally clipped off, vest slung over one shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair and checked his phone briefly—one new text, nothing urgent.

Behind him, he heard footsteps. Not rushed. Not heavy. He glanced back. Rachel. Changed out of uniform, now in jeans and a soft green top, hair down, wind catching a few strands across her face.

She was walking straight toward him with purpose, but not urgency.

He stopped by the truck, leaning his forearm on the door.

She stopped beside him, not saying anything at first. Just standing in that quiet way she had—always composed, even when she wasn’t.

Then, casually: “I was thinking of picking up something quick for dinner.”

He arched a brow, waiting.

Rachel added, tone even, deliberate, but softer than usual: “There’s a place not far from here. You ever had Lucky’s?”

Tim blinked. “The Thai place with the chili basil tofu that’ll ruin your mouth for hours?”

“That’s the one.”

He tilted his head. “You offering or recommending?”

Rachel looked up at him. “I’m offering.”

Beat.

Tim gave a slow, amused nod. “All right. I’m in.”

She turned slightly toward her car, then paused and glanced back. “I was just going to eat and go home,” she added. “Nothing formal. No pressure.”

“Didn’t think there was.”

A faint smile tugged at her mouth—barely there, but real. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen?”

“I’ll follow,” Tim said. “Easier parking.”

Rachel gave a nod, turned, and walked back toward her car, keys already in hand.

Tim stood there for a second longer than necessary. Because she’d invited him. Not out of gratitude. Not out of grief. Just because she wanted to. And that? That mattered more than anything she could’ve said all day.

Wednesday – 6:23 P.M. – Lucky’s Thai Kitchen, Side Table Near the Window

She looked up and offered a faint, quiet smirk.

“Took you long enough.”

“There was a sedan parked diagonally across three spaces. I needed a minute to process the injustice.”

“Hope you filed a report.”

He shrugged. “Still debating the paperwork.”

Rachel’s eyes flicked toward the window, her smirk deepening.

Tim grabbed a menu, though he didn’t really look at it.

“So you do this often?” he asked. “Dinner after shift?”

“Used to,” she said. “Not lately.”

He caught the subtle shift—how “not lately” carried more weight than she let on.

But she didn’t dwell on it.

Neither did he.

“Let me guess,” he said, glancing at her menu. “You’re a spice-level-four, tofu, extra basil kind of woman.”

Rachel lifted a brow. “Only four? What kind of coward do you take me for?”

Tim chuckled. “Apologies. Spice-level five.”

“Better.”

The server approached, scribbled their orders—Rachel did go level five—and left with a polite nod.

Their drinks came quickly. Water for her. Thai iced tea for him.

She raised a brow when she saw it.

“Didn’t have you pegged as a sweet drink guy.”

Tim sipped it, unapologetic. “There’s a time and place.”

“Yeah? And what time is this?”

He glanced around the restaurant. “Whatever time pairs best with slow-burning mouthfire and fermented fish sauce.”

Rachel huffed a quiet laugh, genuinely caught off guard.

And it lingered.

He liked that sound.

When the server appeared, Rachel ordered just as he predicted—level five heat, no rice. Tim followed with curry and jasmine rice, casually adding, “Extra heat, too. Might as well suffer with some dignity.”

Rachel gave him a small look. “Didn’t peg you as a masochist.”

“I balance it out with dessert. And the fact that I can actually cook.”

She looked up. “You cook?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t say it like he was bragging.

Just stating a fact.

“Thought you just lived on protein bars and black coffee.”

“Only when I don’t trust the kitchen. Or the people in it.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “What’s your thing?”

“Comfort food, mostly,” he said. “Pasta. Roasted vegetables. Big fan of searing things in cast iron.”

Rachel leaned back slightly, a brow raised. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“Modest, too.”

“Don’t let the badge fool you.”

The drinks arrived. Tim picked up his Thai iced tea, sipped once, and set it down just as the spice hit his throat.

Rachel smirked. “That’s gonna betray you in about twenty minutes.”

He shrugged. “Worth it.”

They kept talking. Small things. Favorite foods. Rachel admitted to hating mushrooms with a passion. Tim confessed to liking pineapple on pizza just to start fights.

Their banter grew looser, their silences comfortable.

And when the food arrived—hot, fragrant, bright with color—it became the first meal they’d shared off the clock where the weight of the world wasn’t pressing between them.

Only space.

Only possibility.

Rachel leaned her arms on the table slightly, more relaxed now.

“There was a time when I had hobbies,” she admitted. “Music, museums. I liked stillness.”

“And now?”

“I’m trying to find the version of myself that didn’t vanish when the sirens stopped.”

He didn’t speak.

Just looked at her—eyes warm, steady.

“Then let’s find her,” he said.

Not a promise.

Not a push.

Just the simple offer of space.

Wednesday – 7:14 P.M. – Lucky’s Thai Kitchen, Same Table, Dishes Pushed Aside

The plates were mostly empty—only streaks of curry sauce and half a mound of jasmine rice left behind. Rachel had long since abandoned her chopsticks, opting to drag a spoon through the remaining sauce as they talked.

Neither one of them made a move for the check.

Outside, the sun had disappeared completely, and the windows reflected more of the restaurant than the street. Inside, the lighting was soft—just enough to cast a glow on the small table between them.

Rachel leaned back against the booth, arms folded loosely, one leg tucked under the other. She looked across at Tim, who was sitting more relaxed now too, nursing the last of his Thai iced tea.

“I’m not sure what surprises me more,” she said, “that you willingly drank that entire syrup bomb, or that you apparently roast vegetables like a pro.”

Tim shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “They’re related, actually. If you’re gonna go hard on sugar, you need balance somewhere.”

“You strike me as someone who plans their cheat days like battle tactics.”

“Only when I’m not on shift.” He paused. “Which is… never.”

Rachel smiled faintly at that, eyes drifting briefly toward the restaurant’s kitchen, as if considering what else the night might hold. Then, after a beat: “I used to paint while music played. Loud. Windows open, headphones off.”

Tim’s gaze sharpened a little—not intense, just focused. “Let me guess. Not classical.”

“God, no. Moody alternative stuff. Indie folk. The occasional scream track if the mood hit.”

He laughed. “That tracks.”

Rachel tilted her head. “And you? Let me guess—Springsteen when you clean, silence when you cook.”

“Wrong. I like background noise. Old jazz. Instrumentals. Sometimes podcasts.”

She blinked. “Bradford listens to podcasts?”

“Crime history. War stories. One about cults.”

She gave him a long look. “Of course you listen to cult documentaries.”

Tim smirked. “I’m full of texture.”

Rachel chuckled—a real one this time. Soft, slightly tired, but genuine.

A moment passed. The server came by, asked if they wanted dessert or the check. Tim looked to Rachel.

She didn’t answer immediately. Just glanced down at her hands, then back at him. Her voice was quieter now. Not vulnerable, exactly—but bare.

“You ever have nights like this where you don’t want the quiet to come back too soon?”

Tim’s expression shifted. Not dramatic. Just still. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

She nodded once, slowly. “I used to be good at being alone. Needed it, even.”

“And now?”

Rachel looked down at the table. “I don’t know,” she said. “Something about tonight… I guess I forgot what it felt like to just be.”

Tim leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the edge of the table. “You don’t have to go back to the quiet just yet,” he said. “We’ve got time.”

She met his eyes. And for a second, it felt like the rest of the room faded. The sound of clinking forks, the buzz of conversation around them—it all blurred.

She wasn’t smiling. But her face was open. Steady. Grateful. “Okay,” she said.

And they stayed. Not talking constantly. Not filling every gap. Just there. Together. Because sometimes the hardest part isn’t surviving the storm— It’s letting someone sit with you in the calm.

Tag List: @immastealurkneecaps, @maybefanficting, @kmc1989, @fuckingsimp4azriel

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here!

[lightdancingwords]

Breaking The Wall - Part Seven of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 7,976

Tags/Warnings: Cop procedures, police work, angst (so much), a touch of fluff

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: This is my first foray into The Rookie universe! I'm still playing catch up on the series itself, but I was too excited about this idea to wait! So take it as an Alternate Universe where not everything will be to precise detail of the series! Enjoy!

Also: Posting schedule will be 1 to 2 times a week for this series. We'll see how it goes!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Seven: Waking Up

Saturday – 10:26 A.M. – Riverside Trail, Near the Old Footbridge

The river beside them babbled softly over smooth stones. A dragonfly zipped past, catching the light. A boy’s laughter echoed from further down the trail, bouncing off the trees like some remnant of a life Rachel used to imagine having.

They’d been quiet for several minutes since she spoke about Jake—his laugh, his devotion, the way he loved.

Tim didn’t push for more. But as the path curved near an old, graffiti-tagged footbridge, his voice came again. Still gentle. Still steady. But searching now.

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

Rachel turned her head slightly.

He met her eyes only for a second. “You and Jake,” he clarified. “I mean, everyone guessed. Rumors made their rounds. But no one ever confirmed anything. Not even after.”

Rachel looked away, her eyes focusing on a low branch swaying in the breeze. “It was policy,” she said, after a moment. “Back then, even the possibility of something between us would’ve gotten us split up.”

Her voice didn’t carry bitterness. Just truth.

“We were good together—in the field. Sharp. Fast. We anticipated each other’s moves. Trusted each other without blinking. Neither of us wanted to risk losing that.”

Tim nodded slightly. “So you kept it quiet.”

Rachel nodded, too. “At first it was just glances. Inside jokes. Late-night calls that weren’t about reports. Then it became… more. Quiet nights off. Mornings after shift. The kind of love that fits into cracks between everything else.”

Her voice cracked just a touch—but she kept going. “We kept it quiet because the job was sacred. And we didn’t want to give them a reason to separate us. Maybe it clouded things. Maybe it shouldn’t have mattered as much.”

She slowed her steps. Tim did too. “But it was us. And we didn’t want to lose it.”

The wind picked up again, scattering leaves across the trail. Rachel’s next words were quieter. “He didn’t hesitate. That day.”

She didn’t have to explain.

Tim already knew what she meant.

“He moved in front of me,” she continued. “Instinct. Love. I don’t know. But it cost him everything.” She looked at him then—not pleading. Just offering. “I used to think that if we hadn’t been together, he might’ve hesitated. That maybe he wouldn’t have taken the shot.”

Tim didn’t interrupt. Didn’t correct her. He let the weight of the memory stand.

Rachel’s shoulders lifted with a slow, measured breath. “But if the roles were reversed, I would’ve done the same. In a heartbeat.”

Tim’s voice was low. “And that’s how I know it wasn’t wrong.”

She stared at him. Eyes raw. But not wounded. Just open. Tim looked ahead again, letting her hold her moment. Letting her keep Jake’s memory without asking her to rewrite it. And when they walked again, neither of them said another word for a while. But the air between them?

It was different now.

Not clearer. Not cleaner. But shared. And for Rachel Grace, that was more than she ever thought she’d allow.

Saturday – 10:41 A.M. – End of the Trail, Resting Near a Fenced Outlook

They had stopped for water at the overlook where the trees opened wide to reveal the river at its broadest. Below, the city shimmered in summer haze, buildings rising between green, stretching into a skyline Rachel had learned to navigate both on foot and from the inside of a cruiser.

Rachel leaned on the railing, water bottle in one hand, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Tim stood a few feet away, close enough that she could feel his presence even if he didn’t speak.

And that was when he did. Quiet. Measured. But direct. “Why the transfer?”

Rachel didn’t react at first. She kept her eyes ahead, like she’d known the question was coming. Because of course it was. When she finally answered, her voice was low. “I was cleared. Psych signed off. Fit for duty, no flags.”

A beat passed. She continued. “But I wasn’t the same. Not after Jake.”

Tim didn’t respond. Let her take her time.

Rachel’s fingers tightened slightly around the bottle. “My captain… he tried. Kept me partnered up. Moved me through training details, admin slots. But I kept everyone at arm’s length. Maybe further.”

She exhaled slowly. “And after a while, the silence in the precinct got loud.”

Her eyes dropped to the ground below, following the movement of people in the park below—so distant, so normal. “He called me in one morning. Said I was doing my job. Said there was no disciplinary record. Said the department had no cause to take me off the street.”

She paused again. “But he also said I was a ghost. That no one knew how to talk to me anymore. That they were always waiting for me to snap or vanish.”

Her voice cracked—not with pain, but resignation. “He said he didn’t know how to help me anymore.”

Tim turned his head slightly. Watching her now. Quietly.

Rachel added, “So he suggested the transfer. Said it might be a reset. A place to re-learn how to be something other than haunted.”

She let out a sharp breath. “He didn’t say it like that, but that’s what he meant.”

“And Grey?” Tim asked.

Rachel shrugged. “He reached out. Offered the spot within a day.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I figured he had a need.”

Tim nodded once, carefully. “He did,” he said softly.

He didn’t say the rest. He didn’t tell her that Grey had done it not because of department need, but because of a favor called in across precinct lines. Because Jake O’Hare was once Grey’s best. Because Jake died a hero, and Grey would never be done honoring that debt—not by talking about Jake, but by protecting what Jake left behind.

Tim kept that part. Because Rachel didn’t need to know that this new chapter had been carved from grief and legacy. She needed to believe she had earned it. Because she had. She always had.

Tim said nothing more. And neither did she. They stood side by side in the rising heat, the sun climbing higher. And while she stared at the city ahead, Rachel never noticed the way Tim watched her.

Not with pity. Not with doubt. But with something quietly profound. Recognition. She was still standing. And now—he knew why.

Saturday – 10:58 A.M. – Back on the Trail, Returning Toward the Street

The sun was higher now, casting sharper shadows through the trees. The breeze had stilled again, and their footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path. Families passed them in reverse—headed to the river, to shaded benches and picnic tables.

Rachel and Tim walked slower than before. Not tired. Just thoughtful. The silence between them was companionable, but full—full of what had already been said and what was still waiting.

And then Tim asked—casually, but with quiet intention: “What now?”

Rachel glanced at him, brow twitching faintly. He wasn’t asking what’s next today. He wasn’t asking about logistics. He was asking about her life. She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she looked forward—eyes catching on the curve of the trail ahead, on a young girl holding her father’s hand, skipping through patches of light.

She watched them go. Then looked down at the ground between her own feet as they moved. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

It wasn’t an evasion. It was a confession. She let the silence breathe.

“I’ve always loved the job,” she continued after a long beat. “I loved the rhythm of it. The certainty. The moments where instinct takes over and you just move. The feeling of doing something real.”

Tim nodded once. Not prompting. Just giving her the space to speak.

“But somewhere along the way, I stopped letting the rest of life exist around it. Like if I just kept going shift after shift, I wouldn’t have to face how everything else got… quiet.”

Her voice softened. “After Jake, I stopped imagining anything outside the job. It was the only thing I could carry.” She looked at him now. Fully.

“And now?”

She exhaled—long, slow. “Now… I think maybe it’s time for more.”

Tim held her gaze. Didn’t smile. Didn’t rush. Just absorbed that truth like it mattered. Because it did.

Rachel looked back ahead, the trail narrowing as it neared the street. “I don’t know what more looks like yet,” she admitted.

“That’s okay,” Tim said, tone low, even.

She looked at him, brow raised.

He shrugged slightly. “You’ve got time.”

Rachel didn’t respond right away. But a moment later, she said quietly—

“Maybe now, for the first time, I actually believe that.”

They kept walking. No hand-holding. No big gestures. But their shoulders drew just a little closer as the sidewalk came into view, and the day kept moving.

And Rachel Grace—

For the first time in a long, long time—

Wasn’t just surviving.

She was starting to live.

Saturday – 1:14 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Kitchen

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, catching on the edges of a half-diced bell pepper and a carton of eggs she hadn’t committed to yet. Rachel stood barefoot on the cool tile floor, hair loosely gathered at the nape of her neck, one hand resting on her hip as she stared down at the open fridge.

Nothing appealed. Or maybe everything did. She wasn’t sure. The day had been… full. Not in the way that overwhelmed her. Not like it used to. Just full in a way that left her needing a different kind of pause. Something less intense. Something… lighter.

She reached for her phone on the counter, opened her recent calls. Tim. She hovered a beat. Then tapped. Two rings.

“Grace,” he answered, voice relaxed. Familiar.

“You sound like you just woke up.”

“I’m fully dressed and even made my bed. Don’t ruin my rep.”

Rachel smirked and leaned back against the counter. “That the bar now? Beds and pants?”

“You say that like it’s not high-functioning adulthood.”

She chuckled under her breath. It surprised her—how easy it was to laugh. “I was debating lunch,” she said, still eyeing the fridge like it was the enemy.

“Let me guess,” Tim said. “You’ve got five random ingredients and no idea what to do with them.”

“Six. Don’t shortchange me.”

He sounded like he was smiling. “And none of them go together, right?”

Rachel glanced at the fridge door, then the counter. “Red pepper, eggs, a suspicious wedge of cheese, half an avocado, one sad tomato, and leftover rice.”

A pause.

“You could make something out of that,” he said.

“Says the man who left me a spinach omelette like a breakfast ninja.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“You didn’t have to. You didn’t throw it out, and in your world, that’s high praise.”

She rolled her eyes and dropped into the nearest kitchen chair. “I was thinking maybe rice and eggs. Lazy bowl.”

“Add the tomato. Maybe cheese. Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re weirdly invested in my food decisions.”

“I’m just making sure you don’t live off coffee and air.”

Rachel tilted her head, smile tugging at the edge of her mouth. “I eat.”

“Questionable.”

“You done?”

“Not even close.”

A silence followed—but it wasn’t dead air. It was ease. She let it stretch. And when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Today was hard. But it wasn’t… heavy.”

“I know.”

“Thanks for asking me to talk about Jake.”

Tim didn’t respond right away. Then, “You didn’t have to answer.”

“I know. That’s why I did.”

Another pause. Long enough to mean something. Then Tim said, “If the lazy rice bowl turns out edible, I expect a photo.”

Rachel smirked. “And if it doesn’t?”

“I’ll pretend it looks gourmet and lie to protect your dignity.”

“That’s what partners are for?”

“Exactly.”

Rachel didn’t hang up. She stayed on the line while she got up, pulled the rice from the fridge, and started heating the pan. Neither of them said anything more for a while. But the silence? It was full. Alive. And hers to share.

Saturday – 7:03 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The sun had dipped low enough to throw amber light across the floorboards, the sky outside her window caught somewhere between blue and gold. Rachel sat cross-legged on the couch, still in the same joggers and tank top from earlier, hair pulled into a loose, slightly crooked bun.

Her dinner had been nothing special—rice, eggs, tomato, just enough seasoning not to hate it. But it had been enough. And for some reason she couldn’t quite name, she found herself lifting her phone and snapping a picture of it.

Not artfully arranged. Not filtered. Just real. A moment, captured. She opened her messages and attached it without overthinking.

RACHEL: Not a masterpiece, but edible. Don’t judge the presentation.

She hit send.

It took maybe a minute before the reply came in.

TIM: Solid C+ plating. Would still eat. Hold on.

Another minute passed. Then another message landed. This one had a photo. A container of roasted chicken, green beans, and potatoes, neatly boxed and clearly from somewhere takeout-adjacent.

TIM: Mine came from someone with actual kitchen training. I still feel like yours wins.

Rachel raised an eyebrow at the photo.

RACHEL: You bought dinner.

TIM: I assembled it on a plate. That’s cooking-adjacent.

RACHEL: Sure. We’ll call that culinary effort.

Another pause. Then his next message arrived:

TIM: Next time, we make it together.

Rachel stared at the screen. It didn’t make her heart skip. It didn’t twist her stomach. It just… settled something. A weightless kind of invitation. No pressure. No implications.

Just two people who had spent enough time in silence and sorrow, finally allowing room for something else.

RACHEL: Deal.

She set the phone down and leaned back against the couch. And this time? She didn’t feel like she was ending the day alone. She felt like she was continuing something. Slow. Quiet. Steady. Exactly as it should be.

Monday – 6:51 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The buzz of early shift filled the air—lockers closing, radios squawking, boots moving with half-caffeinated purpose. Officers checked rosters, flipped through call logs, and hovered near the coffee pot as though it were life support.

Rachel Grace walked in quietly. But this time, it wasn’t the kind of quiet that dared you to approach her. It was calm. Balanced. She moved with intention—uniform sharp, vest clipped without a wrinkle, hair cleanly pulled back, but not like she was hiding behind it. Just ready.

There was no hardness in her eyes this morning. No flat edge to her voice as she greeted the officer at the end of the hallway with a low, “Morning.”

A real morning. Not a test. Not a wall.

Lucy Chen glanced up from where she was talking with Angela and caught it right away. She blinked. Paused. Her eyes flicked to Tim, who’d just walked in a step behind Rachel, holding his coffee.

His expression was unreadable—but Lucy had known him too long to miss the way his shoulders dropped the slightest bit as Rachel peeled off toward her locker without hesitation.

Relaxed. Trusting.

“Okay,” Lucy muttered under her breath, crossing her arms. “Something’s different.”

Angela raised a brow. “She smile or something?”

“No.” Lucy tilted her head. “But I didn’t flinch walking past her, which—if you remember a few months ago—felt like a miracle.”

Angela looked down the hallway again, considering.

Rachel was greeting another officer—just a nod and a low word, but the other woman nodded back without hesitation.

Lucy narrowed her eyes, then turned to Tim, who was just about to slide past them with a low nod. “Bradford,” Lucy called.

He stopped. “Yeah?”

Lucy gave him a half-smile, subtle, eyes sharp. “She seems… lighter.”

Tim shrugged. “Maybe she is.”

Angela’s voice was quieter now. “You?”

Tim didn’t answer. He just looked past them—toward the end of the hallway, where Rachel was closing her locker, buckling her belt in rhythm with the buzz of the day around her. And when she turned, met his eyes across the room—

She smiled. Just the faintest hint. A real one. And Tim? He nodded once. Then walked toward her. No fanfare. No drama. Just two officers who moved like they’d been doing this forever.

Monday – 10:39 A.M. – Fairfax Residential Complex, Active Call

The call came in as a suspicious vehicle and loitering complaint—routine enough to warrant caution, but not urgency. By the time Rachel and Tim arrived on scene, two other patrol units were already canvassing the area, canvasing half-heartedly under the mid-morning sun.

A white van sat idling near a service alley, windows rolled up, no plates. The kind of detail that sets something off in your gut before your brain catches up. But it was Rachel who saw it first. She stood at the edge of the alley, hands on her vest, surveying the scene.

The way the van was parked—half-shielded by dumpsters. The slight angle that gave just enough view of the stairwell near the building’s east exit. A strategic line of sight.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “No one else is looking at the building,” she murmured to Tim. “They’re focused on the van.”

Tim followed her gaze. A maintenance door was cracked open. Not wide—but just enough to be deliberate. Rachel’s jaw tightened.

“Something’s wrong.”

Tim trusted her instinct. Didn’t question it. He radioed in immediately.

Grey arrived minutes later with two SWAT-trained officers and stood beside her as she calmly laid out her observations—cracked door, angle of the vehicle, likely surveillance of building residents, possible intent to intercept foot traffic coming from inside.

She was cool. Precise. No nerves. No overcompensation. Just sharp tactical reading. Grey listened, arms crossed over his chest, eyes trained on the scene—but his focus was all on Rachel.

When officers swept the building? They found two suspects inside—one with a warrant for trafficking, the other on federal watch lists. The van was loaded with gear. Surveillance tech. Zip ties.

Rachel’s call had prevented something bigger than a loitering charge. As the suspects were cuffed and escorted out, Grey stepped beside her. His voice was low. Measured. But Rachel caught the weight of it immediately.

“Good work.”

She gave a short nod, her eyes still scanning the perimeter. “It felt wrong.”

“It was.” Grey paused. Then added—quieter: “It’s good to see you back.”

Rachel didn’t answer right away. Because she knew what he meant. He wasn’t talking about her psych clearance. Wasn’t talking about the field-readiness logs. He meant her.

The part of her that everyone thought might never resurface. The part buried with Jake. The woman who used to see everything, and move like she belonged to the world, not just the job.

She turned to him then, steady. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

Grey gave her a short nod, already walking away. But Rachel stood a little taller. Not because she was proud. But because she was present. And Tim? He said nothing. Just walked beside her to the cruiser. And when he opened the door for her, their eyes met again—calm. Real. Familiar.

Rachel got in, buckled up. And in that still moment before the engine started—she finally knew she belonged again.

Monday – 1:02 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Report Room

The precinct had slowed into that late-afternoon lull, where the caffeine was wearing off and everyone was halfway between writing reports and staring blankly at screens.

Rachel sat at one of the long tables near the front of the report room, sleeves rolled, pen in hand, jotting down the sequence of events from the call that morning. Her brows were slightly drawn, focused, but not tense.

Just present.

Lucy passed by the doorway, catching sight of her. Then spotted Tim down the hall—just exiting the armory, shifting his radio back into place. She watched him for a second, calculating something with her usual quiet sharpness. Then stepped forward.

“Bradford.”

He turned, one brow lifting. “Chen.”

“Got a second?”

He glanced toward Rachel, still deep in her report, then nodded and followed Lucy a few paces down the hallway—just far enough not to be overheard.

She didn’t drag it out. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t prod. Her tone was gentler than usual. “She's different.”

Tim looked back toward the report room. “Yeah.”

“She walked in this morning like the floor wasn’t going to fall out from under her.”

Tim said nothing.

Lucy’s eyes softened. “I’ve been watching her since day one. We all have. She didn’t just go quiet—she evaporated. But today…” She paused, then said it plainly: “Today, she was Rachel Grace again.”

Tim glanced at the floor. Then said, low: “She never stopped being her.”

Lucy gave a faint smile. “No. But she stopped letting anyone see it.”

Tim looked toward the report room again.

Rachel hadn’t noticed them. Still writing, hair tucked behind one ear, jaw set in quiet determination.

“She let you see it,” Lucy added softly.

Tim didn’t react outwardly. But Lucy caught the subtle shift in his posture—the quiet weight of that truth. “I don’t think she even knows she did,” Lucy said. “But I hope you do.”

She clapped his shoulder gently, just once. Then walked away without waiting for a response.

Tim stood there another few seconds, watching Rachel from a distance. Not smiling. Just grounded. Because Lucy was right. Rachel was back.

And she’d let him see her first.

Monday – 1:28 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The sound of Rachel’s pen scratching across the last line of her report was crisp, final. She capped it with a small click, flipped the folder shut, and slid it across the table with practiced ease.

She didn’t sigh. Didn’t stretch. She simply stood—quietly efficient—adjusted her belt, and tugged her sleeves back down with a fluid motion that had always been part habit, part armor. Only this time… there was no weight in the movement.

She gathered her folder, nodded once to the admin officer at the desk, and turned toward the exit.

Tim was already waiting just beyond the archway. No words. No gesture. Just presence. He fell into step beside her without needing to check if she was ready. She didn’t glance over to see if he was coming.

They both just moved. In rhythm. Down the hallway, past the lockers, toward the exit. Their boots struck the tile in steady tandem, the murmur of other officers fading behind them. Tim held the door open like he always did—not out of habit, but out of respect.

Rachel stepped through it without hesitation.

Outside, the sun had started to lower behind the buildings, casting long afternoon shadows across the pavement. The air smelled like heat and distant flowers. They didn’t speak. There was no need. And as they walked toward the lot, neither reached out.

Neither lingered. But the silence between them wasn’t a wall anymore. It was a foundation. And for the first time since she’d transferred to Wilshire—maybe the first time since Jake died—Rachel Grace didn’t feel like she was trying to survive the day.

She just lived through it. And Tim? He didn’t have to say anything to know it mattered. Because they both felt it—They weren’t walking alone anymore.

Tuesday – 6:02 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The room buzzed with the energy unique to early mornings in law enforcement—half-drowsy, half-focused. Radios chirped softly. Badges clipped into place. Vests tightened. Coffee cups were clutched like lifelines. Chairs scraped the floor, the occasional laugh broke through the haze, and the dry overhead lights painted everything in an amber, pre-sunrise glow.

Tim was already at his usual spot, leaning back in a chair along the wall, sipping his coffee while scanning the call board. His uniform was squared away. He looked calm, collected—the same kind of presence he always brought. Reliable. Grounded.

The door opened behind him. Rachel walked in. Not rushed. Not like she was bracing for anything. Just part of the room now.

Her hair was pulled back in the way she always wore it—clean, simple, professional. Her vest hugged her frame like it belonged there. She nodded to a passing officer. Returned a quiet “morning” when someone offered one.

Not closed off. Not overcompensating.

Just there.

She walked past the front row, not needing to scan for where Tim was. She already knew. Her steps slowed as she approached. Tim looked up and offered a nod—calm. Familiar. She gave one in return and settled into the seat beside him without a word.

Their elbows didn’t touch. Their bodies didn’t lean. But the space between them didn’t feel separate anymore. It felt shared. From the front of the room, Sergeant Grey stepped up to the podium and looked out over the gathered team.

“All right,” he called, voice crisp but even. “Let’s get started.”

Rachel leaned back slightly in her seat, one leg crossed loosely at the ankle, pen already poised between her fingers. She didn’t look stiff. Didn’t look guarded.

And Tim? He didn’t look at her once. Because he didn’t need to. They were already in sync.

Grey started briefing the shifts, passing around updated reports, assigning responses, but even as he spoke, his eyes flicked once—briefly—toward Rachel.

And he gave the faintest nod. No one else saw it. But Rachel did. And in that moment, sitting beside her partner, surrounded by the everyday noise of the job, Rachel Grace didn’t feel like the new transfer.

She didn’t feel like the cautionary tale. She just felt like herself. And she was ready to move.

Tuesday – 10:13 A.M. – On Patrol, Wilshire Boulevard

The cruiser moved in a slow, steady rhythm through late-morning traffic. Sunlight streaked through the windshield, and the city bustled quietly around them—too early for chaos, too late for stillness.

Rachel sat in the passenger seat, right elbow propped against the door, fingers loose near the radio mic. Her eyes flicked along the sidewalks, storefronts, alleyways—a routine sweep.

Until they passed a small, timeworn storefront tucked between a dry cleaner and a florist.

A hand-painted sign above the door read: “Wilshire Art & Supply.”

There were easels in the window—worn, wooden frames propped with care. Jars of old paintbrushes. Bright tubes of acrylics, soft pastels stacked like little soldiers. A sketch of a cityscape hung in the corner—pinned, not framed. Faint dust on the glass.

Rachel’s gaze lingered. A breath longer than usual. Her right hand twitched—an unconscious flex of the fingers. Tim noticed. Of course he did. He kept one hand on the wheel, glancing once in the rearview mirror before his voice cut softly through the silence.

“You ever think about picking it up again?”

Rachel didn’t answer immediately. She blinked, her head tilting slightly like she’d only just realized how long she’d been staring.

“I think about it,” she said finally. “Then I don’t.”

Tim nodded, eyes still on the road. “You looked at that place like it was calling you back.”

She huffed—barely. Not a real laugh. But close. “You’re very poetic today.”

“I call it observational talent.”

Rachel looked out the window again, eyes softer now. Thoughtful. “Time used to vanish when I painted,” she said quietly. “Hours gone in a blink. There’s not a lot of space for that kind of quiet anymore.”

Tim didn’t press. But he said, just under his breath— “Maybe it’s time to make space.”

Rachel didn’t look at him. But her fingers flexed again. And the thought… lingered.

Tuesday – 6:47 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Front Door

Rachel had just stepped out of the shower, towel slung over her shoulders, hair damp and curling at the ends. She wore an old gray t-shirt soft with age and a pair of black drawstring pants—comfortable, lived-in, private.

The knock was soft. Two short raps.

She frowned slightly, drying her hands on the towel before crossing the small space to the door. She didn’t bother with the peephole—something about the knock told her exactly who it was.

When she opened it, she found Tim Bradford standing there in jeans and a fitted navy shirt, casual in a way that looked unintentional but always was. His hair was a little wind-tousled, and he held a brown paper bag in one hand.

He didn’t speak right away. Just offered a slight smile. “I know it’s probably out of line,” he said. “But I figured… maybe you don’t have any supplies anymore.”

He lifted the bag slightly, not pushing it toward her—just showing her. Offering.

Rachel’s eyes dropped to it, then back to his face. Her expression didn’t shift much, but something in her chest tightened. “Tim…”

He gave a small, one-shouldered shrug, the bag still hanging at his side.

“If you need to hit me for being presumptuous, I won’t stop you.”

Her lips parted, then pressed together again. She didn’t take the bag right away. She didn’t laugh, either. Instead, her voice came low. Real. “I’m not gonna hit you.”

She stepped back half a pace—just enough space to close the distance between them without saying a word. Tim took it. Crossed the threshold. Gently placed the bag on the entry table near her keys. Then stepped back again, giving her space.

She looked at the bag, then at him. Her throat bobbed with the effort to keep composure. Inside the paper sack, she knew without opening it that it would be thoughtful. Not grand. Not overdone. But intentional.

And it was.

“You didn’t have to,” she said softly.

“I know,” Tim replied, voice steady. “I just… saw the way you looked at that window. Thought maybe you hadn’t let yourself look like that in a while.”

She looked down. The moment stretched.

Then—

A quiet breath.

“Thank you,” she said.

Tim didn’t smile. He didn’t nod. He just met her eyes—present. And after another heartbeat, he stepped back toward the door.

“I’ll let you go,” he said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You will.”

And then—She did something she hadn’t done before. As he stepped into the hallway, she called after him—just before the door shut.

“Tim?”

He paused, looked back.

Rachel stood with one hand on the doorframe, the bag beside her, her gaze steady. “This meant more than you probably think.”

Tim didn’t respond with words. He just held her gaze for one long moment. Then left her with the silence. And the gift. And the first step back to something she hadn’t touched in years.

Tuesday – 9:42 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The apartment was quiet. No TV. No music. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint noise of traffic humming outside her window.

Rachel sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, hair still slightly damp, tucked behind one ear. She wore a different shirt now—looser, older, more lived-in. Her phone was off. The lights dim.

And in front of her—The contents of the bag. The charcoal pencils had been carefully wrapped in a folded kitchen towel. The sketchpad was fresh, untouched. The paint tubes—just two—sat beside her like quiet promises of color, waiting for a future she hadn’t let herself imagine.

But it was the pencil she reached for first.

She held it in her right hand, fingers still familiar with the weight and balance, even after all this time. It felt heavier than she remembered. She opened the sketchpad. The first blank page met her eyes like an old friend—one she’d ghosted for too long.

For a while, she just sat there. Not drawing. Just breathing. And then, slowly, the pencil moved. No plan. No reference. No hesitation. She sketched the line of a jaw. The edge of a shoulder. The fold of a shirt sleeve. Not military straight. Not posed. Just stillness in motion.

She worked quietly, brow furrowed, breathing steady. A line between the brows. Not from anger—from focus. The slight curve of a mouth that wasn’t smiling, but wasn’t guarded either.

Eyes. Steady. Watching. But soft. And when she leaned back, hand smudged with charcoal, thumb pressing gently against the corner of the page to keep it from curling—

She saw him.

Tim Bradford.

As he’d stood in her doorway that evening. Bag in hand. Uninvited. Unassuming. Exactly what she hadn’t known she needed.

Rachel stared at the image for a long time. She didn’t label it. Didn’t sign it. She just turned the sketchpad closed, laid the pencil across the cover, and leaned back against the couch.

Her heart felt like it was stretching inside her chest. Not breaking. Waking. She closed her eyes. And for the first time in years…

She didn’t feel like she was alone in the room.

Wednesday – 6:03 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Squad Room

The early shift settled into its usual rhythm—boots on tile, murmured greetings, the crackle of radios as calls filtered in from other districts. The harsh fluorescent lighting did nothing to soften the mood, but the day had begun.

Tim Bradford leaned against the side of the briefing table, a half-full cup of station coffee in hand—more obligation than enjoyment. He was scanning the call board, mentally mapping the day's rotation, when a familiar presence appeared beside him.

Rachel.

Not unusual. What was unusual was what she held in her hand. Not coffee. Not a protein bar or granola or anything tactical. It was a small white paper bag, the kind used at boutique bakeries or farmers markets.

She didn’t say anything at first—just offered it to him like it wasn’t a big deal. But she was watching him, carefully. Tim raised a brow and took it. He opened the bag, glanced inside—then blinked, surprised.

“Cinnamon raisin scone?” he said, looking at her.

Rachel shrugged, casually. “You mentioned it. Once. That place you liked in Silver Lake, right? Said they stopped carrying them.”

Tim looked down at the pastry again.

He remembered the conversation. It hadn’t been about food—it had been about old habits, years ago, maybe a late shift or a long drive, and he’d mentioned missing that one particular thing.

He hadn’t expected anyone to remember. Especially not her.

“You tracked it down?”

She gave a faint nod. “There’s a new place near me. Bakes fresh. Figured it was close enough to the original.”

Tim stared at her.

She met his gaze, expression neutral but not cold. Understated. Present. “If it’s terrible, you can lie,” she added dryly. “But I won’t believe you.”

Tim smiled. For real. “Thanks,” he said, voice quieter now. “Seriously.”

Rachel didn’t respond with words. Rachel was already turning toward the chairs near the back, settling into her usual spot. But something in the air was different. Looser. Not open. Not vulnerable. But unlocked.

Tim watched her for a beat too long before catching himself and following. He sat down beside her, same posture, same rhythm as always. But this time— He didn’t need to fill the silence.

And Rachel? She didn’t guard it like a shield. She let it just be. And for Tim? It wasn’t the coffee that caught him off balance. It was her. Making the first move. No wall. No ask. Just a gesture. A choice.

And he felt it settle deep in his chest.

Quiet.

But certain.

She was starting to reach.

And he’d be there to meet her—every time.

Wednesday – 10:42 A.M. – East Hollywood, Multi-Unit Building – 911 Call: Suspicious Person, Possible Burglary

The call had come through fast—a tenant reported someone trying to access an apartment that wasn’t theirs. No known weapons. No reported screams. But the unease was clear in the dispatcher’s voice.

Rachel and Tim were first on scene, cruiser parked cleanly out front. Rachel stepped out, checking the building’s layout as she adjusted her vest. Her eyes scanned the rows of doors, the line of balconies, the second-floor walkway.

“Northwest stairwell gives them easiest exit if they’re spooked,” she said, already moving.

Tim nodded. “You want interior or perimeter?”

Rachel didn’t hesitate. “Interior. You sweep the lot, watch for run.”

He didn’t question it. “On it.”

They split.

Tim circled around to the far side of the complex, radio clipped to his shoulder. He trusted her inside. Knew her judgment. Knew her presence was sharp and steady now—nothing reactive, nothing forced.

Rachel moved into the stairwell with calm control, nodding to a neighbor who peeked out of their door. “LAPD,” she said clearly. “Stay inside, please.”

Second floor. Unit 2B.

She approached the door—soft footsteps, low breathing, hand resting gently near her holster. She listened. No movement inside. But the lock was scratched, and the frame slightly splintered.

Rachel knocked once, firm. “LAPD. If you’re inside, make yourself known.”

A pause. Then—scuffing. Movement. She didn’t wait for confirmation. “Possible 459,” she said into the radio. “Making entry.”

Tim’s voice came back immediately. “Copy. I’ve got eyes on rear stairs. No movement yet.”

She stepped back, drew her weapon—not rushed. Smooth. Then kicked the door. It opened. The suspect bolted from the bedroom. Rachel reacted in one clean motion—side-stepping, controlling the space, voice sharp.

“Police! Hands—!”

The suspect froze. Not because of the gun. Because of her voice. She held position, weapon steady, until backup arrived from the next cruiser over. Then she stepped back, breathing steady, lowered her arm with practiced ease.

Downstairs, Tim spotted movement—another man cutting through the lot toward a back gate.

Rachel’s voice came over the radio. “One suspect detained. There’s a second.”

“Already on it,” Tim said. “Engaging.”

The second suspect didn’t get far.

Later – 11:27 A.M. – On Scene, Briefing with Grey

Sergeant Grey arrived ten minutes after both suspects were in cuffs. He walked the scene calmly, talking to witnesses, checking reports. He found Rachel and Tim near the cruiser, filling out incident logs. He didn’t say much. Didn’t need to.

But after glancing over the scene—and the two suspects now seated on the curb—he looked at Rachel and said, simply: “You led that clean.”

Rachel, who had just capped her pen, blinked once. “Thank you, sir.”

Grey’s eyes moved between her and Tim, something measuring in his gaze. “I remember when you first got here,” he said. “Didn’t think we’d ever get this version of you again.”

Rachel didn’t respond. But something in her posture eased. Tim just glanced sideways at her—then back to Grey. Grey gave a short nod, then turned to head back to his vehicle. Tim finished his note, handed Rachel the clipboard. She took it with a faint, quiet smile. And he knew without asking: She’d felt that, too.

Wednesday – 5:58 P.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Rear Lot

The sun had started to slide toward the horizon, turning the edges of buildings gold. The air was warm, tinged with the fading scent of asphalt and distant street food from the corner stand.

Tim walked across the lot toward his truck, radio finally clipped off, vest slung over one shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair and checked his phone briefly—one new text, nothing urgent.

Behind him, he heard footsteps. Not rushed. Not heavy. He glanced back. Rachel. Changed out of uniform, now in jeans and a soft green top, hair down, wind catching a few strands across her face.

She was walking straight toward him with purpose, but not urgency.

He stopped by the truck, leaning his forearm on the door.

She stopped beside him, not saying anything at first. Just standing in that quiet way she had—always composed, even when she wasn’t.

Then, casually: “I was thinking of picking up something quick for dinner.”

He arched a brow, waiting.

Rachel added, tone even, deliberate, but softer than usual: “There’s a place not far from here. You ever had Lucky’s?”

Tim blinked. “The Thai place with the chili basil tofu that’ll ruin your mouth for hours?”

“That’s the one.”

He tilted his head. “You offering or recommending?”

Rachel looked up at him. “I’m offering.”

Beat.

Tim gave a slow, amused nod. “All right. I’m in.”

She turned slightly toward her car, then paused and glanced back. “I was just going to eat and go home,” she added. “Nothing formal. No pressure.”

“Didn’t think there was.”

A faint smile tugged at her mouth—barely there, but real. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen?”

“I’ll follow,” Tim said. “Easier parking.”

Rachel gave a nod, turned, and walked back toward her car, keys already in hand.

Tim stood there for a second longer than necessary. Because she’d invited him. Not out of gratitude. Not out of grief. Just because she wanted to. And that? That mattered more than anything she could’ve said all day.

Wednesday – 6:23 P.M. – Lucky’s Thai Kitchen, Side Table Near the Window

She looked up and offered a faint, quiet smirk.

“Took you long enough.”

“There was a sedan parked diagonally across three spaces. I needed a minute to process the injustice.”

“Hope you filed a report.”

He shrugged. “Still debating the paperwork.”

Rachel’s eyes flicked toward the window, her smirk deepening.

Tim grabbed a menu, though he didn’t really look at it.

“So you do this often?” he asked. “Dinner after shift?”

“Used to,” she said. “Not lately.”

He caught the subtle shift—how “not lately” carried more weight than she let on.

But she didn’t dwell on it.

Neither did he.

“Let me guess,” he said, glancing at her menu. “You’re a spice-level-four, tofu, extra basil kind of woman.”

Rachel lifted a brow. “Only four? What kind of coward do you take me for?”

Tim chuckled. “Apologies. Spice-level five.”

“Better.”

The server approached, scribbled their orders—Rachel did go level five—and left with a polite nod.

Their drinks came quickly. Water for her. Thai iced tea for him.

She raised a brow when she saw it.

“Didn’t have you pegged as a sweet drink guy.”

Tim sipped it, unapologetic. “There’s a time and place.”

“Yeah? And what time is this?”

He glanced around the restaurant. “Whatever time pairs best with slow-burning mouthfire and fermented fish sauce.”

Rachel huffed a quiet laugh, genuinely caught off guard.

And it lingered.

He liked that sound.

When the server appeared, Rachel ordered just as he predicted—level five heat, no rice. Tim followed with curry and jasmine rice, casually adding, “Extra heat, too. Might as well suffer with some dignity.”

Rachel gave him a small look. “Didn’t peg you as a masochist.”

“I balance it out with dessert. And the fact that I can actually cook.”

She looked up. “You cook?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t say it like he was bragging.

Just stating a fact.

“Thought you just lived on protein bars and black coffee.”

“Only when I don’t trust the kitchen. Or the people in it.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “What’s your thing?”

“Comfort food, mostly,” he said. “Pasta. Roasted vegetables. Big fan of searing things in cast iron.”

Rachel leaned back slightly, a brow raised. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“Modest, too.”

“Don’t let the badge fool you.”

The drinks arrived. Tim picked up his Thai iced tea, sipped once, and set it down just as the spice hit his throat.

Rachel smirked. “That’s gonna betray you in about twenty minutes.”

He shrugged. “Worth it.”

They kept talking. Small things. Favorite foods. Rachel admitted to hating mushrooms with a passion. Tim confessed to liking pineapple on pizza just to start fights.

Their banter grew looser, their silences comfortable.

And when the food arrived—hot, fragrant, bright with color—it became the first meal they’d shared off the clock where the weight of the world wasn’t pressing between them.

Only space.

Only possibility.

Rachel leaned her arms on the table slightly, more relaxed now.

“There was a time when I had hobbies,” she admitted. “Music, museums. I liked stillness.”

“And now?”

“I’m trying to find the version of myself that didn’t vanish when the sirens stopped.”

He didn’t speak.

Just looked at her—eyes warm, steady.

“Then let’s find her,” he said.

Not a promise.

Not a push.

Just the simple offer of space.

Wednesday – 7:14 P.M. – Lucky’s Thai Kitchen, Same Table, Dishes Pushed Aside

The plates were mostly empty—only streaks of curry sauce and half a mound of jasmine rice left behind. Rachel had long since abandoned her chopsticks, opting to drag a spoon through the remaining sauce as they talked.

Neither one of them made a move for the check.

Outside, the sun had disappeared completely, and the windows reflected more of the restaurant than the street. Inside, the lighting was soft—just enough to cast a glow on the small table between them.

Rachel leaned back against the booth, arms folded loosely, one leg tucked under the other. She looked across at Tim, who was sitting more relaxed now too, nursing the last of his Thai iced tea.

“I’m not sure what surprises me more,” she said, “that you willingly drank that entire syrup bomb, or that you apparently roast vegetables like a pro.”

Tim shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “They’re related, actually. If you’re gonna go hard on sugar, you need balance somewhere.”

“You strike me as someone who plans their cheat days like battle tactics.”

“Only when I’m not on shift.” He paused. “Which is… never.”

Rachel smiled faintly at that, eyes drifting briefly toward the restaurant’s kitchen, as if considering what else the night might hold. Then, after a beat: “I used to paint while music played. Loud. Windows open, headphones off.”

Tim’s gaze sharpened a little—not intense, just focused. “Let me guess. Not classical.”

“God, no. Moody alternative stuff. Indie folk. The occasional scream track if the mood hit.”

He laughed. “That tracks.”

Rachel tilted her head. “And you? Let me guess—Springsteen when you clean, silence when you cook.”

“Wrong. I like background noise. Old jazz. Instrumentals. Sometimes podcasts.”

She blinked. “Bradford listens to podcasts?”

“Crime history. War stories. One about cults.”

She gave him a long look. “Of course you listen to cult documentaries.”

Tim smirked. “I’m full of texture.”

Rachel chuckled—a real one this time. Soft, slightly tired, but genuine.

A moment passed. The server came by, asked if they wanted dessert or the check. Tim looked to Rachel.

She didn’t answer immediately. Just glanced down at her hands, then back at him. Her voice was quieter now. Not vulnerable, exactly—but bare.

“You ever have nights like this where you don’t want the quiet to come back too soon?”

Tim’s expression shifted. Not dramatic. Just still. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

She nodded once, slowly. “I used to be good at being alone. Needed it, even.”

“And now?”

Rachel looked down at the table. “I don’t know,” she said. “Something about tonight… I guess I forgot what it felt like to just be.”

Tim leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on the edge of the table. “You don’t have to go back to the quiet just yet,” he said. “We’ve got time.”

She met his eyes. And for a second, it felt like the rest of the room faded. The sound of clinking forks, the buzz of conversation around them—it all blurred.

She wasn’t smiling. But her face was open. Steady. Grateful. “Okay,” she said.

And they stayed. Not talking constantly. Not filling every gap. Just there. Together. Because sometimes the hardest part isn’t surviving the storm— It’s letting someone sit with you in the calm.

Tag List: @immastealurkneecaps, @maybefanficting, @kmc1989, @fuckingsimp4azriel

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here!

[lightdancingwords]

🤣 I love your reviews!

Thank you for commenting!

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Thirty-One of ?

Pairings: CJ Braxton x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: Y/N is a psychology major assigned to shadow CJ at The Stand, unaware he's the one who basically saved her life four years before. CJ is unaware that she's the one who left a notable impact on him over the phone four years ago. As they navigate the work at The Stand, they develop a spark that demands revelation and connection.

Word Count: 4,157

Tags/Warnings: Some 18+ implied smut, fluff, and angst!

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Note: Wow! Thirty-One chapters and I feel like I barely started! Haha! Never fear, it'll keep going for now!

Dividers: credit to @saradika-graphics

Chapter Thirty-One: The Graduation

The morning sunlight poured in through the tall office windows at The Stand, stretching across CJ’s desk in lazy streaks of gold. A soft breeze stirred the corner of a stack of forms he had yet to sign, and somewhere down the hall, a phone rang, followed by a voice he immediately recognized—Gabby.

She was laughing. Loud. Possibly at Miles. Probably at CJ’s expense. CJ closed his laptop slowly and leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

It’s almost here.

Y/N’s graduation. After everything she’d pushed through—her practicum, her final exams, late nights, early mornings, and the emotional gauntlet of learning how to be a voice in the dark for strangers—she was about to graduate.

He’d never been prouder of anyone in his life. And that meant… he had to do something about it. Something meaningful. Something she wouldn’t expect. Something celebratory. Which brought him—unfortunately—to one conclusion. Gabby.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t have to. She was on the call floor, standing on the arm of her chair like she was about to deliver a TED Talk with a donut in one hand and her phone in the other.

“Gabby,” CJ said, calmly but firmly.

She whirled. “Yes, my liege?”

He blinked. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Copy that. What’s up, Captain Authority?”

CJ exhaled through his nose. “I need your help. And I already know I’ll regret asking, but… here we are.”

Gabby grinned, hopping down and landing with a bounce. “I love where this is going. Continue.”

“It’s Y/N’s graduation,” he said, voice quieter, more serious. “I want to plan something for her. A surprise. Something simple, but… thoughtful.”

Gabby’s eyes lit up instantly, and she gasped dramatically. “You came to me for event planning? Oh, CJ, how far you’ve come. Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to coordinate your wedding playlist.”

He stared. “This isn’t a power grab. I just know she’d appreciate your flair.”

Gabby clasped her hands to her heart like he’d just read her a love letter. “You want me to make her graduation celebration perfect?”

“I want you to help me make it special,” he said. “She’s worked hard. She deserves to feel seen.”

Gabby sobered slightly, the grin softening into something more sincere. “She does,” she agreed, nodding. “And don’t worry. I’ve got ideas. Not goat-in-a-flower-crown ideas, I promise. Just good, wholesome, possibly slightly glittery ones.”

CJ ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trusting you.”

She patted his arm. “That was your first mistake, but a noble one.”

As she practically skipped off, already texting herself notes, CJ leaned against the doorway and sighed. He would regret this. But Y/N? She’d smile. And that made it worth every glitter bomb Gabby was probably about to order.

CJ was still in the hallway, half-reconsidering his life choices, when he heard a dry voice from behind him—calm, flat, and edged with the exact kind of sarcasm that always made him want to sigh.

“That was… bold.”

He turned. Of course.

Miles leaned against the corner just outside the server room, coffee in hand, expression as unreadable as ever. The kind of face you’d see at a poker table, except he wasn’t bluffing—he was always like this.

CJ raised a brow. “Eavesdropping now?”

Miles shrugged. “You asked Gabby to help plan something.”

“It’s for Y/N,” CJ said simply, like that alone explained the madness. And really, it did.

Miles took a slow sip of coffee. “Still. You volunteered for Gabby to be involved in logistics. That’s not just bold. That’s reckless. That’s…” he tilted his head, “somewhere between heroic and suicidal.”

CJ rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured the risk of glitter was worth the end result.”

“You say that now,” Miles muttered. “Wait until she asks for your measurements for ‘graduation celebration costumes.’”

CJ grimaced. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.”

There was a beat of silence as CJ looked down the hallway, already wondering if there was a way to subtly veto anything involving props, choreographed dances, or surprise serenades.

“She’ll keep it together,” he said, less to Miles and more to himself. “Probably.”

Miles gave a single slow blink. “You’re engaged to one of the most grounded, thoughtful women in this building.”

CJ nodded.

“And you just handed celebration responsibilities to a human confetti cannon with no sense of volume control.”

CJ exhaled. “Y/N will love it.”

Miles paused. Then, just quietly, “Yeah. She will.”

CJ gave him a sideways glance. “You like her.”

Miles didn’t answer right away. Just took another sip of coffee and stared down the hallway in the direction Gabby had vanished. “She makes things louder,” he said at last. “But… she makes things better.”

CJ’s mouth twitched. “And you’re willing to tolerate noise for that?”

Miles smirked, faintly. “You’re throwing a glitter-filled party. You tell me.”

They both stood there, silent for a moment—two very different men who had somehow found themselves caught in love with the loudest, most unpredictable, most brilliant women in the building.

Brave. Stupid. Absolutely doomed.

And they wouldn’t change a thing.

The morning sun rose soft and golden over the city, as if it, too, knew this Saturday was meant for something special.

CJ stood near the end of a long line of folding chairs, tucked beneath a white canopy stretched across the university’s main quad. He wore a dark blazer over a slate-gray shirt, clean and simple—but somehow he still looked like he belonged in the front row of someone’s most important day.

He scanned the crowd once more. The graduation area buzzed with chatter, with families snapping photos, with laughter and nervous pacing and robes that trailed behind rushing students.

He spotted her immediately.

Y/N.

In her cap and gown, robe fluttering around her ankles, walking with a slight bounce in her step despite the weight of the ceremony. Despite the moment. Her name hadn’t even been called yet, but she glowed. She was light. She was everything.

CJ’s heart did something strange and overwhelming in his chest. He’d never seen someone so radiant just by being.

Behind him, Gabby was adjusting her sunglasses and fanning herself with the printed program, despite the fact that the day was only mild. She elbowed Priya. “I give it ten minutes before CJ bursts into tears. Or spontaneously proposes again just because she exists.”

“I can hear you,” CJ muttered without taking his eyes off the stage.

Miles stood beside Gabby, hands in his pockets, entirely too calm for someone dragged out of bed early on a Saturday. “She looks happy,” he said simply.

Gabby smiled and leaned into him slightly. “She is.”

CJ didn’t speak. He was too focused.

As Y/N crossed the back of the stage with her group, he caught the moment she looked into the crowd—and saw them. Her people. The ones from The Stand. Her friends, her coworkers, her family.

Her eyes found him almost instantly. CJ raised two fingers in a small, subtle wave. Not flashy. Not over the top. Just theirs. And the way her face softened, the way her lips parted in surprise and joy—it was everything.

When her name was finally called, CJ held his breath.

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

She walked across the stage, steady and graceful, tassel swinging slightly. She shook hands. She smiled wide. And in that moment, CJ swore he could feel her joy like a pulse in the air.

When she turned her head toward the crowd again, diploma in hand, she didn’t wave. She looked straight at CJ. And nodded. Just once. As if to say, This is for me—but also for us.

CJ clapped—louder than anyone in their row—and so did the rest of the group. Gabby let out a whoop that turned heads, Priya smiled with the quiet pride of someone who had seen it all unfold, and even Miles gave a respectable, approving nod.

When the ceremony ended and the crowd dispersed, CJ was already moving. He found her near the edge of the lawn, still clutching her diploma, blinking at the people filtering around her. When she saw him, she didn’t hesitate.

She ran into his arms. CJ caught her, held her, lifted her just an inch off the ground. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair, breath catching. “You did it.”

She laughed, breathless, and held onto him like he was the center of everything. “No,” she whispered back. “We did.”

And CJ believed her. With every beat of his full, overflowing heart—he believed her.

CJ and Y/N stood in their own little orbit beneath the tree-lined edge of the quad, her diploma clutched in one hand, the other curled around the back of his neck. His forehead pressed to hers, his eyes bright, his smile unwavering.

They didn’t notice the crowd anymore. Not the distant drone of bagpipes from another ceremony, not the squeals of friends hugging, not the cameras flashing around them.

Just each other.

Until Gabby stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes, wide behind her sunglasses, locked on something—or someone—across the lawn. “Oh shit,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the breeze.

Priya followed her line of sight, her breath catching as her jaw tightened. “Is that—?”

Miles, not one for dramatics, actually froze, eyebrows lifted in quiet disbelief. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It is.”

Gabby slowly reached out and touched CJ’s arm, careful, like he was a live wire. “CJ…”

But he didn’t hear her. Not at first.

“CJ,” Priya said, more firmly, her voice a low warning.

And CJ turned. His eyes followed theirs. And landed on him.

Henry Y/L/N. Y/N’s father. Dressed neatly, unassuming, standing at the edge of the crowd with a small program in hand and a look that didn’t match the man CJ had spoken to before. He wasn’t tense. He wasn’t stern. He looked…

Lost.

Quiet. Present.

CJ’s back straightened immediately. The light in his eyes dimmed and shifted into something sharp. Protective instinct rose in him like a surge. His jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides before he even registered what he was doing.

Not here. Not today.

He stepped forward, ready to intercept, to remove—

But a hand caught his wrist. Soft. Steady. “CJ.”

Y/N’s voice.

He turned, and saw her looking past him. Her lips parted, eyes wide—not with panic. Not with fear. With stunned recognition.

Emotion flickered across her face like sunlight through clouds. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t crumbling either. Her breath was uneven, but she wasn’t distressed.

She was… uncertain. “I didn’t know he’d come,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. Her voice was quiet, tight with the kind of emotion that sat between old wounds and something resembling closure.

CJ didn’t let go of her hand, but he stopped moving forward. His eyes flicked to hers, searching. “You okay?” he asked, low.

Y/N nodded slowly. “I think so.” She paused. “I just… I didn’t expect this. I don’t know how I feel.”

Priya stepped a little closer, her presence grounding. Gabby stayed silent, hand resting on Miles’s arm for once not in jest, but in quiet support.

“He didn’t come to make a scene,” Y/N said. “Look at him.”

They all did.

Henry stood with both hands clasped in front of him, expression unreadable but not hard. Not bitter. There was something worn in his eyes. Something maybe—maybe—close to remorse.

Y/N took a breath, steadied herself, and stepped back into CJ’s side. “I’m not ready to talk to him. Not yet. But… I don’t want to pretend he’s not here.”

CJ’s hand found her waist again. He kissed her temple gently, eyes never leaving Henry. “Whatever you need. I’ve got you.”

She nodded, her body still pressed close to his.

Gabby whispered, “Do you want us to do something?”

“No,” Y/N said. “Let it be.”

They stood in silence for another moment as the crowd buzzed and shifted around them, and from across the lawn, Henry looked at Y/N one more time.

And then… he nodded. Small. Almost imperceptible. And turned to go. Y/N didn’t cry. But she did lean back into CJ a little more as Henry disappeared into the crowd. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was something.

And that was enough for today.

Gabby blinked once. Then twice.

And snapped out of the emotional fog like a firecracker lighting midair.

“Nope,” she said sharply, clapping her hands together once. “Absolutely not. We are not letting that little detour hijack the moment. This is Y/N’s day. Her graduation. We are not about to turn this into a Lifetime Movie called Daddy Issues and the Diploma.”

CJ blinked, startled. “Gabby—”

She raised a hand in his direction without even looking. “Hush, Heart-Eyes. I’m on a mission.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, just a little broken, just a little shaken—and Gabby honed in on it like a hawk.

“Nope. None of that either,” she said, striding directly in front of Y/N with her hands on her hips, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown of war. “You just graduated. You’ve worked your ass off. You’ve spent years helping people, holding their pain, picking up every jagged little piece, and now it’s your turn.”

She leaned in closer, eyes bright. “This day is about you. Your joy. Your brilliance. Your ridiculously good taste in fiancés. So we’re going to celebrate, and you’re going to let us, and there will be no more near-tears unless they come from champagne or cake.”

Y/N blinked up at her, a stunned smile breaking across her face despite the emotions still swirling under the surface.

“God, I love you,” she murmured.

Gabby grinned. “I know. I’m amazing.”

Then she spun around on her heel and pointed at CJ. “You. Protective glare mode—off. We need happy CJ now. Go back to gazing at her like she’s the moon and you’re a wolf with a tragic backstory.”

CJ opened his mouth to retort. Then… thought better of it.

Priya finally laughed, covering her mouth as Gabby whirled on her next.

“You—help me get photos. Good lighting. Candid smiles. I want memories so good we’ll all cry when we print them.”

Priya nodded solemnly. “On it.”

Gabby turned to Miles. “You—carry the purse and look supportive.”

Miles didn’t even blink. “Fine. But I’m not smiling in group photos.”

“You never do, darling,” she said sweetly, patting his arm.

And then she looped her arm through Y/N’s and gave her a look so full of warmth and mischief it nearly unspooled the knot in Y/N’s chest entirely.

“Now, Queen of the Quad,” Gabby said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s go take the pictures you’ll frame forever. The ones you’ll look at when everything’s heavy and remember—you did this. And we were all here to celebrate you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, tears shining but not falling this time.

And she nodded.

Gabby led the way, bright and loud and relentless in her love—a wild storm with a purpose. She would not let grief steal one more inch of joy. Not today. Not for her girl.

The celebration was in full swing by the time CJ found her.

Gabby was in her element—glitter somehow subtly (or not-so-subtly) incorporated into the table centerpieces, a curated playlist thumping cheerfully in the background, and Y/N at the center of it all, laughing again, her eyes bright, her hand wrapped around CJ’s just enough to make his heart ache.

She’d come back to herself. And CJ knew exactly who to thank for that.

He found Gabby by the punch bowl, dramatically narrating to a pair of volunteers how she had to "singlehandedly rescue the emotional climax of the day with nothing but charm, volume, and emergency lip gloss."

He waited until the laughter faded and the volunteers wandered off, drinks in hand. Then he stepped up beside her. “Don’t make it weird,” he said, arms crossed casually. “But… thanks.”

Gabby blinked at him, theatrically offended. “I always make it weird. What exactly are you thanking me for, oh great and emotionally repressed one?”

CJ rolled his eyes, but there was something softer in his smile. “For today. For taking the reins. For snapping Y/N out of that moment when I—” he exhaled, “—when I wanted to take control. You knew exactly what she needed. And you gave it to her.”

Gabby’s smirk slipped into something gentler, something almost reverent. “She deserved that. She deserves everything.”

CJ nodded. “I know.”

He looked over at Y/N across the room—talking to Priya, animated and radiant again—and his voice dropped just enough to show the full weight of it.

“She’s my whole life,” he said. “And you made her smile again. You brought her back today, Gabby. So yeah. You’re a royal pain in my ass.”

Gabby grinned.

“But you’re also the one person I’ll never argue with about how to bring joy back into her world.”

She paused, eyebrows raised, hands on her hips. “Are you saying you’ll never question my event planning again?”

CJ sighed. “Don’t push it.”

She cackled, bumping his shoulder. “You’re welcome, you cranky, loyal golden retriever of a man.”

And though he groaned and walked away before she could say anything else, CJ smiled all the way back to Y/N. Because Gabby was loud, chaotic, meddling—and exactly what their circle needed.

Especially today.

When CJ returned to Y/N’s side, the party softened around them—voices fading into background music, twinkle lights glowing across the ceiling, laughter rising in warm bursts from the far side of the room.

Y/N looked up from her conversation with Priya just as CJ reached her, and when their eyes met, something flickered between them—familiar, certain, anchored.

He wrapped an arm around her waist without needing to say a word, and she leaned into his side like her body had been waiting for that exact moment of closeness. Her fingers brushed along his chest, a casual, grounding touch.

“Well?” she asked, smiling up at him. “Did Gabby threaten you into a conga line or emotional vulnerability?”

CJ huffed a quiet laugh. “Emotional vulnerability. Slightly worse.”

Y/N grinned. “She’s been on fire today.”

“She’s been… everything today,” he admitted. “But mostly, she made sure you got to enjoy this.”

Y/N’s expression shifted, softening. She glanced around the room—at the people who had shown up, who had stayed, who had celebrated her, even through the complicated moments. She looked back at CJ.

“I’m a graduate,” she murmured, a little breathless. “I’m engaged. My friends are amazing. You are amazing. My life is—”

“Yours,” CJ said gently. “It’s finally yours.”

She blinked, tears pooling but not falling. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It is.”

He pulled her close, both arms around her now, their foreheads nearly touching. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life,” he said. “Not just for what you did today. But for how far you’ve come. For who you are. For the strength you carry—quietly, every day.”

She reached up and cradled his jaw, thumb brushing just beneath his cheekbone. “You helped me get here,” she said. “You saw me when I didn’t even see myself. I don’t forget that.”

“You did the work,” he murmured. “I just got lucky enough to be in your orbit.”

She kissed him, slow and sure, in the center of the celebration. Not a show. Not for anyone else. Just them. And when they pulled apart, the room shimmered around them again—filled with music and laughter and people they loved.

But this? This quiet space between them, wrapped in pride and promise? It was the true celebration. She had her degree. She had her future. She had him.

And her world had never felt so full.

Gabby was a vibrant, glittering storm of tipsy joy.

She danced through the edges of the celebration with a glass of champagne in one hand and her heels in the other, barefoot on the hardwood floor, twirling just a little too close to the drink table and nearly knocking over a plate of cupcakes in the process.

“You’re lucky I’m adorable,” she giggled, catching herself on the edge of a folding chair.

Miles was right behind her, steady as ever, catching her wrist before she could wobble again. “You’re something,” he muttered.

Gabby turned toward him, cheeks flushed, her smile wicked and warm. “Oh come on, you love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he said—too fast, too flat.

She blinked at him, then leaned in, her nose almost touching his. “No, you don’t. You love it. You love me.”

He hesitated. One breath. Two. Then he exhaled like a man surrendering everything he’d tried to hold back. And grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”

She blinked in surprise, barely keeping up as he tugged her down the hallway of the rented venue, past half-open doors and fading music. Before she could ask where they were going, he pulled her into a small supply closet and shut the door behind them.

“Miles?”

“I’ve been trying to be patient,” he said, his voice low, rough with restraint. “Trying to do the whole slow-burn thing. But you—Gabby, you drive me insane.”

He kissed her before she could answer, before she could laugh, before she could tease him again. It was hungry. Heated. Real. And Gabby—stunned, breathless—melted into him with a sigh of finally.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulled him closer, pressed against him like she'd been waiting for this exact moment.

What followed wasn’t slow or delicate. It was urgent. Needed. The kind of passion that came from months of glances and almosts and never-said-outlouds.

And when the door finally opened again, a little crooked on its hinges now, Gabby stepped out first, her dress askew, hair mussed, eyes sparkling.

She turned back to him with a smirk. “See? You do love me.”

Miles, flushed but composed, simply muttered, “You’re unbearable.”

She looped her arm through his as they rejoined the party. “And yet, here you are.”

He didn’t argue.

Because it was true.

And he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Y/N caught sight of them the moment they slipped back into the main room—Gabby radiant and flushed, her lipstick slightly smudged, her hair tousled in a way that was definitely not from dancing. Miles followed closely behind, shirt untucked, ears faintly pink, trying and failing to blend into the crowd as if no one would notice the very obvious shift in everything about him.

Y/N blinked.

Then she blinked again.

She turned slowly to CJ, wide-eyed, lips twitching. “Did I just… see what I think I saw?”

CJ didn’t even look. He just exhaled, dragged a hand down his face, and muttered, “Yes. Yes, you probably did.”

Y/N laughed—quiet, low, and sweet. The sound curled in her chest like warm honey, filled with the surprise and soft disbelief that came with witnessing something wildly chaotic… and unexpectedly beautiful.

“They’re so different,” she whispered, her gaze following the two of them as Gabby stole a cupcake and then fed Miles a bite of it, licking frosting off her thumb while he stood there stiff as ever, the tips of his ears glowing brighter by the second. “And yet… they work.”

CJ looked down at her, his smile crooked. “Somehow.”

She nestled into his side, her hand resting lightly over his heart. Her voice dropped into something more intimate, the world outside their little bubble fading again.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

CJ’s brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For trying to protect me. From my father. From the moment, the way it could’ve stolen today from me.” She tilted her face up, eyes glimmering. “You stepped forward the second you realized he was there. No hesitation. No fear.”

“I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I love you for it.”

CJ bent and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there a beat longer than usual.

“I’ll always step forward for you,” he said quietly. “Every single time.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened in his. “And I’ll always be grateful you do.”

Together, they watched the party continue around them—friends talking, laughter rising, fairy lights twinkling overhead.

Gabby danced barefoot with frosting on her cheek, Miles hovering nearby like a man resigned to a whirlwind he adored. Priya chatted with one of the volunteers by the snack table, keeping an eye on everything like always.

And in the middle of it all stood Y/N and CJ—two people who had earned this joy, this celebration, this love.

Her diploma tucked into her bag.

His ring on her finger.

And their whole future stretched out in front of them—full of surprises, yes.

But always, always, full of love.

Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @star-yawnznn, @hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other story I’m writing!

[lightdancingwords]

It really is! So chaotic, but so full of love! 🥰

Glitter is dangerous, period! Between Gabby and Eliza, I have glitter in two of my three stories!

Second Chances: Forever - Part Nineteen of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever. Word Count: 7,588 Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut/smut, so much fluff! A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Nineteen: Planning To Grow

The quiet in the living room was deep now—cozy and complete. The soft glow of the lamp bathed everything in warm amber, the kind of light that softened edges and made the night feel timeless.

Y/N rested against Beau’s chest, curled into the curve of his arm, his fingers lazily tracing the shape of her spine. Her legs were tucked beneath her, her free hand resting lightly over the swell of her belly, and her heart beat with the steady rhythm of home.

Beau tilted his head back against the couch, letting out a low, satisfied sigh. “Well,” he said, voice rough with amusement and affection, “I’d say this house is properly christened.”

Y/N snorted, muffling her laughter into his shoulder. “You say that like we deserve a medal.”

“We do,” he replied with a grin. “We worked hard.”

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze with a smirk. “It’s probably for the best I’m already pregnant. Because if I wasn’t…”

Beau gave a soft groan, resting his hand over her belly. “Yeah, I probably would’ve knocked you up in the hallway.”

“Sunroom,” she corrected with a grin.

“That too,” he said, chuckling low.

She shifted to face him more fully, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw, her gaze softening as she studied him. There was gray at his temples now, and more threading through his beard. The creases around his eyes had deepened, and laugh lines had carved stories into his face.

She loved every single one.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I used to worry about this. Getting older. The gray, the lines, my knees not working like they used to.” He shrugged, half-smiling. “Now I think I’ve made my peace with it. Comes with the territory.”

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You may be going gray, Beau Arlen, and yeah—you’ve got a few wrinkles. But you’ll never be old to me.”

His brows lifted slightly. “No?”

“No,” she said, her voice thick with love. “You’ll always be you. Strong. Steady. Fierce. The man who makes me feel safe. The man who makes me laugh when I’m too tired to think. The father of my children. My husband. My heart.”

Beau swallowed hard, his eyes shimmering just a little in the dim light. “You don’t know what that means to me.”

She curled back into his chest, her fingers brushing over the fabric of his T-shirt. “I do. And you’ll always be vibrant to me. Not because of how you look, but because of who you are. You carry everything with so much love, Beau. It shines through you.”

He held her tighter, his lips pressed to her hair. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered with a smile. “I feel it every day.”

There they stayed, wrapped in love and soft laughter, in the quiet joy of having nothing left to prove—only more to give. Age didn’t scare her. Wrinkles didn’t matter. Not when the man beside her still made her heart race with a single glance. Not when his hands still made her feel like the most treasured thing in the world.

To Y/N, Beau wasn’t growing older.

He was simply growing deeper into everything she already loved.

The room had settled into silence again, the kind that felt like a shared breath between two hearts. Y/N rested against Beau’s chest, her body warm and boneless from the long, full day—the laughter, the quiet intimacy, the slow unfolding of love in every room of their new home.

Beau hadn’t moved in a while, his fingers still drifting lazily along her spine, content to simply hold her. But as her breathing deepened and her body melted further into him, he shifted just enough to press a kiss into her hair.

Then, slowly and gently, he stood—sliding one arm under her knees, the other behind her back—and lifted her as though she weighed nothing.

“Beau,” she whispered with a sleepy laugh, her arm looping around his neck, “you really don’t have to—”

“Hush,” he murmured, brushing his lips across her temple. “Let me take care of you.”

The hallway was dim and quiet as he carried her toward their bedroom, the soft creak of the old floorboards beneath his feet the only sound between them. And as he stepped through the doorway, the glow from the bedside lamp wrapped them both in its gentle light.

He set her down with infinite care, tucking the blanket around her before sliding in beside her, his hand seeking hers beneath the covers.

“I love you,” he said softly, like a promise. “I love you, Y/N.”

Her gaze met his, sleepy but bright, her fingers tightening around his. “I know. I love you too.”

Beau leaned in, kissing her cheek, then her jaw, then lower—slow, reverent, each one a silent vow.

“I love this life we’ve built,” he murmured between kisses. “I love our kids. This house. Every second I get with you.”

His hand slid gently over her belly, and his voice dropped lower, thick with emotion. “And if you’re not too tired, sweetheart…” He lifted his eyes to hers, soft and open. “I’d really like to make love to my wife again tonight.”

Y/N didn’t answer with words. She reached for him instead, pulling him in close, her lips finding his in a kiss that spoke of shared devotion, of contentment and ache, of love so deep it didn’t need grand declarations—just this.

Just them.

And as Beau moved above her, slow and sure, as he kissed her with the care of a man who never forgot how lucky he was, their love unfolded again. Gentle. Warm. Full.

A love that didn’t need anything more than the sound of their names in the dark and the way their hearts beat together like it was all they’d ever known.

And when they finally rested, breath mingling in the quiet hush of their bedroom, Beau cradled her close, his lips brushing her hair once more.

“Always,” he whispered.

And Y/N, barely awake, whispered back, “Always.”

The early light crept through the gauzy curtains, spilling soft gold across the room. The house was still, hushed in that fragile hour before the day began—before the stampede of little feet, the calls for cereal and toast, the soft rattle of toys on hardwood floors.

Beau lay awake, arms wrapped around Y/N, her back nestled into his chest, their legs tangled beneath the covers. She slept soundly, her breaths deep and even, her body radiating warmth against him. His hand rested low over the curve of her belly, fingers splayed, not possessive but anchored.

The quiet in his heart matched the quiet in the room.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another, lingering just a beat longer against her skin. She stirred at the sensation, a soft hum escaping her lips as her hand slid over his, fingers curling into his palm.

“Morning,” she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Beau whispered, smiling against her skin. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” She turned slowly in his arms, blinking up at him, hair tousled, cheeks warm with the faint flush of sleep. “You always kiss me awake.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured. “You’re too beautiful in the morning. It’s dangerous.”

She smiled sleepily, then touched his face, her thumb brushing along his jaw where the gray was beginning to show more. “Still mine,” she said softly.

He caught her hand and kissed her palm. “Always.”

They stayed that way for a while, wrapped in silence and each other. The rest of the world could wait. But eventually, reality tapped at the edges—soft footsteps down the hall, the distant murmur of Caleb babbling to himself in his crib, and the sun climbing higher into the sky.

Beau sighed and glanced at the clock. “I should get dressed.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed him once, slow and lingering. “You should. But I’m going to miss you all day.”

“I’ll miss you more.”

He pulled away reluctantly, sliding from the bed and reaching for his clothes, the familiar routine settling into his limbs even as he glanced back at her again and again. She sat up against the pillows, her hand resting absently on her belly, watching him move with a softness in her gaze that made his heart squeeze.

As he buttoned his shirt, she said quietly, “Thank you for yesterday.”

Beau paused, looked at her fully, and walked back to her side of the bed. He leaned down, cupping her cheek in one large, steady hand. “You don’t ever have to thank me for loving you.”

“I know,” she said. “But I want to.”

He kissed her again—slow, full, grounding—before straightening, brushing a hand through his hair, and grabbing his badge off the dresser.

“I’ll be home before dinner.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

And as he stepped out of the bedroom, the soft thump of Eliza’s footsteps echoed from down the hall, followed by her small, excited voice calling out, “Daddy! The wolves are awake!”

Beau chuckled under his breath. “So’s the pack.”

Y/N smiled as she listened, her heart full.

It was just another morning in the Arlen house.

And it was perfect.

The calm after Beau’s departure didn’t last long. Y/N had barely taken two sips of her lukewarm tea when the familiar sound of small feet pounding down the hallway announced the arrival of her oldest.

Eliza burst into the kitchen with a flourish, barefoot and beaming, wearing her pajama top inside out and a bright pink tutu over leggings that didn’t quite match.

“Mama!” she declared, puffing out her chest proudly, “I dressed myself. Like a real big kid. I’m almost ready for real school now.”

Y/N turned, one hand resting on her belly, the other still loosely cradling her tea. “Well, look at you,” she said with a smile. “Pre-K doesn’t stand a chance.”

Eliza grinned, triumphant, then leaned against the table with a dramatic sigh. “But I still can’t tie my shoes fast. I tried the bunny ears, but I think they got scared and ran away.”

Y/N crouched to meet her daughter’s eye, brushing a few stray curls from her forehead. “Then we’ll practice again today, hmm? And maybe those bunny ears will be braver this time.”

“Okay,” Eliza said brightly, spinning in place until the tutu flared like a crown around her knees.

From the monitor nearby, Caleb’s babble echoed through the house—morning chattering that had quickly turned into a determined squawk.

Y/N straightened with a soft laugh. “Sounds like your brother is ready to start his morning rampage.”

“I’ll come too!” Eliza chirped, already halfway down the hallway before Y/N could stop her.

They entered the nursery to find Caleb standing in his crib, bouncing slightly on his toes, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up in every direction like a tiny whirlwind had swept through.

“Hi, bub,” Y/N cooed, scooping him up carefully. He immediately latched onto her necklace with one hand and her hair with the other.

Eliza peeked over the side of the crib. “Caleb, guess what? I’m basically in school now.”

He shrieked in approval.

Back in the kitchen, the morning fell into its usual symphony of sweet, controlled chaos.

Eliza chattered through breakfast, munching toast while reciting everything she planned to do in pre-K—including (but not limited to) teaching her friends about wolves, asking her teacher what color the moon really was, and organizing a very important playground patrol.

Caleb, meanwhile, had learned a new trick: opening the Tupperware drawer and launching its contents like party favors. By the third lid clatter, Y/N had scooped him up and strapped him into his high chair, bribing him with banana slices and a sippy cup.

By midmorning, Eliza had gone through three outfit changes—each one more fantastical than the last—and Caleb had attempted to scale the side of the couch while Y/N turned her back for ten seconds to refill her tea.

She caught him just in time, setting him back down with a breathless, laughing “No, sir,” as he grinned at her with that mischievous look that was pure Beau.

Eventually, they found a lull—Y/N curled on the couch with Caleb in her lap and Eliza tucked beside her, softly humming as she flipped through one of her picture books.

Y/N reached for her phone and snapped a photo—Caleb with one sock on and a banana smear on his cheek, Eliza mid-sentence, a pencil stuck behind her ear like a professor in training.

She sent the photo to Beau.

Y/N: Your pack says good morning. So far, no injuries. Just one banana casualty.

She smiled at the screen, then leaned back, holding both children close.

She was eighteen weeks pregnant, running on broken sleep, and running a house full of growing hearts and louder voices.

And she’d never been happier.

Beau was standing just outside the station, the Montana morning crisp against his skin, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes as he sipped his coffee. A deputy was giving a brief on a local traffic issue—nothing urgent, nothing pressing—but his phone buzzed in his breast pocket and tugged his attention away for just a second.

He glanced down at the screen and couldn’t help the slow, quiet smile that spread across his face.

Y/N: Your pack says good morning. So far, no injuries. Just one banana casualty. Attached: A photo of Caleb, mid-giggle, banana on his cheek, and Eliza proudly holding a spoon like a scepter, eyes gleaming.

Beau exhaled a soft laugh, the sound low and full.

God, he loved them.

The chaos. The noise. The wolf-themed declarations and fruit-covered battlefields. The girl who was almost too clever for her own good and the boy who had already mastered the art of joyful destruction.

And Y/N… beautiful, glowing Y/N, holding the whole mess together with grace, laughter, and the kind of quiet strength that humbled him every damn day.

He tapped out a reply, thumbs moving slower than usual, like the words deserved to be held just a moment longer.

Beau: I should’ve known the banana wouldn’t make it. Give my little warriors a kiss from their old man. And save one for you. Beau: I love you. More every day.

He tucked the phone away, but the smile stayed.

Jenny walked past him just then, raising an eyebrow. “That your wife?”

Beau nodded.

“You’ve got the dumb love-struck look again.”

He didn’t even argue. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”

Jenny smirked. “Good. Keep it.”

As she walked off, Beau turned his eyes toward the open sky, the sun climbing higher over the town he served. He still had hours left in the day—calls to return, paperwork to finish, decisions to make—but his heart? That had already made its home in that photo.

In the half-wild, wholly loved little faces.

In the woman who sent them with a message that read like a song.

And whatever the day threw his way, Beau Arlen would face it steady, sure, and smiling—

Because he was hers.

And they were his.

By early afternoon, the warmth of the sun had begun to stretch lazily across the hardwood floors of the Arlen home. It poured in through the windows, dusting the rooms with that golden glow that made everything feel softer—calmer, even if only briefly.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the living room floor with Caleb toddling in wide, determined circles around her. He had somehow claimed a plastic spoon as his prized possession, gripping it like a baton as he babbled triumphantly and tried to poke at a suspicious-looking dust bunny beneath the edge of the couch.

Eliza was nearby at the coffee table, deeply involved in her “pre-K prep workbook”—which Y/N had printed off in a fit of optimism and which Eliza had immediately renamed The Wolf Queen’s Journal. She scribbled in bright purple crayon, tongue sticking slightly out the side of her mouth as she concentrated.

“This one’s about patterns,” Eliza explained with a very official air, holding up the page. “See? Paw print, leaf, paw print, leaf… paw print. That means a leaf comes next.”

“Perfect logic,” Y/N said with a warm smile, brushing a few stray crumbs off the floor as she reached for Caleb, who had just attempted to scale the ottoman using only sheer will and a bit of drool.

“Caleb,” she murmured, scooping him up with practiced ease, “I love you, but I swear, you were born to climb mountains.”

“Daaa,” he declared, spoon raised in triumph.

“I think that’s Caleb for long live the spoon,” Eliza giggled.

Y/N nestled onto the couch with him, bouncing him gently in her lap, his chubby legs kicking rhythmically. She could feel the slow drag of tiredness creeping into her bones, the weight of being eighteen weeks pregnant, the constant go-go-go of tending to a four-year-old who had more imagination than most screenwriters and a one-year-old who had no concept of gravity or his own limits.

But still... she smiled.

This was her rhythm now. The soft chaos. The small messes and loud laughter. The sweetness of a quiet moment stolen when one child was distracted and the other simply wanted to be held.

And then, just as her eyes were fluttering half-closed, Eliza climbed up beside her with a declaration: “Mama, when I go to real school, can I still be the Alpha Wolf?”

Y/N tilted her head, amused. “You’ll always be the Alpha Wolf.”

Eliza nodded solemnly and leaned against her, resting her head on her shoulder, Caleb nestled on the other side, both of them warm and content and completely tangled into her like she was the heart of the world.

Which, she supposed, she was.

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of them—the faint trace of syrup in Eliza’s curls, Caleb’s soft baby skin—and let herself rest, just for a beat. She’d earned it. They all had.

Outside, the wind stirred the trees gently.

Inside, love lived in quiet moments and crayon-stained fingers, in baby babble and wolf logic, in the kind of afternoon that settled into memory before it even ended.

As the golden hour began to pour long shadows across the floor, Y/N knew dinner needed to start soon—but the moment she stood from the couch with Caleb on her hip and Eliza still tucked under her arm, the children had other plans.

“Mama,” Eliza whispered conspiratorially, peering up at her with wide, gleaming eyes, “I think it’s time.”

Y/N blinked, amused. “Time for what?”

Eliza leaned in close, lowering her voice like the living room itself might overhear. “For wolf patrol. There’s suspicious activity in the hallway.”

Caleb babbled in agreement, then let out a small growl—his version of following orders.

“Oh no,” Y/N said, eyes widening playfully. “We can’t have that. What should we do?”

“We need to arm ourselves with the ancient wolf tools,” Eliza declared, hopping down from the couch and retrieving two paper towel tubes from behind a toy bin. “One for me. One for Caleb.”

Y/N watched as Eliza handed her brother a cardboard tube and declared him Deputy Fang, then turned back with a serious nod. “And Mama, you’re Queen Wolf. But you need armor.”

Before she could object, Eliza ran to the laundry basket in the hallway and returned with a dishtowel, which she expertly tied around Y/N’s shoulders like a cape.

“Now you’re ready.”

“Ready for…?”

“The Floor Is Lava.”

And just like that, the rules shifted. The floor had betrayed them. Only furniture and dishtowel capes could save them now.

Y/N had played many games in her life—some as a child, some as a mother—but there was something particularly wild and wonderful about this one. Maybe it was the way Eliza threw herself into the role with such abandon, or maybe it was the look of sheer delight on Caleb’s face as he stood on a couch cushion and squealed every time Eliza howled.

Y/N, still wearing her cape, carefully stepped between cushions, laughing harder than she had in days. “Your Majesty is struggling with her balance!”

“You’re doing great!” Eliza cried. “Even Queen Wolves wobble!”

Caleb flopped onto a pillow, giggling wildly, and flailed his cardboard tube like a knight without training.

The living room was an absolute mess—blankets twisted, stuffed animals scattered, two cushions on the floor and another balanced precariously on a footstool. But to Y/N, it looked perfect.

Eventually, Eliza declared the lava calmed by peace offerings, and the patrol could end. She collapsed into Y/N’s lap, breathless and triumphant.

“I think the hallway’s safe again,” she sighed. “We did it.”

Caleb crawled into the space beside them and promptly rested his head against Y/N’s belly, sighing in the way only tiny bodies do after big victories.

Y/N smoothed their hair, cheeks warm from laughter, heart swollen with love.

And just as she was thinking now she could start dinner, the front door opened.

Boots scuffed lightly against the threshold.

And Beau’s voice drifted through the entry.

“I smell lava.”

The moment Beau’s voice echoed through the front door, Eliza’s head shot up from Y/N’s lap, eyes wide with the same electric excitement she always had when she heard her father’s boots on the floorboards.

“Daddy’s home!” she gasped, already launching herself off the couch, her tutu puffing out behind her like a war banner. “Everyone take positions!”

Y/N barely had time to grab Caleb before he rolled off the pillow he’d been using as a throne. She stood, still laughing, her dishtowel cape fluttering behind her as she hoisted him onto her hip and adjusted the paper crown Eliza had made for him.

Beau stepped into the living room and froze.

He took in the scene: pillows scattered like stepping stones across the floor, stuffed animals arranged like sentries, a half-draped blanket fort over the couch, and his wife—pregnant, radiant, barefoot, and wrapped in a dish towel—looking like she belonged in the pages of a bedtime story.

Beau’s eyes crinkled with delight. “Should I be worried?”

Eliza emerged from behind the armchair with her cardboard tube in hand, face fierce. “You should be. The floor was lava until just recently. And I don’t know if your feet are trained.”

Beau lifted a brow and glanced down at his boots. “I’ve walked through a lot of things in my day, kiddo. But lava…”

Y/N bit back a grin as she set Caleb down, who immediately toddled toward his father with a victorious yell of “DAAA!” and his cardboard sword raised above his head.

“Deputy Fang comes for your soul!” Eliza cried.

Beau held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ve returned home to chaos.”

“No,” Y/N said, voice warm as she stepped around the couch. “You’ve returned home to your pack.”

Beau reached down and scooped Caleb into his arms, swinging him up with practiced ease, letting the boy giggle and cling to his shirt. Then Eliza launched herself at his legs, arms wrapped around one knee as she beamed up at him.

Beau crouched, hugging them both, pulling them in close with one arm as he met Y/N’s eyes over the top of their heads.

And he said it, just loud enough for her to hear.

“My whole heart. Right here.”

Eliza leaned back. “Did the sheriff complete his missions today?”

Beau ruffled her curls. “Every last one. But this is the best one yet.”

Caleb babbled in agreement and flopped his head against his father’s shoulder.

Y/N crossed the room to them, slipping an arm around Beau’s waist. “Dinner’s not started. The wolves had other priorities.”

Beau kissed her temple. “No rush. Let’s take it slow.”

So they did.

He walked into his home with his daughter on one leg, his son on his arm, and his wife pressed into his side—everything around them slightly messy, loud, and impossibly perfect.

As they settled into their evening, it was clear: This wasn’t just a home. This was theirs. And in it, they were wild. They were steady. They were together.

Dinner began the way most Arlen family dinners did—with enthusiasm, mild chaos, and at least one mysterious spill before anyone even sat down.

Beau had just set Caleb in his high chair when the boy promptly grabbed his sippy cup, turned it upside down, and banged it triumphantly on the tray. “Ba!” he declared, as a ring of milk bloomed across the plastic surface.

Y/N, still in her dish towel cape, caught it with a towel from the oven handle, laughing as she handed Beau a clean bib. “He’s establishing dominance over his drinkware.”

“I think he’s winning,” Beau muttered, snapping the bib on.

Eliza appeared in the kitchen archway, still wearing her tutu and brandishing her crayon-decorated crown. “Dinner court is now in session!” she announced, climbing into her seat with great ceremony. “Everyone take your places, or face the growl of judgment.”

Y/N gave her a sideways glance as she placed a plate of chicken, peas, and buttered noodles on the table. “The growl of judgment, huh?”

Eliza nodded solemnly and pointed a fork at her brother. “Especially you, Deputy Fang.”

Caleb responded with a loud raspberry and smacked his tray again, sending a single pea flying through the air. It bounced off Beau’s shirt.

Beau didn’t even flinch. He picked up the rogue pea, flicked it into the sink, and sat down with a sigh. “I swear, we had a more organized mission brief at the station this morning.”

Y/N slid into the chair beside him, plate in hand, and gave him a grin. “This mission has better rewards.”

“Debatable,” Beau said, but he was smiling, eyes on her more than the food.

Dinner itself was a mixture of giggles, exaggerated storytelling, and occasional reminders not to put noodles in one’s hair—directed at both children.

Eliza rattled on about how her wolf pack would surely be accepted at school, especially once she taught everyone about proper howling technique. She insisted Caleb was training to be her second-in-command, and though he couldn’t say much, he enthusiastically mashed a spoon into his food as if to agree.

Beau leaned back in his chair, watching his daughter hold court with wide, expressive hands and his son slapping pureed peas with the ferocity of a drummer. He reached across the table and touched Y/N’s hand.

She glanced up, eyes warm, cheeks flushed from laughter and the heat of the kitchen. “You okay?”

He gave a soft nod. “Just… soaking it in. This. All of this.”

She looked around the table. The food, half-eaten. The tiny socks already discarded under the table. The glint of a sticker on Beau’s sleeve that definitely hadn’t been there before dinner started. The noise, the love, the mess.

Her eyes softened.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”

And as Eliza launched into a grand story about a wolf prince with rainbow eyes and Caleb tried to put a noodle on her crown, Beau leaned over and kissed Y/N’s knuckles.

Dinner wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polished. But it was theirs.

After dinner, the house slipped into that familiar post-meal rhythm—equal parts cleanup and calming down. Y/N rinsed dishes while Eliza dramatically recounted her “day of victories” to her wolf plush, now seated reverently on the couch like a trusted advisor. Caleb, meanwhile, had been stripped down to just his diaper after somehow managing to get peas in his sleeves and pasta in his hair.

Beau moved easily around the kitchen, stacking plates and drying them with a towel slung over his shoulder. He kept glancing over at Y/N with that warm, settled look in his eyes—the kind that didn’t say much but held volumes.

They were a well-oiled machine. A little clumsy, a lot tired, but together.

The sun had fully set by the time Eliza was ushered into her room. She made only mild protests about bedtime tonight—no doubt exhausted from her self-declared wolf patrol duties—and insisted on selecting the bedtime book herself.

Y/N settled on the edge of the bed with a yawn, one hand on her lower back as Eliza climbed under the covers. Beau, still damp-haired from giving Caleb a quick bath, crouched beside her and picked up the book Eliza had handed over: The Moon is a Wolf’s Lantern.

“You sure you’re not writing these stories yourself?” he teased as he flipped open the cover.

“Not yet,” Eliza said seriously. “But I could.”

Beau began to read, his voice low and even, his thumb brushing softly over the edge of the page. Eliza’s eyes fluttered as the words melted into the hush of the room, her body slowly unwinding beneath the weight of story and safety.

Y/N leaned her head on Beau’s shoulder, listening more to his voice than the story itself. And by the time the last page turned, Eliza was already half-asleep, her wolf plush tucked close and her breath soft and slow.

They tiptoed out, pausing at Caleb’s door to peek in. He was sound asleep, curled onto his belly, one chubby hand clutching the corner of his blanket. Beau gently shut the door with that practiced parental quiet.

In the hallway, dim with lamplight and shadow, Y/N reached for his hand.

“Another day survived,” she murmured, her smile lazy, loving.

Beau tugged her gently toward him, his arms circling her waist, one hand instinctively resting over her bump. “More than survived. You made it beautiful.”

She leaned into him, exhaling against his chest. “You helped.”

“I’d do it a thousand times over.”

Together, they walked the quiet hallway toward their room, their steps unhurried, wrapped in that soft end-of-day peace only parents knew—the house no longer bustling, no longer demanding. Just settled.

The wolves were asleep. The little kingdom was quiet.

And their night, their rest, their love—was just beginning.

The bedroom was dim, aglow only by the soft amber light of the bedside lamp. The sheets were turned down, the covers inviting, but neither of them moved to climb in just yet.

Beau stood by the window, one hand resting on the sill, the other rubbing absently at the back of his neck. The stars were just beginning to peek out through the gauzy curtain of clouds, the kind of sky that only Montana seemed to know how to hold—wide, endless, and still.

Y/N stepped behind him, her arms slipping around his waist, her cheek pressing between his shoulder blades. “You’re quiet,” she murmured.

Beau lowered his hand, covering hers, weaving their fingers together. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He turned in her arms then, looking down at her with that slow, open gaze that still made her breath catch. “You. The kids. This house. Us. It’s everything I ever wanted… and more than I ever thought I’d be lucky enough to have.”

Y/N smiled, touched his face, her thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw. “You built this with me.”

He kissed her gently, slow and unhurried, before whispering against her lips, “You gave it life.”

They moved to the bed, slipping beneath the covers with the kind of practiced ease only found in people who had long since learned the rhythm of each other. Y/N curled into his side, her head on his chest, one hand resting over the steady beat of his heart.

Beau’s fingers drifted lazily along her spine. “You were amazing today,” he said softly. “Wrangling the wolves. Keeping the peace. Somehow managing to look beautiful through all of it.”

She chuckled, eyes closed. “I think I wiped mashed peas off my forehead twice.”

“Still beautiful.”

They lay there in silence, that good kind of quiet—the kind that holds nothing back and asks for nothing but presence.

Y/N’s voice came softly. “Sometimes I wonder how I got this lucky.”

Beau kissed the top of her head, his voice low, steady. “We didn’t get lucky. We fought for this. We chose it—every day. And we’ll keep choosing it.”

She nodded against his chest, letting his heartbeat lull her toward sleep. “I’ll choose you. Always.”

“I’ll choose us.” He whispered the words like a vow, his arms tightening around her. “No matter what comes.”

And in that stillness, with the stars beginning to fill the sky outside and the house quiet with the soft hush of sleeping children, Beau and Y/N lay together—warm, tired, content.

No grand words.

No more to prove.

Just the quiet that belonged only to them.

The morning light filtered gently through the kitchen window, spilling golden warmth over the counter as Beau stood with his travel mug in hand. The coffee machine gurgled behind him, the scent curling through the air like a morning promise. Somewhere down the hall, the rustle of movement told him Y/N was up, Caleb likely tucked on her hip and Eliza possibly already declaring the living room a territory of wolves.

It was early—too early for real chaos, just early enough to pretend the day was still quiet.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

Emily.

Beau’s brow lifted. He smiled softly, sliding a thumb across the screen before stepping into the mudroom for a little privacy.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said, his voice still heavy with the softness of morning. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Emily breathed, and Beau could hear the nerves beneath it, the anticipation she wasn’t quite sure what to do with. “I just… I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

Beau stood straighter. “Wait for what?”

“I made it official,” she said. “I talked to my advisor last night. Sent the forms this morning. I’m transferring to the university in Big Sky. It’s all set.”

Beau let out a long breath—relief, pride, a bit of awe.

“You’re sure?” he asked, even though they’d already talked about it, even though he knew. “You feel good about it?”

“Yeah,” she said, and this time the weight in her voice was steadier. “I do. I’m sure.”

Beau leaned back against the wall, his free hand scrubbing over the back of his neck. “You’ve got no idea how glad I am to hear that.”

“I think I do,” she said gently. “You sounded close to tears the first time we talked about it.”

“Hey now,” Beau muttered, smiling. “No need to drag your old man like that first thing in the morning.”

Emily laughed, and it sounded lighter than he’d heard in a while. “It means a lot, Dad. That you and Y/N offered. That you wanted me there.”

Beau’s voice dropped, rough with emotion. “You’re family, Emily. You were always welcome. But having you want to come back?” He shook his head. “That’s the best damn thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

“I just wanted you to know. Officially. I’ll finish the semester here, then pack up. If the offer still stands…”

“It stands,” he said immediately. “There’s room for you. Always.”

They talked for a few more minutes—nothing heavy, just soft updates and plans for the weeks ahead. When they finally hung up, Beau stood there a moment longer, letting it settle. It was really happening. His daughter was coming home—not just for visits or holidays, but home.

He returned to the kitchen to find Y/N placing a bottle in front of Caleb, who sat in his high chair kicking his feet like a tiny drum solo. Eliza was under the table with a blanket draped over two chairs, declaring it “The Wolf Council’s Fort of Secrets.”

Y/N looked up, raising an eyebrow. “That was Emily?”

Beau nodded, stepping behind her to kiss her cheek. “She made it official. Transfer’s locked in. She’s coming home in a few weeks.”

Y/N’s smile bloomed slow and wide, her shoulders relaxing as she leaned back into him. “Good. I was hoping she would.”

Beau wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek against her temple. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”

She nodded, watching the kids with soft, shining eyes. “Yeah. It really does.”

Their family, already wild and warm and full of love, was about to grow again. And somehow, in this house they’d barely begun to settle into, it already felt like there was room for everything.

It was midmorning when the sun began streaming into the guest bedroom—Emily’s room. The walls were still bare, the bed only half-made from when Margaret last stayed, and a couple of boxes from the move still sat in the corner, untouched. But there was something about the quiet promise of that space now. Something real.

Emily was coming home.

Not just visiting. Staying.

Y/N stood in the doorway for a moment, holding a folded blanket in her arms, the familiar ache of pregnancy tugging at her lower back, and the familiar flutter of anticipation stirring somewhere deeper. She smiled softly as she stepped inside, setting the blanket on the bed and smoothing it out with one hand.

Behind her, Eliza peeked around the doorframe.

“Is this for Grandma again?” she asked.

“No, sweetheart,” Y/N said, turning to look at her. “This is going to be Emily’s room.”

Eliza’s eyes widened with delight. “Emily’s? She’s really moving in?”

Y/N nodded, brushing a bit of dust off the dresser. “She is. In a few weeks. We thought she’d like having a space that’s hers. Think you can help me get it ready?”

Eliza ran into the room, arms already flailing in the direction of a forgotten throw pillow. “Yes! I’ll make it cozy! Like a real wolf den, but for reading.”

Y/N laughed, lowering herself carefully onto the edge of the bed. “A reading wolf den. Sounds perfect.”

Together, they began putting things in place. Eliza carefully arranged pillows in mismatched patterns, declaring one the “comfort leader” and another the “guardian of dreams.” Y/N pulled out a soft woven blanket from a moving box—one Emily had left behind during her last visit and had all but forgotten—and laid it at the foot of the bed.

They wiped down the dresser together, Y/N handing Eliza a damp cloth and watching her concentrate so seriously, her little brow furrowed like this was a mission assigned by the Alpha Wolf herself.

Y/N found a small vase in another box, one she hadn't yet unpacked, and filled it with a few faux wildflowers they'd brought in from the old house. She set it on the nightstand, stepping back to take it all in.

The room wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

But it was welcoming.

Warm.

Like it already missed Emily and was quietly waiting for her return.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Eliza asked, tugging at Y/N’s hand as she stood beside her.

Y/N looked down at her daughter, then around the room, then back again. “I think she’ll love it.”

Eliza beamed. “Good. Because we’re her pack now, right?”

“We are,” Y/N whispered, brushing a curl behind Eliza’s ear. “And there’s always room in the pack for the ones we love.”

They stood in the doorway for a moment longer, mother and daughter, taking in the space made ready—not out of obligation, but out of love.

A room waiting for a daughter. A sister. A place that now felt whole.

Dinner that evening was calm in a way that felt almost rare—a softness in the air, a steadiness in the rhythm. The kind of quiet not born of exhaustion, but contentment.

The dining room, still sparsely decorated with half-unpacked boxes stacked neatly in the corner, glowed under the low amber pendant light above the table. Y/N had kept it simple—roast chicken, roasted carrots, and buttered noodles, easy comfort food for a day that had already been full.

Caleb banged his spoon happily against the tray of his high chair, more noodles stuck to his cheeks than in his mouth. Eliza narrated an elaborate story about how her plush wolf had taken over the vegetable kingdom, interrupting herself only long enough to ask for more juice.

Beau sat at the head of the table, his plate half-finished, his gaze soft and settled on his family—on Y/N, across from him, cheeks pink from the warm oven and the constant movement of the day, and on the two small whirlwinds seated between them.

He took a sip of his water, then leaned back in his chair, eyes lingering on her.

“You know,” he said, voice quiet and even, “it hit me again today. She’s really coming home.”

Y/N looked up from helping Caleb reclaim a dropped carrot. “Emily?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I knew. We talked about it. But hearing her voice this morning—hearing her say it like it was done—it felt different. Final, in the best way.”

Y/N smiled, brushing her hair back as she glanced over at him. “I felt that, too. Setting up her room with Eliza today—it just made it all feel so real. Like we were making space for her, not just in the house, but in this life.”

Beau reached across the table, his fingers brushing over hers. ��You know she said yes because she felt that. Because she knows this isn’t just a house. It’s home. With us.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “She’ll come back to something solid. Something safe. That’s everything.”

Beau exhaled, something quiet and full in his chest. “It means the world to me, knowing she’ll grow the rest of her life right here. With her siblings. With you.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes misting just slightly. “With you.”

Eliza paused mid-story and looked up at them with a mouthful of noodles. “Are we talking about Emily?”

“We are, sweetheart,” Y/N said.

Eliza grinned. “I’m gonna share my wolves with her. And my crayons. But not the glitter glue. That stuff’s dangerous.”

Beau chuckled, reaching to gently smooth Eliza’s hair. “That’s very generous.”

Caleb flung his spoon with triumphant joy, and they all ducked instinctively, laughing.

Dinner carried on, easy and warm. There were second helpings and clumsy hand wipes and kisses pressed to chubby cheeks. And through it all, Beau kept stealing glances at Y/N—the woman who had built a world around him with nothing but love, patience, and quiet strength.

Emily was coming home. The house was still filling. But his heart? It had never been fuller.

The house had gone still again, the quiet settling like a blanket. Caleb had been rocked to sleep after his usual bedtime chaos, and Eliza—after three stories, a last-minute water request, and one wolf-themed lullaby—had finally surrendered to sleep with her plush tucked beneath her chin.

In their bedroom, the lights were low. The moon cast silver shapes on the floor through the open window. The sheets were pulled back, and the soft creak of the mattress followed as Y/N slid beneath the covers, tugging her sleep shirt over her legs.

Beau had just come from checking on the kids one last time. He crossed the room barefoot, shirtless, his expression soft as he pulled back the blanket and climbed into bed beside her. He reached for her immediately, instinctively, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her in close.

Y/N settled into the curve of his body with ease, her back tucked to his chest, her head resting beneath his chin.

“You good?” she whispered, her fingers brushing across his forearm.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. Then another. And another. Each one slower than the last, his lips warm against her skin.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and full of something so tender it almost caught in his throat. “I was thinkin’ about today. About her room. The way Eliza kept adding pillows like she was building a nest.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes closing, body melting into his. “She’s so excited. She keeps saying how she’s gonna be the best little sister ever.”

Beau exhaled a soft breath through his nose, his arm tightening around her. “It hit me while I was watchin’ you two get her room ready… just how full my life is.”

She turned slightly toward him, meeting his gaze.

Beau searched her face, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “I mean, I always knew I loved you. I always knew how much the kids meant to me. But knowing Emily’s coming home—that she chose this? That she wants to be with us? With you?”

He shook his head a little, the words barely holding together. “It just… it filled in something I didn’t even know I was missin’.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed him softly—slow, deliberate, her hand curling over his cheek as they breathed each other in. When she pulled back, her voice was just a murmur. “You deserve all of this, Beau.”

“So do you,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “I look at this life we’ve built… and I just feel lucky. So damn lucky.”

They lay there together, tangled in sheets and quiet joy, his fingers gently stroking over her side, her hand resting over the curve of her belly.

Their family was whole.

And so were they.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

[lightdancingwords]

😂 I did say you'd like what happened in this chapter! Hehe! Miles definitely went there!

Thank you for commenting!

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Thirty-One of ?

Pairings: CJ Braxton x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: Y/N is a psychology major assigned to shadow CJ at The Stand, unaware he's the one who basically saved her life four years before. CJ is unaware that she's the one who left a notable impact on him over the phone four years ago. As they navigate the work at The Stand, they develop a spark that demands revelation and connection.

Word Count: 4,157

Tags/Warnings: Some 18+ implied smut, fluff, and angst!

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Note: Wow! Thirty-One chapters and I feel like I barely started! Haha! Never fear, it'll keep going for now!

Dividers: credit to @saradika-graphics

Chapter Thirty-One: The Graduation

The morning sunlight poured in through the tall office windows at The Stand, stretching across CJ’s desk in lazy streaks of gold. A soft breeze stirred the corner of a stack of forms he had yet to sign, and somewhere down the hall, a phone rang, followed by a voice he immediately recognized—Gabby.

She was laughing. Loud. Possibly at Miles. Probably at CJ’s expense. CJ closed his laptop slowly and leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

It’s almost here.

Y/N’s graduation. After everything she’d pushed through—her practicum, her final exams, late nights, early mornings, and the emotional gauntlet of learning how to be a voice in the dark for strangers—she was about to graduate.

He’d never been prouder of anyone in his life. And that meant… he had to do something about it. Something meaningful. Something she wouldn’t expect. Something celebratory. Which brought him—unfortunately—to one conclusion. Gabby.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t have to. She was on the call floor, standing on the arm of her chair like she was about to deliver a TED Talk with a donut in one hand and her phone in the other.

“Gabby,” CJ said, calmly but firmly.

She whirled. “Yes, my liege?”

He blinked. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Copy that. What’s up, Captain Authority?”

CJ exhaled through his nose. “I need your help. And I already know I’ll regret asking, but… here we are.”

Gabby grinned, hopping down and landing with a bounce. “I love where this is going. Continue.”

“It’s Y/N’s graduation,” he said, voice quieter, more serious. “I want to plan something for her. A surprise. Something simple, but… thoughtful.”

Gabby’s eyes lit up instantly, and she gasped dramatically. “You came to me for event planning? Oh, CJ, how far you’ve come. Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to coordinate your wedding playlist.”

He stared. “This isn’t a power grab. I just know she’d appreciate your flair.”

Gabby clasped her hands to her heart like he’d just read her a love letter. “You want me to make her graduation celebration perfect?”

“I want you to help me make it special,” he said. “She’s worked hard. She deserves to feel seen.”

Gabby sobered slightly, the grin softening into something more sincere. “She does,” she agreed, nodding. “And don’t worry. I’ve got ideas. Not goat-in-a-flower-crown ideas, I promise. Just good, wholesome, possibly slightly glittery ones.”

CJ ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trusting you.”

She patted his arm. “That was your first mistake, but a noble one.”

As she practically skipped off, already texting herself notes, CJ leaned against the doorway and sighed. He would regret this. But Y/N? She’d smile. And that made it worth every glitter bomb Gabby was probably about to order.

CJ was still in the hallway, half-reconsidering his life choices, when he heard a dry voice from behind him—calm, flat, and edged with the exact kind of sarcasm that always made him want to sigh.

“That was… bold.”

He turned. Of course.

Miles leaned against the corner just outside the server room, coffee in hand, expression as unreadable as ever. The kind of face you’d see at a poker table, except he wasn’t bluffing—he was always like this.

CJ raised a brow. “Eavesdropping now?”

Miles shrugged. “You asked Gabby to help plan something.”

“It’s for Y/N,” CJ said simply, like that alone explained the madness. And really, it did.

Miles took a slow sip of coffee. “Still. You volunteered for Gabby to be involved in logistics. That’s not just bold. That’s reckless. That’s…” he tilted his head, “somewhere between heroic and suicidal.”

CJ rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured the risk of glitter was worth the end result.”

“You say that now,” Miles muttered. “Wait until she asks for your measurements for ‘graduation celebration costumes.’”

CJ grimaced. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.”

There was a beat of silence as CJ looked down the hallway, already wondering if there was a way to subtly veto anything involving props, choreographed dances, or surprise serenades.

“She’ll keep it together,” he said, less to Miles and more to himself. “Probably.”

Miles gave a single slow blink. “You’re engaged to one of the most grounded, thoughtful women in this building.”

CJ nodded.

“And you just handed celebration responsibilities to a human confetti cannon with no sense of volume control.”

CJ exhaled. “Y/N will love it.”

Miles paused. Then, just quietly, “Yeah. She will.”

CJ gave him a sideways glance. “You like her.”

Miles didn’t answer right away. Just took another sip of coffee and stared down the hallway in the direction Gabby had vanished. “She makes things louder,” he said at last. “But… she makes things better.”

CJ’s mouth twitched. “And you’re willing to tolerate noise for that?”

Miles smirked, faintly. “You’re throwing a glitter-filled party. You tell me.”

They both stood there, silent for a moment—two very different men who had somehow found themselves caught in love with the loudest, most unpredictable, most brilliant women in the building.

Brave. Stupid. Absolutely doomed.

And they wouldn’t change a thing.

The morning sun rose soft and golden over the city, as if it, too, knew this Saturday was meant for something special.

CJ stood near the end of a long line of folding chairs, tucked beneath a white canopy stretched across the university’s main quad. He wore a dark blazer over a slate-gray shirt, clean and simple—but somehow he still looked like he belonged in the front row of someone’s most important day.

He scanned the crowd once more. The graduation area buzzed with chatter, with families snapping photos, with laughter and nervous pacing and robes that trailed behind rushing students.

He spotted her immediately.

Y/N.

In her cap and gown, robe fluttering around her ankles, walking with a slight bounce in her step despite the weight of the ceremony. Despite the moment. Her name hadn’t even been called yet, but she glowed. She was light. She was everything.

CJ’s heart did something strange and overwhelming in his chest. He’d never seen someone so radiant just by being.

Behind him, Gabby was adjusting her sunglasses and fanning herself with the printed program, despite the fact that the day was only mild. She elbowed Priya. “I give it ten minutes before CJ bursts into tears. Or spontaneously proposes again just because she exists.”

“I can hear you,” CJ muttered without taking his eyes off the stage.

Miles stood beside Gabby, hands in his pockets, entirely too calm for someone dragged out of bed early on a Saturday. “She looks happy,” he said simply.

Gabby smiled and leaned into him slightly. “She is.”

CJ didn’t speak. He was too focused.

As Y/N crossed the back of the stage with her group, he caught the moment she looked into the crowd—and saw them. Her people. The ones from The Stand. Her friends, her coworkers, her family.

Her eyes found him almost instantly. CJ raised two fingers in a small, subtle wave. Not flashy. Not over the top. Just theirs. And the way her face softened, the way her lips parted in surprise and joy—it was everything.

When her name was finally called, CJ held his breath.

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

She walked across the stage, steady and graceful, tassel swinging slightly. She shook hands. She smiled wide. And in that moment, CJ swore he could feel her joy like a pulse in the air.

When she turned her head toward the crowd again, diploma in hand, she didn’t wave. She looked straight at CJ. And nodded. Just once. As if to say, This is for me—but also for us.

CJ clapped—louder than anyone in their row—and so did the rest of the group. Gabby let out a whoop that turned heads, Priya smiled with the quiet pride of someone who had seen it all unfold, and even Miles gave a respectable, approving nod.

When the ceremony ended and the crowd dispersed, CJ was already moving. He found her near the edge of the lawn, still clutching her diploma, blinking at the people filtering around her. When she saw him, she didn’t hesitate.

She ran into his arms. CJ caught her, held her, lifted her just an inch off the ground. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair, breath catching. “You did it.”

She laughed, breathless, and held onto him like he was the center of everything. “No,” she whispered back. “We did.”

And CJ believed her. With every beat of his full, overflowing heart—he believed her.

CJ and Y/N stood in their own little orbit beneath the tree-lined edge of the quad, her diploma clutched in one hand, the other curled around the back of his neck. His forehead pressed to hers, his eyes bright, his smile unwavering.

They didn’t notice the crowd anymore. Not the distant drone of bagpipes from another ceremony, not the squeals of friends hugging, not the cameras flashing around them.

Just each other.

Until Gabby stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes, wide behind her sunglasses, locked on something—or someone—across the lawn. “Oh shit,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the breeze.

Priya followed her line of sight, her breath catching as her jaw tightened. “Is that—?”

Miles, not one for dramatics, actually froze, eyebrows lifted in quiet disbelief. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It is.”

Gabby slowly reached out and touched CJ’s arm, careful, like he was a live wire. “CJ…”

But he didn’t hear her. Not at first.

“CJ,” Priya said, more firmly, her voice a low warning.

And CJ turned. His eyes followed theirs. And landed on him.

Henry Y/L/N. Y/N’s father. Dressed neatly, unassuming, standing at the edge of the crowd with a small program in hand and a look that didn’t match the man CJ had spoken to before. He wasn’t tense. He wasn’t stern. He looked…

Lost.

Quiet. Present.

CJ’s back straightened immediately. The light in his eyes dimmed and shifted into something sharp. Protective instinct rose in him like a surge. His jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides before he even registered what he was doing.

Not here. Not today.

He stepped forward, ready to intercept, to remove—

But a hand caught his wrist. Soft. Steady. “CJ.”

Y/N’s voice.

He turned, and saw her looking past him. Her lips parted, eyes wide—not with panic. Not with fear. With stunned recognition.

Emotion flickered across her face like sunlight through clouds. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t crumbling either. Her breath was uneven, but she wasn’t distressed.

She was… uncertain. “I didn’t know he’d come,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. Her voice was quiet, tight with the kind of emotion that sat between old wounds and something resembling closure.

CJ didn’t let go of her hand, but he stopped moving forward. His eyes flicked to hers, searching. “You okay?” he asked, low.

Y/N nodded slowly. “I think so.” She paused. “I just… I didn’t expect this. I don’t know how I feel.”

Priya stepped a little closer, her presence grounding. Gabby stayed silent, hand resting on Miles’s arm for once not in jest, but in quiet support.

“He didn’t come to make a scene,” Y/N said. “Look at him.”

They all did.

Henry stood with both hands clasped in front of him, expression unreadable but not hard. Not bitter. There was something worn in his eyes. Something maybe—maybe—close to remorse.

Y/N took a breath, steadied herself, and stepped back into CJ’s side. “I’m not ready to talk to him. Not yet. But… I don’t want to pretend he’s not here.”

CJ’s hand found her waist again. He kissed her temple gently, eyes never leaving Henry. “Whatever you need. I’ve got you.”

She nodded, her body still pressed close to his.

Gabby whispered, “Do you want us to do something?”

“No,” Y/N said. “Let it be.”

They stood in silence for another moment as the crowd buzzed and shifted around them, and from across the lawn, Henry looked at Y/N one more time.

And then… he nodded. Small. Almost imperceptible. And turned to go. Y/N didn’t cry. But she did lean back into CJ a little more as Henry disappeared into the crowd. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was something.

And that was enough for today.

Gabby blinked once. Then twice.

And snapped out of the emotional fog like a firecracker lighting midair.

“Nope,” she said sharply, clapping her hands together once. “Absolutely not. We are not letting that little detour hijack the moment. This is Y/N’s day. Her graduation. We are not about to turn this into a Lifetime Movie called Daddy Issues and the Diploma.”

CJ blinked, startled. “Gabby—”

She raised a hand in his direction without even looking. “Hush, Heart-Eyes. I’m on a mission.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, just a little broken, just a little shaken—and Gabby honed in on it like a hawk.

“Nope. None of that either,” she said, striding directly in front of Y/N with her hands on her hips, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown of war. “You just graduated. You’ve worked your ass off. You’ve spent years helping people, holding their pain, picking up every jagged little piece, and now it’s your turn.”

She leaned in closer, eyes bright. “This day is about you. Your joy. Your brilliance. Your ridiculously good taste in fiancés. So we’re going to celebrate, and you’re going to let us, and there will be no more near-tears unless they come from champagne or cake.”

Y/N blinked up at her, a stunned smile breaking across her face despite the emotions still swirling under the surface.

“God, I love you,” she murmured.

Gabby grinned. “I know. I’m amazing.”

Then she spun around on her heel and pointed at CJ. “You. Protective glare mode—off. We need happy CJ now. Go back to gazing at her like she’s the moon and you’re a wolf with a tragic backstory.”

CJ opened his mouth to retort. Then… thought better of it.

Priya finally laughed, covering her mouth as Gabby whirled on her next.

“You—help me get photos. Good lighting. Candid smiles. I want memories so good we’ll all cry when we print them.”

Priya nodded solemnly. “On it.”

Gabby turned to Miles. “You—carry the purse and look supportive.”

Miles didn’t even blink. “Fine. But I’m not smiling in group photos.”

“You never do, darling,” she said sweetly, patting his arm.

And then she looped her arm through Y/N’s and gave her a look so full of warmth and mischief it nearly unspooled the knot in Y/N’s chest entirely.

“Now, Queen of the Quad,” Gabby said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s go take the pictures you’ll frame forever. The ones you’ll look at when everything’s heavy and remember—you did this. And we were all here to celebrate you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, tears shining but not falling this time.

And she nodded.

Gabby led the way, bright and loud and relentless in her love—a wild storm with a purpose. She would not let grief steal one more inch of joy. Not today. Not for her girl.

The celebration was in full swing by the time CJ found her.

Gabby was in her element—glitter somehow subtly (or not-so-subtly) incorporated into the table centerpieces, a curated playlist thumping cheerfully in the background, and Y/N at the center of it all, laughing again, her eyes bright, her hand wrapped around CJ’s just enough to make his heart ache.

She’d come back to herself. And CJ knew exactly who to thank for that.

He found Gabby by the punch bowl, dramatically narrating to a pair of volunteers how she had to "singlehandedly rescue the emotional climax of the day with nothing but charm, volume, and emergency lip gloss."

He waited until the laughter faded and the volunteers wandered off, drinks in hand. Then he stepped up beside her. “Don’t make it weird,” he said, arms crossed casually. “But… thanks.”

Gabby blinked at him, theatrically offended. “I always make it weird. What exactly are you thanking me for, oh great and emotionally repressed one?”

CJ rolled his eyes, but there was something softer in his smile. “For today. For taking the reins. For snapping Y/N out of that moment when I—” he exhaled, “—when I wanted to take control. You knew exactly what she needed. And you gave it to her.”

Gabby’s smirk slipped into something gentler, something almost reverent. “She deserved that. She deserves everything.”

CJ nodded. “I know.”

He looked over at Y/N across the room—talking to Priya, animated and radiant again—and his voice dropped just enough to show the full weight of it.

“She’s my whole life,” he said. “And you made her smile again. You brought her back today, Gabby. So yeah. You’re a royal pain in my ass.”

Gabby grinned.

“But you’re also the one person I’ll never argue with about how to bring joy back into her world.”

She paused, eyebrows raised, hands on her hips. “Are you saying you’ll never question my event planning again?”

CJ sighed. “Don’t push it.”

She cackled, bumping his shoulder. “You’re welcome, you cranky, loyal golden retriever of a man.”

And though he groaned and walked away before she could say anything else, CJ smiled all the way back to Y/N. Because Gabby was loud, chaotic, meddling—and exactly what their circle needed.

Especially today.

When CJ returned to Y/N’s side, the party softened around them—voices fading into background music, twinkle lights glowing across the ceiling, laughter rising in warm bursts from the far side of the room.

Y/N looked up from her conversation with Priya just as CJ reached her, and when their eyes met, something flickered between them—familiar, certain, anchored.

He wrapped an arm around her waist without needing to say a word, and she leaned into his side like her body had been waiting for that exact moment of closeness. Her fingers brushed along his chest, a casual, grounding touch.

“Well?” she asked, smiling up at him. “Did Gabby threaten you into a conga line or emotional vulnerability?”

CJ huffed a quiet laugh. “Emotional vulnerability. Slightly worse.”

Y/N grinned. “She’s been on fire today.”

“She’s been… everything today,” he admitted. “But mostly, she made sure you got to enjoy this.”

Y/N’s expression shifted, softening. She glanced around the room—at the people who had shown up, who had stayed, who had celebrated her, even through the complicated moments. She looked back at CJ.

“I’m a graduate,” she murmured, a little breathless. “I’m engaged. My friends are amazing. You are amazing. My life is—”

“Yours,” CJ said gently. “It’s finally yours.”

She blinked, tears pooling but not falling. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It is.”

He pulled her close, both arms around her now, their foreheads nearly touching. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life,” he said. “Not just for what you did today. But for how far you’ve come. For who you are. For the strength you carry—quietly, every day.”

She reached up and cradled his jaw, thumb brushing just beneath his cheekbone. “You helped me get here,” she said. “You saw me when I didn’t even see myself. I don’t forget that.”

“You did the work,” he murmured. “I just got lucky enough to be in your orbit.”

She kissed him, slow and sure, in the center of the celebration. Not a show. Not for anyone else. Just them. And when they pulled apart, the room shimmered around them again—filled with music and laughter and people they loved.

But this? This quiet space between them, wrapped in pride and promise? It was the true celebration. She had her degree. She had her future. She had him.

And her world had never felt so full.

Gabby was a vibrant, glittering storm of tipsy joy.

She danced through the edges of the celebration with a glass of champagne in one hand and her heels in the other, barefoot on the hardwood floor, twirling just a little too close to the drink table and nearly knocking over a plate of cupcakes in the process.

“You’re lucky I’m adorable,” she giggled, catching herself on the edge of a folding chair.

Miles was right behind her, steady as ever, catching her wrist before she could wobble again. “You’re something,” he muttered.

Gabby turned toward him, cheeks flushed, her smile wicked and warm. “Oh come on, you love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he said—too fast, too flat.

She blinked at him, then leaned in, her nose almost touching his. “No, you don’t. You love it. You love me.”

He hesitated. One breath. Two. Then he exhaled like a man surrendering everything he’d tried to hold back. And grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”

She blinked in surprise, barely keeping up as he tugged her down the hallway of the rented venue, past half-open doors and fading music. Before she could ask where they were going, he pulled her into a small supply closet and shut the door behind them.

“Miles?”

“I’ve been trying to be patient,” he said, his voice low, rough with restraint. “Trying to do the whole slow-burn thing. But you—Gabby, you drive me insane.”

He kissed her before she could answer, before she could laugh, before she could tease him again. It was hungry. Heated. Real. And Gabby—stunned, breathless—melted into him with a sigh of finally.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulled him closer, pressed against him like she'd been waiting for this exact moment.

What followed wasn’t slow or delicate. It was urgent. Needed. The kind of passion that came from months of glances and almosts and never-said-outlouds.

And when the door finally opened again, a little crooked on its hinges now, Gabby stepped out first, her dress askew, hair mussed, eyes sparkling.

She turned back to him with a smirk. “See? You do love me.”

Miles, flushed but composed, simply muttered, “You’re unbearable.”

She looped her arm through his as they rejoined the party. “And yet, here you are.”

He didn’t argue.

Because it was true.

And he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Y/N caught sight of them the moment they slipped back into the main room—Gabby radiant and flushed, her lipstick slightly smudged, her hair tousled in a way that was definitely not from dancing. Miles followed closely behind, shirt untucked, ears faintly pink, trying and failing to blend into the crowd as if no one would notice the very obvious shift in everything about him.

Y/N blinked.

Then she blinked again.

She turned slowly to CJ, wide-eyed, lips twitching. “Did I just… see what I think I saw?”

CJ didn’t even look. He just exhaled, dragged a hand down his face, and muttered, “Yes. Yes, you probably did.”

Y/N laughed—quiet, low, and sweet. The sound curled in her chest like warm honey, filled with the surprise and soft disbelief that came with witnessing something wildly chaotic… and unexpectedly beautiful.

“They’re so different,” she whispered, her gaze following the two of them as Gabby stole a cupcake and then fed Miles a bite of it, licking frosting off her thumb while he stood there stiff as ever, the tips of his ears glowing brighter by the second. “And yet… they work.”

CJ looked down at her, his smile crooked. “Somehow.”

She nestled into his side, her hand resting lightly over his heart. Her voice dropped into something more intimate, the world outside their little bubble fading again.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

CJ’s brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For trying to protect me. From my father. From the moment, the way it could’ve stolen today from me.” She tilted her face up, eyes glimmering. “You stepped forward the second you realized he was there. No hesitation. No fear.”

“I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I love you for it.”

CJ bent and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there a beat longer than usual.

“I’ll always step forward for you,” he said quietly. “Every single time.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened in his. “And I’ll always be grateful you do.”

Together, they watched the party continue around them—friends talking, laughter rising, fairy lights twinkling overhead.

Gabby danced barefoot with frosting on her cheek, Miles hovering nearby like a man resigned to a whirlwind he adored. Priya chatted with one of the volunteers by the snack table, keeping an eye on everything like always.

And in the middle of it all stood Y/N and CJ—two people who had earned this joy, this celebration, this love.

Her diploma tucked into her bag.

His ring on her finger.

And their whole future stretched out in front of them—full of surprises, yes.

But always, always, full of love.

Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @star-yawnznn, @hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other story I’m writing!

[lightdancingwords]

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Thirty-One of ?

Pairings: CJ Braxton x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: Y/N is a psychology major assigned to shadow CJ at The Stand, unaware he's the one who basically saved her life four years before. CJ is unaware that she's the one who left a notable impact on him over the phone four years ago. As they navigate the work at The Stand, they develop a spark that demands revelation and connection.

Word Count: 4,157

Tags/Warnings: Some 18+ implied smut, fluff, and angst!

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Note: Wow! Thirty-One chapters and I feel like I barely started! Haha! Never fear, it'll keep going for now!

Dividers: credit to @saradika-graphics

Chapter Thirty-One: The Graduation

The morning sunlight poured in through the tall office windows at The Stand, stretching across CJ’s desk in lazy streaks of gold. A soft breeze stirred the corner of a stack of forms he had yet to sign, and somewhere down the hall, a phone rang, followed by a voice he immediately recognized—Gabby.

She was laughing. Loud. Possibly at Miles. Probably at CJ’s expense. CJ closed his laptop slowly and leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

It’s almost here.

Y/N’s graduation. After everything she’d pushed through—her practicum, her final exams, late nights, early mornings, and the emotional gauntlet of learning how to be a voice in the dark for strangers—she was about to graduate.

He’d never been prouder of anyone in his life. And that meant… he had to do something about it. Something meaningful. Something she wouldn’t expect. Something celebratory. Which brought him—unfortunately—to one conclusion. Gabby.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t have to. She was on the call floor, standing on the arm of her chair like she was about to deliver a TED Talk with a donut in one hand and her phone in the other.

“Gabby,” CJ said, calmly but firmly.

She whirled. “Yes, my liege?”

He blinked. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Copy that. What’s up, Captain Authority?”

CJ exhaled through his nose. “I need your help. And I already know I’ll regret asking, but… here we are.”

Gabby grinned, hopping down and landing with a bounce. “I love where this is going. Continue.”

“It’s Y/N’s graduation,” he said, voice quieter, more serious. “I want to plan something for her. A surprise. Something simple, but… thoughtful.”

Gabby’s eyes lit up instantly, and she gasped dramatically. “You came to me for event planning? Oh, CJ, how far you’ve come. Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to coordinate your wedding playlist.”

He stared. “This isn’t a power grab. I just know she’d appreciate your flair.”

Gabby clasped her hands to her heart like he’d just read her a love letter. “You want me to make her graduation celebration perfect?”

“I want you to help me make it special,” he said. “She’s worked hard. She deserves to feel seen.”

Gabby sobered slightly, the grin softening into something more sincere. “She does,” she agreed, nodding. “And don’t worry. I’ve got ideas. Not goat-in-a-flower-crown ideas, I promise. Just good, wholesome, possibly slightly glittery ones.”

CJ ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trusting you.”

She patted his arm. “That was your first mistake, but a noble one.”

As she practically skipped off, already texting herself notes, CJ leaned against the doorway and sighed. He would regret this. But Y/N? She’d smile. And that made it worth every glitter bomb Gabby was probably about to order.

CJ was still in the hallway, half-reconsidering his life choices, when he heard a dry voice from behind him—calm, flat, and edged with the exact kind of sarcasm that always made him want to sigh.

“That was… bold.”

He turned. Of course.

Miles leaned against the corner just outside the server room, coffee in hand, expression as unreadable as ever. The kind of face you’d see at a poker table, except he wasn’t bluffing—he was always like this.

CJ raised a brow. “Eavesdropping now?”

Miles shrugged. “You asked Gabby to help plan something.”

“It’s for Y/N,” CJ said simply, like that alone explained the madness. And really, it did.

Miles took a slow sip of coffee. “Still. You volunteered for Gabby to be involved in logistics. That’s not just bold. That’s reckless. That’s…” he tilted his head, “somewhere between heroic and suicidal.”

CJ rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured the risk of glitter was worth the end result.”

“You say that now,” Miles muttered. “Wait until she asks for your measurements for ‘graduation celebration costumes.’”

CJ grimaced. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.”

There was a beat of silence as CJ looked down the hallway, already wondering if there was a way to subtly veto anything involving props, choreographed dances, or surprise serenades.

“She’ll keep it together,” he said, less to Miles and more to himself. “Probably.”

Miles gave a single slow blink. “You’re engaged to one of the most grounded, thoughtful women in this building.”

CJ nodded.

“And you just handed celebration responsibilities to a human confetti cannon with no sense of volume control.”

CJ exhaled. “Y/N will love it.”

Miles paused. Then, just quietly, “Yeah. She will.”

CJ gave him a sideways glance. “You like her.”

Miles didn’t answer right away. Just took another sip of coffee and stared down the hallway in the direction Gabby had vanished. “She makes things louder,” he said at last. “But… she makes things better.”

CJ’s mouth twitched. “And you’re willing to tolerate noise for that?”

Miles smirked, faintly. “You’re throwing a glitter-filled party. You tell me.”

They both stood there, silent for a moment—two very different men who had somehow found themselves caught in love with the loudest, most unpredictable, most brilliant women in the building.

Brave. Stupid. Absolutely doomed.

And they wouldn’t change a thing.

The morning sun rose soft and golden over the city, as if it, too, knew this Saturday was meant for something special.

CJ stood near the end of a long line of folding chairs, tucked beneath a white canopy stretched across the university’s main quad. He wore a dark blazer over a slate-gray shirt, clean and simple—but somehow he still looked like he belonged in the front row of someone’s most important day.

He scanned the crowd once more. The graduation area buzzed with chatter, with families snapping photos, with laughter and nervous pacing and robes that trailed behind rushing students.

He spotted her immediately.

Y/N.

In her cap and gown, robe fluttering around her ankles, walking with a slight bounce in her step despite the weight of the ceremony. Despite the moment. Her name hadn’t even been called yet, but she glowed. She was light. She was everything.

CJ’s heart did something strange and overwhelming in his chest. He’d never seen someone so radiant just by being.

Behind him, Gabby was adjusting her sunglasses and fanning herself with the printed program, despite the fact that the day was only mild. She elbowed Priya. “I give it ten minutes before CJ bursts into tears. Or spontaneously proposes again just because she exists.”

“I can hear you,” CJ muttered without taking his eyes off the stage.

Miles stood beside Gabby, hands in his pockets, entirely too calm for someone dragged out of bed early on a Saturday. “She looks happy,” he said simply.

Gabby smiled and leaned into him slightly. “She is.”

CJ didn’t speak. He was too focused.

As Y/N crossed the back of the stage with her group, he caught the moment she looked into the crowd—and saw them. Her people. The ones from The Stand. Her friends, her coworkers, her family.

Her eyes found him almost instantly. CJ raised two fingers in a small, subtle wave. Not flashy. Not over the top. Just theirs. And the way her face softened, the way her lips parted in surprise and joy—it was everything.

When her name was finally called, CJ held his breath.

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

She walked across the stage, steady and graceful, tassel swinging slightly. She shook hands. She smiled wide. And in that moment, CJ swore he could feel her joy like a pulse in the air.

When she turned her head toward the crowd again, diploma in hand, she didn’t wave. She looked straight at CJ. And nodded. Just once. As if to say, This is for me—but also for us.

CJ clapped—louder than anyone in their row—and so did the rest of the group. Gabby let out a whoop that turned heads, Priya smiled with the quiet pride of someone who had seen it all unfold, and even Miles gave a respectable, approving nod.

When the ceremony ended and the crowd dispersed, CJ was already moving. He found her near the edge of the lawn, still clutching her diploma, blinking at the people filtering around her. When she saw him, she didn’t hesitate.

She ran into his arms. CJ caught her, held her, lifted her just an inch off the ground. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into her hair, breath catching. “You did it.”

She laughed, breathless, and held onto him like he was the center of everything. “No,” she whispered back. “We did.”

And CJ believed her. With every beat of his full, overflowing heart—he believed her.

CJ and Y/N stood in their own little orbit beneath the tree-lined edge of the quad, her diploma clutched in one hand, the other curled around the back of his neck. His forehead pressed to hers, his eyes bright, his smile unwavering.

They didn’t notice the crowd anymore. Not the distant drone of bagpipes from another ceremony, not the squeals of friends hugging, not the cameras flashing around them.

Just each other.

Until Gabby stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes, wide behind her sunglasses, locked on something—or someone—across the lawn. “Oh shit,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the breeze.

Priya followed her line of sight, her breath catching as her jaw tightened. “Is that—?”

Miles, not one for dramatics, actually froze, eyebrows lifted in quiet disbelief. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It is.”

Gabby slowly reached out and touched CJ’s arm, careful, like he was a live wire. “CJ…”

But he didn’t hear her. Not at first.

“CJ,” Priya said, more firmly, her voice a low warning.

And CJ turned. His eyes followed theirs. And landed on him.

Henry Y/L/N. Y/N’s father. Dressed neatly, unassuming, standing at the edge of the crowd with a small program in hand and a look that didn’t match the man CJ had spoken to before. He wasn’t tense. He wasn’t stern. He looked…

Lost.

Quiet. Present.

CJ’s back straightened immediately. The light in his eyes dimmed and shifted into something sharp. Protective instinct rose in him like a surge. His jaw clenched, his hands fisting at his sides before he even registered what he was doing.

Not here. Not today.

He stepped forward, ready to intercept, to remove—

But a hand caught his wrist. Soft. Steady. “CJ.”

Y/N’s voice.

He turned, and saw her looking past him. Her lips parted, eyes wide—not with panic. Not with fear. With stunned recognition.

Emotion flickered across her face like sunlight through clouds. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t crumbling either. Her breath was uneven, but she wasn’t distressed.

She was… uncertain. “I didn’t know he’d come,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. Her voice was quiet, tight with the kind of emotion that sat between old wounds and something resembling closure.

CJ didn’t let go of her hand, but he stopped moving forward. His eyes flicked to hers, searching. “You okay?” he asked, low.

Y/N nodded slowly. “I think so.” She paused. “I just… I didn’t expect this. I don’t know how I feel.”

Priya stepped a little closer, her presence grounding. Gabby stayed silent, hand resting on Miles’s arm for once not in jest, but in quiet support.

“He didn’t come to make a scene,” Y/N said. “Look at him.”

They all did.

Henry stood with both hands clasped in front of him, expression unreadable but not hard. Not bitter. There was something worn in his eyes. Something maybe—maybe—close to remorse.

Y/N took a breath, steadied herself, and stepped back into CJ’s side. “I’m not ready to talk to him. Not yet. But… I don’t want to pretend he’s not here.”

CJ’s hand found her waist again. He kissed her temple gently, eyes never leaving Henry. “Whatever you need. I’ve got you.”

She nodded, her body still pressed close to his.

Gabby whispered, “Do you want us to do something?”

“No,” Y/N said. “Let it be.”

They stood in silence for another moment as the crowd buzzed and shifted around them, and from across the lawn, Henry looked at Y/N one more time.

And then… he nodded. Small. Almost imperceptible. And turned to go. Y/N didn’t cry. But she did lean back into CJ a little more as Henry disappeared into the crowd. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was something.

And that was enough for today.

Gabby blinked once. Then twice.

And snapped out of the emotional fog like a firecracker lighting midair.

“Nope,” she said sharply, clapping her hands together once. “Absolutely not. We are not letting that little detour hijack the moment. This is Y/N’s day. Her graduation. We are not about to turn this into a Lifetime Movie called Daddy Issues and the Diploma.”

CJ blinked, startled. “Gabby—”

She raised a hand in his direction without even looking. “Hush, Heart-Eyes. I’m on a mission.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, just a little broken, just a little shaken—and Gabby honed in on it like a hawk.

“Nope. None of that either,” she said, striding directly in front of Y/N with her hands on her hips, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown of war. “You just graduated. You’ve worked your ass off. You’ve spent years helping people, holding their pain, picking up every jagged little piece, and now it’s your turn.”

She leaned in closer, eyes bright. “This day is about you. Your joy. Your brilliance. Your ridiculously good taste in fiancés. So we’re going to celebrate, and you’re going to let us, and there will be no more near-tears unless they come from champagne or cake.”

Y/N blinked up at her, a stunned smile breaking across her face despite the emotions still swirling under the surface.

“God, I love you,” she murmured.

Gabby grinned. “I know. I’m amazing.”

Then she spun around on her heel and pointed at CJ. “You. Protective glare mode—off. We need happy CJ now. Go back to gazing at her like she’s the moon and you’re a wolf with a tragic backstory.”

CJ opened his mouth to retort. Then… thought better of it.

Priya finally laughed, covering her mouth as Gabby whirled on her next.

“You—help me get photos. Good lighting. Candid smiles. I want memories so good we’ll all cry when we print them.”

Priya nodded solemnly. “On it.”

Gabby turned to Miles. “You—carry the purse and look supportive.”

Miles didn’t even blink. “Fine. But I’m not smiling in group photos.”

“You never do, darling,” she said sweetly, patting his arm.

And then she looped her arm through Y/N’s and gave her a look so full of warmth and mischief it nearly unspooled the knot in Y/N’s chest entirely.

“Now, Queen of the Quad,” Gabby said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s go take the pictures you’ll frame forever. The ones you’ll look at when everything’s heavy and remember—you did this. And we were all here to celebrate you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, tears shining but not falling this time.

And she nodded.

Gabby led the way, bright and loud and relentless in her love—a wild storm with a purpose. She would not let grief steal one more inch of joy. Not today. Not for her girl.

The celebration was in full swing by the time CJ found her.

Gabby was in her element—glitter somehow subtly (or not-so-subtly) incorporated into the table centerpieces, a curated playlist thumping cheerfully in the background, and Y/N at the center of it all, laughing again, her eyes bright, her hand wrapped around CJ’s just enough to make his heart ache.

She’d come back to herself. And CJ knew exactly who to thank for that.

He found Gabby by the punch bowl, dramatically narrating to a pair of volunteers how she had to "singlehandedly rescue the emotional climax of the day with nothing but charm, volume, and emergency lip gloss."

He waited until the laughter faded and the volunteers wandered off, drinks in hand. Then he stepped up beside her. “Don’t make it weird,” he said, arms crossed casually. “But… thanks.”

Gabby blinked at him, theatrically offended. “I always make it weird. What exactly are you thanking me for, oh great and emotionally repressed one?”

CJ rolled his eyes, but there was something softer in his smile. “For today. For taking the reins. For snapping Y/N out of that moment when I—” he exhaled, “—when I wanted to take control. You knew exactly what she needed. And you gave it to her.”

Gabby’s smirk slipped into something gentler, something almost reverent. “She deserved that. She deserves everything.”

CJ nodded. “I know.”

He looked over at Y/N across the room—talking to Priya, animated and radiant again—and his voice dropped just enough to show the full weight of it.

“She’s my whole life,” he said. “And you made her smile again. You brought her back today, Gabby. So yeah. You’re a royal pain in my ass.”

Gabby grinned.

“But you’re also the one person I’ll never argue with about how to bring joy back into her world.”

She paused, eyebrows raised, hands on her hips. “Are you saying you’ll never question my event planning again?”

CJ sighed. “Don’t push it.”

She cackled, bumping his shoulder. “You’re welcome, you cranky, loyal golden retriever of a man.”

And though he groaned and walked away before she could say anything else, CJ smiled all the way back to Y/N. Because Gabby was loud, chaotic, meddling—and exactly what their circle needed.

Especially today.

When CJ returned to Y/N’s side, the party softened around them—voices fading into background music, twinkle lights glowing across the ceiling, laughter rising in warm bursts from the far side of the room.

Y/N looked up from her conversation with Priya just as CJ reached her, and when their eyes met, something flickered between them—familiar, certain, anchored.

He wrapped an arm around her waist without needing to say a word, and she leaned into his side like her body had been waiting for that exact moment of closeness. Her fingers brushed along his chest, a casual, grounding touch.

“Well?” she asked, smiling up at him. “Did Gabby threaten you into a conga line or emotional vulnerability?”

CJ huffed a quiet laugh. “Emotional vulnerability. Slightly worse.”

Y/N grinned. “She’s been on fire today.”

“She’s been… everything today,” he admitted. “But mostly, she made sure you got to enjoy this.”

Y/N’s expression shifted, softening. She glanced around the room—at the people who had shown up, who had stayed, who had celebrated her, even through the complicated moments. She looked back at CJ.

“I’m a graduate,” she murmured, a little breathless. “I’m engaged. My friends are amazing. You are amazing. My life is—”

“Yours,” CJ said gently. “It’s finally yours.”

She blinked, tears pooling but not falling. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It is.”

He pulled her close, both arms around her now, their foreheads nearly touching. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life,” he said. “Not just for what you did today. But for how far you’ve come. For who you are. For the strength you carry—quietly, every day.”

She reached up and cradled his jaw, thumb brushing just beneath his cheekbone. “You helped me get here,” she said. “You saw me when I didn’t even see myself. I don’t forget that.”

“You did the work,” he murmured. “I just got lucky enough to be in your orbit.”

She kissed him, slow and sure, in the center of the celebration. Not a show. Not for anyone else. Just them. And when they pulled apart, the room shimmered around them again—filled with music and laughter and people they loved.

But this? This quiet space between them, wrapped in pride and promise? It was the true celebration. She had her degree. She had her future. She had him.

And her world had never felt so full.

Gabby was a vibrant, glittering storm of tipsy joy.

She danced through the edges of the celebration with a glass of champagne in one hand and her heels in the other, barefoot on the hardwood floor, twirling just a little too close to the drink table and nearly knocking over a plate of cupcakes in the process.

“You’re lucky I’m adorable,” she giggled, catching herself on the edge of a folding chair.

Miles was right behind her, steady as ever, catching her wrist before she could wobble again. “You’re something,” he muttered.

Gabby turned toward him, cheeks flushed, her smile wicked and warm. “Oh come on, you love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he said—too fast, too flat.

She blinked at him, then leaned in, her nose almost touching his. “No, you don’t. You love it. You love me.”

He hesitated. One breath. Two. Then he exhaled like a man surrendering everything he’d tried to hold back. And grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”

She blinked in surprise, barely keeping up as he tugged her down the hallway of the rented venue, past half-open doors and fading music. Before she could ask where they were going, he pulled her into a small supply closet and shut the door behind them.

“Miles?”

“I’ve been trying to be patient,” he said, his voice low, rough with restraint. “Trying to do the whole slow-burn thing. But you—Gabby, you drive me insane.”

He kissed her before she could answer, before she could laugh, before she could tease him again. It was hungry. Heated. Real. And Gabby—stunned, breathless—melted into him with a sigh of finally.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulled him closer, pressed against him like she'd been waiting for this exact moment.

What followed wasn’t slow or delicate. It was urgent. Needed. The kind of passion that came from months of glances and almosts and never-said-outlouds.

And when the door finally opened again, a little crooked on its hinges now, Gabby stepped out first, her dress askew, hair mussed, eyes sparkling.

She turned back to him with a smirk. “See? You do love me.”

Miles, flushed but composed, simply muttered, “You’re unbearable.”

She looped her arm through his as they rejoined the party. “And yet, here you are.”

He didn’t argue.

Because it was true.

And he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Y/N caught sight of them the moment they slipped back into the main room—Gabby radiant and flushed, her lipstick slightly smudged, her hair tousled in a way that was definitely not from dancing. Miles followed closely behind, shirt untucked, ears faintly pink, trying and failing to blend into the crowd as if no one would notice the very obvious shift in everything about him.

Y/N blinked.

Then she blinked again.

She turned slowly to CJ, wide-eyed, lips twitching. “Did I just… see what I think I saw?”

CJ didn’t even look. He just exhaled, dragged a hand down his face, and muttered, “Yes. Yes, you probably did.”

Y/N laughed—quiet, low, and sweet. The sound curled in her chest like warm honey, filled with the surprise and soft disbelief that came with witnessing something wildly chaotic… and unexpectedly beautiful.

“They’re so different,” she whispered, her gaze following the two of them as Gabby stole a cupcake and then fed Miles a bite of it, licking frosting off her thumb while he stood there stiff as ever, the tips of his ears glowing brighter by the second. “And yet… they work.”

CJ looked down at her, his smile crooked. “Somehow.”

She nestled into his side, her hand resting lightly over his heart. Her voice dropped into something more intimate, the world outside their little bubble fading again.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

CJ’s brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For trying to protect me. From my father. From the moment, the way it could’ve stolen today from me.” She tilted her face up, eyes glimmering. “You stepped forward the second you realized he was there. No hesitation. No fear.”

“I just wanted to keep you safe.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I love you for it.”

CJ bent and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there a beat longer than usual.

“I’ll always step forward for you,” he said quietly. “Every single time.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened in his. “And I’ll always be grateful you do.”

Together, they watched the party continue around them—friends talking, laughter rising, fairy lights twinkling overhead.

Gabby danced barefoot with frosting on her cheek, Miles hovering nearby like a man resigned to a whirlwind he adored. Priya chatted with one of the volunteers by the snack table, keeping an eye on everything like always.

And in the middle of it all stood Y/N and CJ—two people who had earned this joy, this celebration, this love.

Her diploma tucked into her bag.

His ring on her finger.

And their whole future stretched out in front of them—full of surprises, yes.

But always, always, full of love.

Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @star-yawnznn, @hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other story I’m writing!

[lightdancingwords]

“Sometimes the smallest step in the right direction ends up being the biggest step of your life. Tip toe if you must, but take the step.”

— Naeem Callaway

[lightdancingwords]

🥰😂 OMG yes! It's definitely going to happen!