lightdancingwords

[lightdancingwords]

Or at least a wildly adorable one with hilarious onesies or adorable ones! A memorable baby/toddler that people will meet in the wild!

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Forty-Five 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: 3,638

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, minor pregnancy drama, parental estrangement

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: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Forty-Five: I Had You

The front door shut behind them with a soft click, and Y/N leaned back against it for a moment, slipping off her shoes. CJ was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he opened the fridge and scanned their limited options.

“Grilled cheese?” he called over his shoulder.

Y/N’s smile ghosted across her lips. “Simple. Safe. Approved.”

“Good,” he replied, grabbing bread, butter, and the last few slices of sharp cheddar. “Because I’m too tired to pretend I know what I’m doing tonight.”

She stepped in beside him, brushing her hand across his lower back as she passed. He didn’t flinch or pull away—just leaned into her touch instinctively. Familiar. Natural. Like breathing.

While she pulled two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with water, CJ moved to the stove. The pan heated slowly as he sliced the cheese and spread butter across the bread. Nothing extravagant, just rhythm and comfort. A meal made from knowing each other.

Then, with the soft sizzle of the first sandwich hitting the pan, CJ reached for her. One arm slid around her waist, drawing her close until her back met his chest. He kissed her shoulder, then dipped his head to nuzzle against the crook of her neck, warm breath brushing her skin.

“I love you,” he murmured against her collarbone, barely above a whisper.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself feel it—the truth in those words, the steadiness of him.

She turned in his arms, her hands finding the edges of his shirt. “I know,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “And I love you.”

His forehead rested gently against hers.

The sandwich sizzled in the background, the scent of melting cheese drifting through the air like a quiet blessing.

They didn’t need candles or music or fanfare. This—them—was enough. Quiet. Present. Real.

CJ pulled back only enough to tend to the food, and Y/N watched him, heart full. In a world that often felt too heavy, too uncertain, he was the thing she never doubted.

Her home. Her anchor.

And in the soft clatter of plates and the warmth of shared laughter over simple food, they found their peace again—one small, perfect evening at a time.

Y/N had just sat down, the warm plate of grilled cheese and a side of baby carrots in front of her, when her phone buzzed against the table.

She blinked, reaching for it, and immediately saw Gabby’s name lighting up the screen.

CJ looked over his glass of water, brows raised. “That her?”

Y/N opened the message—and snorted.

“Oh God,” she said through a sudden laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yes. Very much her.”

She turned the phone so CJ could see.

Onscreen: a baby onesie in bold pink with glittery gold lettering that read “I Just Did 9 Months on the Inside.” Another followed it immediately: “Proof My Parents Did Not Social Distance.” Then “Womb Raider” in Star Wars font.

CJ chuckled, biting into his sandwich. “That poor kid.”

Y/N shook her head, texting back quickly with: Gabs. Glitter? Really? That child is going to be a meme before it can sit up.

Three dots appeared immediately.

YES. I ALREADY FOUND A ‘POOP THERE IT IS’ ONESIE. I NEED IT.

Another ping.

...also I may have cried over tiny socks.

Y/N giggled and handed the phone to CJ. “It’s a full spiral now.”

He looked over the texts and smiled, soft and fond. “She seems better.”

“She is,” Y/N said, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “Still kind of overwhelmed, but… she’s coming through it. And Miles is with her every step.”

CJ nodded. “Good. That’s how it should be.”

Y/N reached for her sandwich but paused, fingers brushing the edge of her plate. “I think they’re going to be okay,” she said, almost to herself. “Even if it’s hard. Even if it wasn’t planned.”

CJ leaned over, brushing a kiss to her temple before reaching for another carrot. “The best things never are.”

Y/N gave a quiet laugh and settled into her seat again, her heart a little lighter as she typed back a message to Gabby:

Save a onesie for me to buy. Glitter or not, I’m in.

And across the room, CJ smiled as he watched her type—because this was how their world worked now. Unfolding, unpredictable, messy, and beautiful.

And theirs.

The bedroom was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the lamp on his nightstand. CJ lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped across his stomach, the sheets tangled loosely around his legs. The bathroom door was open just enough for warm light to spill through, casting a soft amber hue across the floor. He could hear the gentle splash of water as Y/N washed her face, the small clink of the cup she used to rinse, the dull hum of her evening routine.

He watched the silhouette of her through the frosted glass of the mirror—her shoulders moving in quiet rhythm, the loose strands of her hair swaying with every tilt of her head.

And he thought, God, she’s strong.

Not loud, not stubborn, not forceful—but strong in the ways that mattered.

She had been broken. Not once. Not twice. Again and again. And still she got up. Still she smiled. Still she loved with a kind of quiet ferocity that humbled him. Her father had failed her in ways that still made CJ clench his fists when he thought about it too long. That letter, that damn letter, had opened wounds she never deserved to carry in the first place.

But Y/N faced it.

She hadn’t run. She hadn’t shut down.

She was still trying to figure out what to do—if she wanted to forgive, if she wanted to respond, if there was anything left worth salvaging. And she was doing it while living, while loving, while holding together everyone else around her like gravity.

He blinked slowly, overwhelmed by the sheer force of who she was.

How did I get so lucky?

Because she’d chosen him.

Out of everyone, out of all the past pain and messy memories and grief still echoing in her bones—she chose him.

She let him in, let him love her, let him hold her even when she didn’t have the words for what hurt. He couldn’t fix it all. He knew that. But God, if he could take every ounce of her pain and carry it for her, he would. Without question. Without hesitation.

Just to see her smile without shadows again.

She flicked off the bathroom light, stepping softly into the room wearing one of his t-shirts that hung low over her thighs. Her skin was dewy from her skincare routine, and her hair was tucked behind her ears.

She caught his gaze and smiled—small, a little tired, but real.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, sliding into bed beside him.

CJ turned toward her, propped up on one elbow. “I was just thinking how incredible you are.”

She rolled her eyes, though the flush of warmth reached her cheeks. “Liar.”

“I’m serious.” His voice was low, steady. “You’ve been through hell, and you still get up every day. You still laugh. You still fight for people. You still let yourself feel, even when it hurts. That’s… that’s more than brave. That’s extraordinary.”

She didn’t reply right away. Just tucked herself closer into his chest, her arm resting over his heart. He wrapped her up without hesitation.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered into her hair. “Not with me.”

She was quiet, and then, softly: “I know.”

CJ kissed the top of her head, pulled the blanket higher around them both.

And in that quiet space between breaths and heartbeat, he made her a silent promise:

He would be her shield, her softness, her steady—however long she needed him to be.

Because she had chosen him.

And he would choose her, every single time.

Moonlight stretched in faint silver lines across the bedroom floor, slipping in through the curtains that swayed gently with the breeze from the cracked window. The room was still, the kind of stillness that only lived deep in the middle of the night, when the world outside held its breath.

CJ stirred first.

Not from a nightmare. Not from worry.

Just... stirred.

He opened his eyes slowly, the ceiling faintly aglow in the silver light. Y/N was nestled against him, her breath steady, her forehead resting lightly against his shoulder. Her hand lay against his chest, fingers curled near the soft fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t move, didn’t shift. Just breathed.

There was something sacred about this—about the way she found him in her sleep, always reached for him. As if even in unconsciousness, she knew he was her safe place.

He turned his head slightly, brushing his nose against her hair.

“Mmh,” she murmured, the sound small, the barest shift of wakefulness.

He kissed her crown, slow and reverent. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t fully asleep,” she mumbled, voice drowsy, warm. “Just... drifting.”

Her hand moved then, gliding down to find his. Their fingers interlaced beneath the covers, palms pressed together.

He felt the cool brush of her ring against his finger, just as she felt the faint ridges of his own—the snowflake-etched band she’d given him.

Y/N blinked open her eyes, just enough to look at him through the soft dark. “We match,” she whispered, giving their joined hands a gentle squeeze.

CJ looked down at their fingers, the way the rings glinted faintly in the moonlight.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We do.”

There was no ceremony to it, no grand gesture. Just hands, warm and steady, holding each other in the dark.

“I like it,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Me too.”

She closed her eyes again, and he watched as the lines in her forehead softened. Whatever heaviness she still carried, it seemed lighter here—under the hush of midnight, in the press of skin to skin.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing a thumb across the back of her hand.

She nodded. “I am right now.”

That was enough.

He held her a little closer, their joined hands resting between them like a vow.

No words. No promises they hadn’t already made.

Just presence.

And love.

Always love.

The morning sun had barely crested over the buildings as CJ and Y/N made their way into The Stand, the familiar hum of the world slowly coming to life around them. Their footsteps were unhurried, side by side in comfortable silence, fingers brushing occasionally but not quite holding hands—some things were reserved for private moments, not public hallways.

CJ held the door open for her like he always did, a subtle ritual that had never faded. Inside, the early shift had already started: quiet typing, low murmurs of conversations, the scent of too-strong coffee lingering near the break room. Y/N gave him a soft smile, and he kissed her temple before veering off toward his office.

She lingered.

Paused.

Turned.

And instead of heading to her desk, she pivoted on her heel and walked down the hallway toward the IT wing. She rarely went that way, unless absolutely necessary—and even then, she usually emailed instead of knocking.

But today, she needed something more than a fix. She needed perspective.

Miles looked up from his screen as she appeared in the doorway. His usual mildly-brooding expression gave way to confusion.

“Y/N?”

“Hey,” she said gently. “Got a minute?”

He blinked, obviously surprised. “Yeah, sure. You okay?”

She stepped in, closing the door halfway behind her. “I think so,” she said, then pulled in a breath. “I just… I wanted to ask you something. Something personal.”

Miles sat up a little straighter, nodding. “Alright.”

Y/N hesitated, fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve. “If you had the chance to see your father again… to talk to him, face-to-face. Would you?”

The room went still.

Miles didn’t speak right away. He leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocused, as if looking through the walls rather than at them.

“You’re asking because of the letter,” he said quietly.

She gave a small nod.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I used to think I’d want to. That maybe I’d have all these questions. Or anger. Or… something.”

Y/N listened, not interrupting.

“But now?” Miles shrugged, eyes dropping to the keyboard. “I stopped caring a long time ago. Stopped wondering. He left. He didn’t come back. Didn’t call. Didn’t pay. Nothing. It’s like he died—only without the closure of a funeral.”

He looked at her then, not unkindly. “So I guess if I saw him again, I’d probably just feel… nothing. No hate. No forgiveness. Just indifference. Like talking to a stranger I used to think about but haven’t in years.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly. “Does that help you? Not caring?”

Miles gave a small, honest nod. “It does. Because I stopped giving him real estate in my head. Stopped letting his absence define anything about who I became.”

He paused, then added more gently, “But that’s me. You’re not me. And your father didn’t leave—he just didn’t show up the way you needed. That’s different. And maybe harder.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, absorbing it.

“You thinking about seeing him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

Miles didn’t push. Just nodded once.

“You don’t have to know today,” he said. “Or ever. You’re allowed to keep that door shut. Or crack it open. Or burn the whole damn thing down if you want to.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh—thin, but grateful. “Thanks, Miles.”

“Anytime,” he said, then added dryly, “Even if it means a surprise visit to IT without a computer crisis.”

She smiled and left the room with a little more clarity than she’d walked in with.

Down the hall, CJ glanced up from his computer as she passed, watching the way her shoulders were still heavy… but less weighed.

And that was something.

Priya leaned against the doorframe of the break room, arms folded loosely across her chest as she watched Gabby animatedly scroll through her phone.

Gabby’s curls were tied up in her usual high, messy ponytail. She was sitting sideways in one of the chairs, legs draped over another, a wide grin on her face as she zoomed in on something on her screen.

“Oh my God,” she giggled to herself. “It’s a tiny onesie with suspenders built in. Suspenders, Priya. This child is going to be a fashion icon.”

Priya’s mouth curved into a small smile as she stepped in. “Morning.”

Gabby glanced up, beaming. “Morning! Wanna see the tiny Converse sneakers I found last night? They’re ridiculously overpriced and absolutely necessary.”

“Tempting,” Priya said wryly, sitting across from her. “But I actually came to check in. How are you really doing?”

Gabby waved the phone with a flourish. “Amazing. Glowing. Vibrating on joy. Possibly high on prenatal vitamins. Did I mention tiny suspenders?”

Priya didn’t answer.

She just looked at her.

Not cold. Not judgmental.

Just… still.

Gabby’s smile faltered slightly.

And then, slowly, it slipped away.

Her shoulders sank. Her eyes dropped to her lap.

“I’m trying not to think about it too hard,” she said quietly.

Priya stayed silent, letting her fill the space.

Gabby bit her lower lip. “Trying not to think about the colic. Or the nights where the baby won’t sleep and I feel like I’m losing my mind. Or the diapers that explode up the back and somehow into their hair—what the hell is that about, anyway?”

She rubbed her face. “Trying not to think about how many couples fall apart after kids. How sleep deprivation turns you into the worst version of yourself. How… I’ve never done this. I don’t even know how to do this.”

Her voice cracked at the end, just a little.

Priya nodded slowly. “You’re scared.”

“Terrified,” Gabby breathed. “And I feel like if I stop to really feel it, it’s going to swallow me whole. So instead I look at adorable onesies and pretend that’s all there is.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Gabby looked up at her then, eyes shining.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered. “I love him. I love this baby already, and I don’t even know them yet. I just… I don’t want to ruin it.”

Priya reached across the table, laying her hand gently over Gabby’s.

“You won’t,” she said softly. “You won’t ruin anything. You’ll love with everything you’ve got, and when it gets hard—and it will get hard—you’ll still show up. That’s what matters.”

Gabby let out a trembling breath, nodded slowly, and wiped her eyes.

“I hate hormones,” she sniffled.

“They’re doing their job,” Priya said with a soft smile.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to be a walking emotional landslide,” Gabby muttered, but there was the hint of a smile now. “I’m a menace with feelings.”

Priya squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be a phenomenal mother.”

Gabby blinked, then whispered, “Thanks.”

The staff break room hummed with its usual midday lull—microwave humming in the corner, quiet chatter from across the building echoing down the hall. Gabby sat at the round table in the far corner, her elbows on the surface, scrolling absentmindedly through her phone again. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to look at any more baby gear until her paycheck cleared.

She had already failed.

“Okay,” came a voice behind her, warm and familiar.

She glanced up—and blinked.

Miles stood there, tray in hand. Not cafeteria plastic—no, this was one of their reusable kitchen ones from home. On it sat a glass of orange juice, a small bowl of sliced apples and peanut butter, and a warm sandwich that smelled suspiciously like the turkey-melt she secretly loved.

Gabby stared. “You made me lunch?”

Miles gave a one-shouldered shrug, setting the tray down in front of her. “Didn’t trust the vending machine not to poison you. Or the baby.”

She raised a brow. “Since when are you anti-Cheez-Its?”

“I’m not. You’re pregnant. That’s different.”

Gabby tried to scowl, but it softened almost immediately.

“Juice has vitamin C,” he added, nudging the glass toward her. “The sandwich has protein. And apples are… fruit. Or something.”

“Wow,” she said, mock deadpan. “I feel so supported.”

He huffed a breath, sliding into the seat across from her. “Just eat.”

She looked at him for a long beat—his messy dark hair, those warm brown eyes, the faint worry that hadn’t quite left his face since the pregnancy news landed.

But he didn’t look panicked anymore. Just… present.

Present and steady and trying.

Gabby took a bite of the sandwich. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then said, voice softer, “You’re being really sweet.”

Miles opened a granola bar and said, without looking up, “Don’t spread it around.”

Gabby snorted and took another bite. “No promises.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the quiet between them easy. Comfortable.

Eventually, she reached for the juice, fingers toying with the condensation on the glass.

“Hey,” she said, just above a whisper.

Miles glanced up, chewing.

“I know we haven’t figured everything out yet,” she said. “And I know I’ve been… kind of manic about all of it. But thank you. For… this. For sticking.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said simply.

And Gabby—chaotic, fiercely independent Gabby—just nodded.

For once, no jokes. No sass.

Just the quiet comfort of two people figuring it out together.

The soft hum of The Stand had shifted into its evening rhythm—quieter, the lights dimmer, voices lower as the day drew to a close. CJ stood outside Y/N’s workspace, his ever-reliable presence cutting through the haze of exhaustion she didn’t realize she’d been carrying until she saw him.

She looked up from her desk just as he approached, her eyes catching on the familiar, steady green of his.

He didn’t say anything at first—just offered his hand like he always did, palm open, waiting.

Y/N smiled as she slid her fingers into his.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said gently, walking in step with her. “How was your day?”

There was something about the way he asked—not out of habit, not with half a mind somewhere else, but fully present. Like he actually wanted to know. Like her answer mattered.

Y/N exhaled as they passed the threshold of the main floor, her body beginning to unwind from the emotional weight of the day.

“A few bad calls,” she admitted. “One of them was especially rough.”

CJ’s thumb rubbed against the back of her hand. “You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Not tonight.”

“Okay.”

A quiet fell between them, companionable. Reassuring.

Then she glanced up at him, something soft in her eyes. “But… I’m okay. Really.”

He looked at her, tilting his head slightly.

“I had you,” she said, and her voice was full of something deep and certain. “Even on the hard days. I have you.”

CJ’s features shifted, his expression melting into something achingly tender.

“Always,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You always have me.”

She leaned into his side a little more as they stepped out into the early evening air, hand still tucked in his.

And whatever else the day had brought, whatever weight lingered behind them in the walls of The Stand—Y/N knew she wasn’t carrying it alone.

Not ever again.

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]

Oh believe me, during my pregnancies, it was a nightmare, haha! Towards the end, I'd be miserable, uncomfortable, and folks would go "Taylor, you look miserable!" Me: "I'm ready for this baby be born!"

But soooooon!

(I still haven't decided on a name myself, haha!)

Second Chances: Forever - Part Thirty-Third 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: 5,821

Tags/Warnings: So much sweet fluff! A touch of pregnancy/medical drama, but not a lot.

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: Please see THIS LINK for updates on the posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Waiting With Bated Breath

The bedroom was dim, bathed in the faint gold glow of the hallway nightlight and the distant chirp of crickets through the open window. The fan spun lazily above them, stirring the warm summer air just enough to make the sheets feel bearable.

Beau lay on his side, propped on one elbow, gently trailing his fingers over the curve of Y/N’s belly. She was curled toward him, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her eyes half-lidded but awake.

“I don’t think I’m gonna sleep,” she murmured.

Beau smiled softly. “Then we don’t have to. We’ll just lay here. Let the night take its time.”

She blinked slowly, soaking him in—the quiet strength in his eyes, the ease in his touch, the love that radiated from him without effort. “It’s real now,” she whispered. “This baby could come anytime.”

He nodded, his voice low and certain. “We’re ready.”

She let out a quiet laugh. “We say that, but are we really?”

“I don’t think anyone ever truly is. You just show up. You love ’em. You try. And then you do it again the next day.”

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, then her lips, then her belly. “But yeah. We’re ready.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them, until Y/N murmured, “We still haven’t settled on a name.”

Beau grinned against her skin. “You bringin’ that up now?”

“Why not?” she said. “Middle of the night. Baby stewin’ in there like a mystery. Seems like the right time.”

He settled down beside her, arms curled protectively around her as he considered. “Alright… if it’s a girl?”

Y/N looked up at the ceiling. “I like something strong. Not too frilly. But still beautiful.”

Beau nodded thoughtfully. “What about… Rowan?”

She blinked, surprised. “Rowan.”

“Strong,” he said. “Clean. Grows into any kind of person.”

“I like it,” she whispered, smiling. “Rowan.”

“And if it’s a boy?” she asked.

Beau was quiet for a moment. “Maybe something with weight to it. Nothing fancy. Just solid.”

Y/N waited, breath held a little, curious.

He exhaled. “I like the sound of Jesse.”

She smiled again, softer this time. “Jesse.”

Beau reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean that’s what we’ll choose. But I like havin’ a few tucked in our back pocket.”

“I do too,” she whispered. “Rowan. Jesse.”

“You got any names you’ve been holdin’ onto?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. “Maybe. But I want to see them first. See who they are.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

The room settled into stillness again, the kind of peace that came only after storms had passed, after fear had been weathered and hope had taken root.

Y/N closed her eyes, her body sore but full, her heart stretched to the edges with love.

Beau’s hand stayed resting on her belly, and as sleep slowly began to pull at them both, the baby shifted beneath his palm.

He smiled against her temple and whispered, “We’re waitin’ on you, little one. No rush. Just come home safe.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty.

Beau’s palm moved in slow, reverent circles over the curve of Y/N’s belly, warm and steady, like he was tracing love into the skin. His breath moved softly against her hair, his other arm curled beneath her to keep her close.

The baby shifted gently beneath his hand.

Y/N let out a long exhale, her body relaxing into his. “I could stay like this forever.”

“Me too,” Beau murmured.

Another few moments passed, the weight of night pressing gently around them like a soft blanket.

Then, quietly, he said, “I hope you’re okay.”

She blinked, turned her head slightly toward him. “I am.”

His voice was low, tinged with something just beneath the surface. “It’s just been a while since I’ve really touched you. I mean… really.”

Y/N didn’t need him to explain.

The doctor’s warnings had been clear: no intimacy. No triggering anything that could jumpstart labor. At thirty-seven weeks, they were in the safe zone—but they also knew how easily things could shift. How fast it could all change.

She reached for his hand where it rested against her skin, lacing her fingers through his. “I know. And I understand.”

Beau nodded once, eyes fixed on the place where their hands met over her belly.

“But,” she added with a faint smile, “if it were up to you…”

He glanced down, just enough moonlight spilling through the window to catch the playfulness in her eyes.

“…you’d make love to me every night.”

He gave a low, almost embarrassed chuckle. “Wrong.”

She raised a brow. “Wrong?”

Beau leaned in, his drawl thick and sweet in her ear. “Every morning and every night. And lunch too. If I could get away with it.”

Y/N burst into a quiet laugh, muffling it against his chest. “Insatiable man.”

“Can’t help it,” he whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “You’re mine. And you’re beautiful. And I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she said softly.

They didn’t move. There was nothing more to say. Just the warmth of his hand against her, the rhythm of her breath slowing, and the steady awareness between them that this too—this waiting, this restraint—was a kind of love.

Not lack.

Not loss.

But promise.

And when sleep finally came for them both, they were still wrapped in each other—skin to skin, heart to heart, and full of a wanting that could wait just a little longer.

Because the love never left.

It only deepened.

Morning crept in slowly, sunlight soft and golden as it filtered through the curtains. The hum of the ceiling fan spun overhead, rustling the edge of the blanket draped across Y/N’s legs. The world beyond their window was still quiet—no Caleb squeals, no Eliza treaties echoing through the halls just yet.

Y/N stirred beneath the sheets, one arm curling instinctively around the swell of her belly. For a moment, she thought Beau was still beside her—she could feel the lingering warmth in the sheets, the imprint of his body.

But then she heard it: the faint creak of the bathroom door and the rush of steam as it opened.

Beau stepped out into the bedroom, towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water still glistening on his chest and shoulders. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and he moved with the quiet confidence of a man used to mornings filled with purpose.

Y/N blinked slowly, letting her eyes adjust—and then she just… watched.

He was beautiful.

Not just in the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, or the way his broad shoulders tapered to lean hips—but in something deeper. Something in the way he reached for his shirt without rushing, wiped the fog from the mirror, checked his phone only after setting down her prenatal vitamins beside the water glass on her nightstand.

He didn’t know she was watching.

That made it even better.

Because in those quiet, unguarded moments, Y/N saw everything.

She saw the man who had carried her through fear and joy alike. The man who never once flinched at her swollen ankles, who rubbed her back through tears, who held her like she was a miracle and not a burden. The man who desired her even when she felt stretched and uncomfortable and far from anything glamorous.

She saw the father who chased Eliza through the yard like a proud wolf-king, who rocked Caleb through fevers without complaint, who made up songs in the kitchen just to make them laugh.

She saw the husband who rose before the sun, who made her tea without asking, who knew her moods by the tilt of her head and the silence in her breath.

Beau turned slightly, catching movement from the bed.

Y/N was awake now, propped on one elbow, watching him with quiet wonder.

He raised a brow and gave her that lopsided smile that still undid her. “Mornin’, darlin’. I was tryin’ not to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly, voice still laced with sleep. “But I’m not sorry I caught the show.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. “Well now, if I knew you were watchin’, I might’ve made it more interestin’.”

Y/N smiled and let her eyes trace him again, slower this time. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden earnestness.

“And not just because of what I see,” she continued, voice trembling with feeling. “But because of who you are. What you carry. How you love me. The kids. This whole life we’ve built.”

Beau stepped closer, his towel shifting slightly as he knelt beside the bed and reached for her hand.

“You’re makin’ me blush,” he murmured.

“I’m makin’ you seen,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t need fancy words or praise. Just this. You. Every day.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek. “You’ve got me. Every part.”

“And you’ve got me,” he said, leaning in, voice thick. “Always.”

She smiled and pulled him closer until his forehead touched hers. “Now get dressed before I forget I’m on doctor-ordered celibacy and make us both very late for breakfast.”

He laughed, deep and warm. “See, now that’s just cruel.”

But he kissed her again anyway.

And outside the bedroom door, the sound of tiny feet began to stir, the day beginning to bloom. But in that moment, in that room, time held still for just a breath longer—two hearts wrapped in the fullness of quiet, committed love.

By eight-thirty, the house had fully surrendered to chaos.

Y/N was parked on the couch, her feet propped on a cushioned stool, one hand resting protectively over her belly as the other cradled a mug of tea she hadn’t quite finished. The windows were thrown open to the warm July air, and sunlight poured in like gold, streaking across the hardwood floor and catching in Eliza’s curls as she dashed past.

“The wolves have reclaimed the forest throne!” Eliza declared, a tangle of paper streamers tied around her waist like a sash and a glittery plastic crown cocked slightly to one side. “But the ducks are mounting a revolution!”

Margaret stood near the stove with a wooden spoon in hand, keeping an eye on the pancakes browning in the skillet. She leaned out slightly into the living room and called, “Didn’t the wolves and ducks sign a peace treaty last week?”

“They did,” Eliza shouted back, spinning in a dramatic circle. “But the ducks broke it when they stole the blueberries!”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Those ducks really can’t be trusted.”

Before Margaret could reply, a loud thump and a squeal of glee echoed from down the hall, followed by Emily’s weary voice: “Caleb, no! That’s my hairbrush, not a sword!”

Seconds later, she emerged carrying Caleb in both arms—his curls sticking up in wild directions, his cheeks smudged with jam, and a single sock barely hanging on his foot. Emily’s tank top bore a streak of what looked suspiciously like yogurt.

“Why is he so strong?” she asked no one in particular. “He’s eighteen months old and I’m losing a wrestling match.”

Y/N tried to hide her smile. “He’s just passionate.”

“Passionate about sabotage,” Emily muttered, depositing him into the high chair.

Caleb smacked the tray and shouted, “Mama!”

“Hi, baby,” Y/N cooed, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Just then, Beau stepped in from the back door, shirt half-buttoned, holding a basket of laundry under one arm. He took in the scene—Eliza giving orders in her regal wolf-voice, Caleb banging a spoon on his tray like a war drum, Emily breathing heavily and Margaret flipping pancakes with military precision—and blinked.

“…Did I miss a coup?”

“You missed a duck uprising,” Eliza declared from the arm of the couch. “But don’t worry. I’m handling it.”

Beau crossed the room and leaned down to kiss Y/N’s temple. “Mornin’, darlin’. You holdin’ up?”

“Barely,” she murmured with a grin. “My troops are out of control.”

“Well, lucky for you…” He plucked a sippy cup from the counter and handed it to Caleb like a grenade being diffused. “I’ve got countermeasures.”

Margaret stepped over to refill Y/N’s tea and slipped her a knowing smile. “Still sure you wanted a big family?”

Y/N laughed quietly. “Every second of this circus.”

Emily, slumped in a chair with toast hanging out of her mouth, raised a hand. “Requesting formal leave from duck-related warfare.”

Eliza spun on the spot. “Only if you take the night patrol!”

Beau scooped Caleb’s spoon off the floor before it could clatter under the stove. “You’ve got yourself a fine little kingdom here, darlin’.”

Y/N leaned back, gaze soft as she looked around—at the pancakes, the glitter crown, the flying crayons, the jam-streaked toddler, the grown daughter in yesterday’s socks, and her mother calmly pouring syrup into a dish like she’d been training for this her whole life.

It was a little unhinged.

But it was hers.

And from her throne on the couch, propped up and weary but endlessly full of love, she smiled. “Long may it reign.”

It was mid-afternoon, and the heat had finally settled into the walls of the house like a tired guest refusing to leave. The fans were humming steadily, one pointed directly at Y/N where she sat, propped up on the couch. Her legs were swollen. Her back ached. And despite every ounce of joy she felt, she was getting very tired of being a beached whale on dry land.

“I need to pee again,” she grumbled.

Beau appeared from the kitchen like a genie summoned by the phrase, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Want me to help you up, darlin’?”

“No, I want to float there on a cloud of dignity and self-reliance,” she deadpanned. “But sure. Help me.”

He smirked, already at her side. His hands were gentle as he wrapped one arm around her back and offered the other for leverage. “You know I’d carry you if I could.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But it’s not your job to carry your heavily pregnant wife to the bathroom like a toddler who fell asleep in the car.”

He helped her stand slowly, careful to wait as she adjusted her balance. “No, ma’am. It’s my privilege.”

“Still annoying,” she muttered under her breath, waddling toward the hallway.

Beau trailed beside her just close enough to catch her if she wobbled, his presence solid, patient. But then—halfway down the hall—Y/N stopped.

Froze, even.

Beau caught the hesitation immediately. “You alright?”

She didn’t answer right away, just pressed both hands to her belly. Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“What is it? Pain?”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “Not pain. Just… different.”

Beau’s brow furrowed in concern, his hand finding the small of her back. “Talk to me, darlin’.”

She looked up at him, something like awe in her eyes. “The baby shifted. Just now. Downward.”

He blinked. “Dropped?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, both hands still cradling the underside of her belly. “I can feel it. Like my lungs finally took a breath again, but everything below my ribs suddenly feels… heavier. Lower.”

Beau’s eyes softened as the moment settled between them.

“That’s a sign, ain’t it?” he murmured.

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice quiet with wonder. “It’s happening. Not yet, but… it’s close. My body’s getting ready.”

Beau cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing along her temple. “You’re doin’ this. Just like you’ve done every step of the way. Strong and steady.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “I just needed to pee. And now I feel like the universe cracked open.”

“That’s pregnancy, darlin’,” Beau said, kissing her forehead. “One minute you’re fussin’, the next you’re havin’ a revelation.”

She grinned, hand resting over his heart. “Hold on. I still have to actually pee. Epiphany or not.”

“Right,” he chuckled, helping her back into motion. “Don’t let me distract you from greatness.”

As they made their way slowly to the bathroom, Beau’s hand remained on her back—steady, grounding—while Y/N moved with a new awareness. The baby was lower. Her breath came easier. Her steps were heavier.

And deep in her chest, something quiet and powerful was beginning to stir.

The final stretch was near.

And they were ready.

The morning air was already warm when Beau stepped out onto the porch, coffee mug in hand, the screen door creaking shut behind him. Sunlight stretched across the fields in long golden fingers, the grass glittering with dew, and the far-off sound of birds stirred in the trees.

Inside, the house was still stirring—Margaret in the kitchen making breakfast, Eliza humming a new wolf treaty under her breath, and Y/N resting on the couch with one hand cradling her belly and a small smile still lingering from their laughter the night before.

Beau took a sip of his coffee, then pulled out his phone. He leaned against the porch railing, thumb hovering for only a moment before tapping Jenny’s name.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

“Hey, Jenny,” Beau said, his drawl easy but steady. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah. Already halfway through my first cup. Figured you’d be callin’ soon.”

Beau smiled faintly, watching the sunlight flicker through the trees. “Y/N’s thirty-seven weeks now. Baby dropped yesterday. Things are... movin’ in the direction of real.”

A pause, then Jenny’s voice softened. “You need time cleared?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But I wanted to give you the heads-up. Once it starts, it’s gonna go fast. And I’m not missin’ a damn second of it.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve got it covered.”

“Jenny…”

“I mean it,” she cut in. “You’ve been there for all of us. This town, this department, me. You’ve earned this. Go be with your family. We’ll hold the line.”

Beau exhaled slowly, grateful. “Appreciate you.”

“You got names picked out yet?”

He chuckled. “Couple in our back pocket. Y/N wants to wait until we meet the baby.”

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest.”

Jenny was quiet a moment. Then, more gently: “How’s she holdin’ up?”

“Tired. Sore. Beautiful,” he said, voice dropping just a bit. “She’s hangin’ in there.”

“You let her know I’m rootin’ for her. For all of you.”

“I will,” Beau said. “And Jenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For real.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Beau. Just make sure you call when it’s time.”

“I will.”

They hung up, and Beau stood there a minute longer—phone in one hand, coffee in the other—watching the morning stretch itself out in golden light.

Soon, everything would change.

But for now, it was enough to know the people around him had his back.

And more importantly, that inside that house was everything he’d ever needed.

Beau stepped back inside, soft as the creak of the porch screen behind him. The house had woken gently in his absence—Margaret was humming in the kitchen as she stirred something on the stove, and the scent of maple and butter hung thick in the air. Caleb was chattering in toddler-speak from his high chair, slapping one hand against his tray with sticky abandon while Eliza narrated a wolf-duck breakfast summit from her perch on the floor.

But his eyes went straight to the couch.

There she was—his wife. Propped up in her fortress of pillows, hair slightly tousled, robe wrapped loosely around her. One hand cupped her belly in that unconscious way she always did now, like she was guarding a secret only she and the baby shared.

He walked to her without needing to think, setting his mug down first before leaning in to kiss her forehead.

“Mornin’, darlin’.”

She blinked up at him, already smiling. “You’re back. You weren’t gone long.”

“Called Jenny,” he said, brushing his hand gently over her shoulder. “Just to keep her in the loop. Let her know we’re on baby-watch.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh. “She’ll take over the world if you ask her nicely.”

“She already has. Told me not to worry. She’s got it all covered.” He sat beside her on the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle her belly as he reached for her hand. “Said to tell you she’s rootin’ for you.”

Y/N squeezed his fingers. “That makes two of us.”

Beau looked down at where their hands were joined. Her knuckles had thinned a little, skin tighter from the swelling, and her ring spun just slightly looser than it used to—but everything about the sight made his chest ache with love.

“She said somethin’ else too,” he murmured. “Asked if we had names yet.”

Y/N smiled and tilted her head. “You tell her?”

“Said we’ve got a few ideas. But that we’re waitin’. Just like you wanted.”

She rested her head back against the cushions, the smallest sigh of contentment slipping out. “Thank you.”

“I’m in no hurry to name someone I haven’t met,” he said softly. “I wanna see their eyes first. Hear their cry. Know ‘em.”

She turned her gaze to him, eyes misty. “You’re gonna be so good with them.”

He smiled, gentle and sure. “I learned from Caleb. And Eliza. And from you.”

She huffed a laugh. “I don’t know that I taught you anything.”

“You taught me everything that matters,” he said simply, leaning in to kiss her lips.

The kiss was slow. Sweet. Full of the kind of love that had settled into every inch of the life they’d built.

Outside, a breeze rustled the trees. Inside, Eliza declared peace negotiations successful, and Caleb dropped his spoon for the third time.

But on that couch, with the morning sun pouring in and the world held in soft pause, Beau held his wife’s hand and stayed with her.

Just stayed.

Late morning spilled in slow and easy.

Emily had taken Caleb into the backyard for a bit of sunshine and bubble-blowing chaos, while Eliza was perched at the dining table with Margaret, coloring in another elaborate wolf-duck alliance scroll. The TV murmured softly in the background—a documentary about rivers, long forgotten after the first few minutes—and the fan oscillated lazily over the living room.

Y/N was still on the couch, propped up just right, a fresh glass of ice water sweating on the side table beside her. Beau was folding laundry across the room—quiet, focused, content. The kind of domestic rhythm that only came from years of living side by side.

Then—something shifted.

It wasn’t pain exactly. Not yet.

But it was pressure.

Low. Deep. Like the baby had suddenly found a new anchor.

Y/N shifted a little in her seat, lifting her hips just slightly, adjusting the pillow behind her lower back. But the sensation didn’t ease—it lingered, thrumming quietly through her.

Her brows furrowed, and her hand came down to cradle her belly.

“Beau?”

He looked up instantly, a sock still balled in his hand. “Yeah, darlin’? You need somethin’?”

She hesitated. “I’m… not sure.”

That made him cross the room in two strides.

He knelt beside her, already scanning her face. “Talk to me.”

She placed both hands over the heavy curve of her belly, exhaling slowly. “It’s not contractions. Not yet. But there’s pressure. Low. Deep. Different than before.”

He softened, but his eyes sharpened just a touch. “Like baby’s pushin’ down?”

She nodded. “Like they’re… settling. Getting into position.”

Beau placed his hand carefully over hers, grounding her. “You okay?”

“I think so.” She blinked, trying to find words for a body she no longer fully understood. “It’s just… new. Like everything shifted again. And I can feel it in my hips, my back. Like the whole center of gravity just tilted.”

Beau stayed right there, kneeling beside the couch like he wasn’t going anywhere. “You want me to call the doc?”

“No,” she said softly. “Not yet. I don’t think it’s time. But I wanted you to know. Just in case.”

“Alright,” he said, voice steady. “We’ll keep an eye on it. Take it slow. If anything changes—anything at all—we’re callin’. Deal?”

She nodded, leaning her forehead against his. “Deal.”

Beau kissed her gently and sat beside her, hand never leaving hers. The laundry was forgotten. The TV droned on. The world outside kept spinning.

But inside this house, something had shifted.

The stillness before the storm.

The hush before the first wave.

The quiet knowing that soon—very soon—their family would grow again.

Beau moved with quiet purpose.

It started with him silently checking his watch for the second time in ten minutes, then casting a sidelong glance at the hallway closet. He tried to play it casual—retrieving his folded flannel, then his sneakers—but Y/N had known him too long to miss the change in his rhythm.

From her nest of pillows on the couch, she watched him disappear down the hall, heard the muted thump of the duffel bag hitting the bed, the slow zip of compartments being opened.

She couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at her lips.

Here they were again.

He’d packed the main go-bag weeks ago—meticulously, of course—but there were always “last things,” the elusive final pieces that were too everyday to live in a bag by the door. Phone chargers. Her favorite robe. The playlist she loved but hadn’t downloaded yet. Snacks, because “hospitals never stock the good kind.”

She heard the dresser drawer slide open and Beau mutter to himself, “Where the hell did I put that granola?”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, resting her hand on her belly. “He’s nesting,” she whispered to the baby.

Just then, Margaret sank down beside her on the couch, holding a cup of tea, her gaze trailing down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Is he packing again?” she asked softly.

“Mm-hm,” Y/N murmured. “We already have everything. But he’s been watching me like I might go into labor if I sneeze too hard. I think this is his way of staying ahead of the storm.”

Margaret took a sip of tea, eyes soft with something like understanding. “That man loves you.”

“I know,” Y/N said, her voice warm with it.

Margaret gave her a small, knowing smile. “He’s the kind of man who’d move mountains if you asked. Maybe even if you didn’t.”

Y/N blinked, touched.

She looked down the hallway again, where the sound of zippers and Velcro and a muttered “Where the hell are her fuzzy socks?” echoed faintly from their bedroom.

Margaret nudged her gently with her elbow. “You chose well, sweetheart.”

Y/N didn’t speak at first. Just watched the hallway. Felt the baby shift inside her. And smiled.

“I know I did.”

Margaret rose quietly and left her alone again, the kind of quiet that hummed with the peace of being loved well.

Not long after, Beau returned, slightly flushed and holding up two snack bars in one hand and a folded hoodie in the other. “Did you want the almond butter ones or the trail mix?”

Y/N tilted her head. “You really think I’ll be hungry while in labor?”

“I think,” he said, setting everything gently in the go-bag by the door, “that it’s my job to make sure you can be if you want.”

She watched him cross the room, sit beside her, and rest his hand on her belly.

“You’re something else,” she whispered, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He smiled. “Only for you.”

The day wound down slowly, like a lullaby in motion.

Dinner had been calm—a rare accomplishment—with Eliza too focused on drawing the official wolf-duck family crest to argue over carrots, and Caleb falling asleep face-first in his highchair halfway through a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Margaret had spirited him off to bed, and now the house was wrapped in that particular hush that came with a summer evening.

Y/N rested on the couch, drifting in and out of a light doze, her hand curled protectively over her belly. The ceiling fan spun above her in rhythmic laziness. Beau watched her for a long moment from the doorway—just long enough to feel the rise of emotion press gently into his chest—before he turned and walked softly down the hall.

Emily was in the laundry room folding a stack of fresh towels, earbuds in, head bobbing slightly to whatever song she was pretending not to dance to.

Beau rapped lightly on the doorframe.

She turned, startled, tugging one bud free. “Hey. You need somethin’?”

He leaned a shoulder against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Nah. Just wanted a word.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “A word?”

Beau gave her the look—that quiet, steady, no-nonsense dad expression that had stopped more teenage shenanigans than any lecture ever could.

Emily sighed. “Okay, fine. What did I do?”

“Not what you did,” he said gently. “It’s what you didn’t tell me.”

She blinked, then tried to deflect again. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m mysterious like that.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just kept watching her.

Eventually, she broke.

“…You noticed.”

“Course I noticed,” he said, voice warm but firm. “Postponed your fall courses.”

She looked away, setting down the towel in her hands. “I was gonna tell you.”

“You don’t have to explain, Em,” Beau said, stepping forward. “I just wanna know why.”

Emily hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the towel. Then, quietly, she said, “Because I didn’t want to miss this. Any of it. I didn’t want to be away if something happened. I didn’t want to be in a classroom while Y/N was in labor, or while you were worrying your way into a wall. I wanted to be here.”

Beau’s heart swelled so fast and full it made his throat tight.

Emily continued, eyes on her hands. “She’s not just my stepmom, you know. She’s... she’s Mom. And Caleb’s my brother and Eliza's my sister. And this baby…” She trailed off, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “They’re ours. This is our family. And I wanted to be here when we meet them.”

Beau didn’t hesitate.

He crossed the space and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

She sank into it instantly, head on his chest, breathing in the smell of home—his soap, his shirts, that grounding steadiness that had carried her through every hard season.

“You didn’t have to do that, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice thick. “We would’ve made it work. You didn’t have to change your plans for us.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “Because I love you. And her. And Caleb. And even when he cries at 2 a.m., this new little one too.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve always had the biggest heart.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Just don’t tell Eliza I postponed school. She’ll say I’ve officially joined the Wolf Council.”

He smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me, councilwoman.”

Emily laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Okay, now stop. I’m gonna go sob over laundry and pretend it’s the dryer’s fault.”

Beau gave her one more squeeze and stepped back. “I love you, Em.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

As she turned back to the towels, Beau lingered a moment longer, heart full.

She may not have been born into Y/N’s arms, but she’d grown there.

And as the light faded from the sky, he carried that truth quietly with him—every step back toward the woman on the couch, and the life they’d built together.

The house had quieted to a hush.

Eliza was asleep under her mountain of stuffed animals, Caleb tucked in after one last chorus of “Twinkle, Twinkle,” and even Emily had finally gone still in her room, the soft hum of music barely drifting beneath the closed door.

The lamp in the bedroom was low, casting a soft golden haze over the bed as Beau helped Y/N sit up from the edge, his arm steady beneath her.

She moved slow now—everything heavier, fuller, lower—but she leaned into him like always. Trusted him to carry just enough of her weight to let her rest.

“Come on, darlin’,” he murmured, guiding her down into the pillows, helping her shift until she sighed in relief. “Let’s get you settled.”

“I feel like I’m made of bricks,” she muttered, tugging the blanket up.

“You’re solid gold,” he replied, voice warm as he kicked off his boots and climbed in beside her.

Y/N gave a tired smile, eyes already half-closed as she turned slightly toward him, one hand slipping into his. “You’re good to me.”

Beau reached out and gently laid his hand over the curve of her belly, his fingers splaying instinctively.

The baby was moving—soft rolls and nudges beneath his palm, slow but certain, like stretching after a long nap.

And just like that, his breath caught.

His voice dropped low. “Well hey there, little one…”

Y/N stilled beside him, watching him through the dark. But Beau’s attention was fully on the baby now. His hand never moved, just rested there, letting himself feel each ripple, each tiny push from within.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he whispered. “Not even born yet and you’ve already turned our world upside down. Twice.”

His thumb moved gently over the swell, reverent. “I don’t even know what you look like yet. Don’t know your cry, or the color of your eyes. Don’t know if you’ll have your mama’s smile or her temper, or if you’ll howl at the moon with Eliza or try to wrestle us like Caleb. But I know this.”

He swallowed. The words weren’t rushed—they came slow, steady, with the weight of truth behind them.

“I love you.”

The baby rolled again, a strong little kick beneath his fingers.

Beau smiled, eyes glistening. “Yeah, I felt that. Love you too.”

Y/N reached over and placed her hand gently atop his, layering hers over the both of them.

“He knows your voice,” she whispered.

“Or she,” he murmured, eyes flicking to her with a crooked smile. “Can’t say for sure yet.”

They stayed like that for a long while—just their hands on the baby, the hush of night around them, and the quiet thump of love echoing in the spaces between.

Beau finally leaned down and pressed a kiss to her bare belly. “Rest easy, little one. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Then he curled around Y/N, protective and sure, his arms wrapped gently around both her and the life they’d made.

And in the hush of the deep night, wrapped in breath and heartbeat and warmth, they slept.

Together.

Waiting.

Ready.

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]

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Forty-Five 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: 3,638

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, minor pregnancy drama, parental estrangement

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: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Forty-Five: I Had You

The front door shut behind them with a soft click, and Y/N leaned back against it for a moment, slipping off her shoes. CJ was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows as he opened the fridge and scanned their limited options.

“Grilled cheese?” he called over his shoulder.

Y/N’s smile ghosted across her lips. “Simple. Safe. Approved.”

“Good,” he replied, grabbing bread, butter, and the last few slices of sharp cheddar. “Because I’m too tired to pretend I know what I’m doing tonight.”

She stepped in beside him, brushing her hand across his lower back as she passed. He didn’t flinch or pull away—just leaned into her touch instinctively. Familiar. Natural. Like breathing.

While she pulled two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with water, CJ moved to the stove. The pan heated slowly as he sliced the cheese and spread butter across the bread. Nothing extravagant, just rhythm and comfort. A meal made from knowing each other.

Then, with the soft sizzle of the first sandwich hitting the pan, CJ reached for her. One arm slid around her waist, drawing her close until her back met his chest. He kissed her shoulder, then dipped his head to nuzzle against the crook of her neck, warm breath brushing her skin.

“I love you,” he murmured against her collarbone, barely above a whisper.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself feel it—the truth in those words, the steadiness of him.

She turned in his arms, her hands finding the edges of his shirt. “I know,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “And I love you.”

His forehead rested gently against hers.

The sandwich sizzled in the background, the scent of melting cheese drifting through the air like a quiet blessing.

They didn’t need candles or music or fanfare. This—them—was enough. Quiet. Present. Real.

CJ pulled back only enough to tend to the food, and Y/N watched him, heart full. In a world that often felt too heavy, too uncertain, he was the thing she never doubted.

Her home. Her anchor.

And in the soft clatter of plates and the warmth of shared laughter over simple food, they found their peace again—one small, perfect evening at a time.

Y/N had just sat down, the warm plate of grilled cheese and a side of baby carrots in front of her, when her phone buzzed against the table.

She blinked, reaching for it, and immediately saw Gabby’s name lighting up the screen.

CJ looked over his glass of water, brows raised. “That her?”

Y/N opened the message—and snorted.

“Oh God,” she said through a sudden laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yes. Very much her.”

She turned the phone so CJ could see.

Onscreen: a baby onesie in bold pink with glittery gold lettering that read “I Just Did 9 Months on the Inside.” Another followed it immediately: “Proof My Parents Did Not Social Distance.” Then “Womb Raider” in Star Wars font.

CJ chuckled, biting into his sandwich. “That poor kid.”

Y/N shook her head, texting back quickly with: Gabs. Glitter? Really? That child is going to be a meme before it can sit up.

Three dots appeared immediately.

YES. I ALREADY FOUND A ‘POOP THERE IT IS’ ONESIE. I NEED IT.

Another ping.

...also I may have cried over tiny socks.

Y/N giggled and handed the phone to CJ. “It’s a full spiral now.”

He looked over the texts and smiled, soft and fond. “She seems better.”

“She is,” Y/N said, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “Still kind of overwhelmed, but… she’s coming through it. And Miles is with her every step.”

CJ nodded. “Good. That’s how it should be.”

Y/N reached for her sandwich but paused, fingers brushing the edge of her plate. “I think they’re going to be okay,” she said, almost to herself. “Even if it’s hard. Even if it wasn’t planned.”

CJ leaned over, brushing a kiss to her temple before reaching for another carrot. “The best things never are.”

Y/N gave a quiet laugh and settled into her seat again, her heart a little lighter as she typed back a message to Gabby:

Save a onesie for me to buy. Glitter or not, I’m in.

And across the room, CJ smiled as he watched her type—because this was how their world worked now. Unfolding, unpredictable, messy, and beautiful.

And theirs.

The bedroom was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the lamp on his nightstand. CJ lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped across his stomach, the sheets tangled loosely around his legs. The bathroom door was open just enough for warm light to spill through, casting a soft amber hue across the floor. He could hear the gentle splash of water as Y/N washed her face, the small clink of the cup she used to rinse, the dull hum of her evening routine.

He watched the silhouette of her through the frosted glass of the mirror—her shoulders moving in quiet rhythm, the loose strands of her hair swaying with every tilt of her head.

And he thought, God, she’s strong.

Not loud, not stubborn, not forceful—but strong in the ways that mattered.

She had been broken. Not once. Not twice. Again and again. And still she got up. Still she smiled. Still she loved with a kind of quiet ferocity that humbled him. Her father had failed her in ways that still made CJ clench his fists when he thought about it too long. That letter, that damn letter, had opened wounds she never deserved to carry in the first place.

But Y/N faced it.

She hadn’t run. She hadn’t shut down.

She was still trying to figure out what to do—if she wanted to forgive, if she wanted to respond, if there was anything left worth salvaging. And she was doing it while living, while loving, while holding together everyone else around her like gravity.

He blinked slowly, overwhelmed by the sheer force of who she was.

How did I get so lucky?

Because she’d chosen him.

Out of everyone, out of all the past pain and messy memories and grief still echoing in her bones—she chose him.

She let him in, let him love her, let him hold her even when she didn’t have the words for what hurt. He couldn’t fix it all. He knew that. But God, if he could take every ounce of her pain and carry it for her, he would. Without question. Without hesitation.

Just to see her smile without shadows again.

She flicked off the bathroom light, stepping softly into the room wearing one of his t-shirts that hung low over her thighs. Her skin was dewy from her skincare routine, and her hair was tucked behind her ears.

She caught his gaze and smiled—small, a little tired, but real.

“You’re staring,” she murmured, sliding into bed beside him.

CJ turned toward her, propped up on one elbow. “I was just thinking how incredible you are.”

She rolled her eyes, though the flush of warmth reached her cheeks. “Liar.”

“I’m serious.” His voice was low, steady. “You’ve been through hell, and you still get up every day. You still laugh. You still fight for people. You still let yourself feel, even when it hurts. That’s… that’s more than brave. That’s extraordinary.”

She didn’t reply right away. Just tucked herself closer into his chest, her arm resting over his heart. He wrapped her up without hesitation.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered into her hair. “Not with me.”

She was quiet, and then, softly: “I know.”

CJ kissed the top of her head, pulled the blanket higher around them both.

And in that quiet space between breaths and heartbeat, he made her a silent promise:

He would be her shield, her softness, her steady—however long she needed him to be.

Because she had chosen him.

And he would choose her, every single time.

Moonlight stretched in faint silver lines across the bedroom floor, slipping in through the curtains that swayed gently with the breeze from the cracked window. The room was still, the kind of stillness that only lived deep in the middle of the night, when the world outside held its breath.

CJ stirred first.

Not from a nightmare. Not from worry.

Just... stirred.

He opened his eyes slowly, the ceiling faintly aglow in the silver light. Y/N was nestled against him, her breath steady, her forehead resting lightly against his shoulder. Her hand lay against his chest, fingers curled near the soft fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t move, didn’t shift. Just breathed.

There was something sacred about this—about the way she found him in her sleep, always reached for him. As if even in unconsciousness, she knew he was her safe place.

He turned his head slightly, brushing his nose against her hair.

“Mmh,” she murmured, the sound small, the barest shift of wakefulness.

He kissed her crown, slow and reverent. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t fully asleep,” she mumbled, voice drowsy, warm. “Just... drifting.”

Her hand moved then, gliding down to find his. Their fingers interlaced beneath the covers, palms pressed together.

He felt the cool brush of her ring against his finger, just as she felt the faint ridges of his own—the snowflake-etched band she’d given him.

Y/N blinked open her eyes, just enough to look at him through the soft dark. “We match,” she whispered, giving their joined hands a gentle squeeze.

CJ looked down at their fingers, the way the rings glinted faintly in the moonlight.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We do.”

There was no ceremony to it, no grand gesture. Just hands, warm and steady, holding each other in the dark.

“I like it,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Me too.”

She closed her eyes again, and he watched as the lines in her forehead softened. Whatever heaviness she still carried, it seemed lighter here—under the hush of midnight, in the press of skin to skin.

“You okay?” he asked, brushing a thumb across the back of her hand.

She nodded. “I am right now.”

That was enough.

He held her a little closer, their joined hands resting between them like a vow.

No words. No promises they hadn’t already made.

Just presence.

And love.

Always love.

The morning sun had barely crested over the buildings as CJ and Y/N made their way into The Stand, the familiar hum of the world slowly coming to life around them. Their footsteps were unhurried, side by side in comfortable silence, fingers brushing occasionally but not quite holding hands—some things were reserved for private moments, not public hallways.

CJ held the door open for her like he always did, a subtle ritual that had never faded. Inside, the early shift had already started: quiet typing, low murmurs of conversations, the scent of too-strong coffee lingering near the break room. Y/N gave him a soft smile, and he kissed her temple before veering off toward his office.

She lingered.

Paused.

Turned.

And instead of heading to her desk, she pivoted on her heel and walked down the hallway toward the IT wing. She rarely went that way, unless absolutely necessary—and even then, she usually emailed instead of knocking.

But today, she needed something more than a fix. She needed perspective.

Miles looked up from his screen as she appeared in the doorway. His usual mildly-brooding expression gave way to confusion.

“Y/N?”

“Hey,” she said gently. “Got a minute?”

He blinked, obviously surprised. “Yeah, sure. You okay?”

She stepped in, closing the door halfway behind her. “I think so,” she said, then pulled in a breath. “I just… I wanted to ask you something. Something personal.”

Miles sat up a little straighter, nodding. “Alright.”

Y/N hesitated, fingers toying with the hem of her sleeve. “If you had the chance to see your father again… to talk to him, face-to-face. Would you?”

The room went still.

Miles didn’t speak right away. He leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocused, as if looking through the walls rather than at them.

“You’re asking because of the letter,” he said quietly.

She gave a small nod.

He sighed. “I don’t know. I used to think I’d want to. That maybe I’d have all these questions. Or anger. Or… something.”

Y/N listened, not interrupting.

“But now?” Miles shrugged, eyes dropping to the keyboard. “I stopped caring a long time ago. Stopped wondering. He left. He didn’t come back. Didn’t call. Didn’t pay. Nothing. It’s like he died—only without the closure of a funeral.”

He looked at her then, not unkindly. “So I guess if I saw him again, I’d probably just feel… nothing. No hate. No forgiveness. Just indifference. Like talking to a stranger I used to think about but haven’t in years.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly. “Does that help you? Not caring?”

Miles gave a small, honest nod. “It does. Because I stopped giving him real estate in my head. Stopped letting his absence define anything about who I became.”

He paused, then added more gently, “But that’s me. You’re not me. And your father didn’t leave—he just didn’t show up the way you needed. That’s different. And maybe harder.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, absorbing it.

“You thinking about seeing him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

Miles didn’t push. Just nodded once.

“You don’t have to know today,” he said. “Or ever. You’re allowed to keep that door shut. Or crack it open. Or burn the whole damn thing down if you want to.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh—thin, but grateful. “Thanks, Miles.”

“Anytime,” he said, then added dryly, “Even if it means a surprise visit to IT without a computer crisis.”

She smiled and left the room with a little more clarity than she’d walked in with.

Down the hall, CJ glanced up from his computer as she passed, watching the way her shoulders were still heavy… but less weighed.

And that was something.

Priya leaned against the doorframe of the break room, arms folded loosely across her chest as she watched Gabby animatedly scroll through her phone.

Gabby’s curls were tied up in her usual high, messy ponytail. She was sitting sideways in one of the chairs, legs draped over another, a wide grin on her face as she zoomed in on something on her screen.

“Oh my God,” she giggled to herself. “It’s a tiny onesie with suspenders built in. Suspenders, Priya. This child is going to be a fashion icon.”

Priya’s mouth curved into a small smile as she stepped in. “Morning.”

Gabby glanced up, beaming. “Morning! Wanna see the tiny Converse sneakers I found last night? They’re ridiculously overpriced and absolutely necessary.”

“Tempting,” Priya said wryly, sitting across from her. “But I actually came to check in. How are you really doing?”

Gabby waved the phone with a flourish. “Amazing. Glowing. Vibrating on joy. Possibly high on prenatal vitamins. Did I mention tiny suspenders?”

Priya didn’t answer.

She just looked at her.

Not cold. Not judgmental.

Just… still.

Gabby’s smile faltered slightly.

And then, slowly, it slipped away.

Her shoulders sank. Her eyes dropped to her lap.

“I’m trying not to think about it too hard,” she said quietly.

Priya stayed silent, letting her fill the space.

Gabby bit her lower lip. “Trying not to think about the colic. Or the nights where the baby won’t sleep and I feel like I’m losing my mind. Or the diapers that explode up the back and somehow into their hair—what the hell is that about, anyway?”

She rubbed her face. “Trying not to think about how many couples fall apart after kids. How sleep deprivation turns you into the worst version of yourself. How… I’ve never done this. I don’t even know how to do this.”

Her voice cracked at the end, just a little.

Priya nodded slowly. “You’re scared.”

“Terrified,” Gabby breathed. “And I feel like if I stop to really feel it, it’s going to swallow me whole. So instead I look at adorable onesies and pretend that’s all there is.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Gabby looked up at her then, eyes shining.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered. “I love him. I love this baby already, and I don’t even know them yet. I just… I don’t want to ruin it.”

Priya reached across the table, laying her hand gently over Gabby’s.

“You won’t,” she said softly. “You won’t ruin anything. You’ll love with everything you’ve got, and when it gets hard—and it will get hard—you’ll still show up. That’s what matters.”

Gabby let out a trembling breath, nodded slowly, and wiped her eyes.

“I hate hormones,” she sniffled.

“They’re doing their job,” Priya said with a soft smile.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to be a walking emotional landslide,” Gabby muttered, but there was the hint of a smile now. “I’m a menace with feelings.”

Priya squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be a phenomenal mother.”

Gabby blinked, then whispered, “Thanks.”

The staff break room hummed with its usual midday lull—microwave humming in the corner, quiet chatter from across the building echoing down the hall. Gabby sat at the round table in the far corner, her elbows on the surface, scrolling absentmindedly through her phone again. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to look at any more baby gear until her paycheck cleared.

She had already failed.

“Okay,” came a voice behind her, warm and familiar.

She glanced up—and blinked.

Miles stood there, tray in hand. Not cafeteria plastic—no, this was one of their reusable kitchen ones from home. On it sat a glass of orange juice, a small bowl of sliced apples and peanut butter, and a warm sandwich that smelled suspiciously like the turkey-melt she secretly loved.

Gabby stared. “You made me lunch?”

Miles gave a one-shouldered shrug, setting the tray down in front of her. “Didn’t trust the vending machine not to poison you. Or the baby.”

She raised a brow. “Since when are you anti-Cheez-Its?”

“I’m not. You’re pregnant. That’s different.”

Gabby tried to scowl, but it softened almost immediately.

“Juice has vitamin C,” he added, nudging the glass toward her. “The sandwich has protein. And apples are… fruit. Or something.”

“Wow,” she said, mock deadpan. “I feel so supported.”

He huffed a breath, sliding into the seat across from her. “Just eat.”

She looked at him for a long beat—his messy dark hair, those warm brown eyes, the faint worry that hadn’t quite left his face since the pregnancy news landed.

But he didn’t look panicked anymore. Just… present.

Present and steady and trying.

Gabby took a bite of the sandwich. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then said, voice softer, “You’re being really sweet.”

Miles opened a granola bar and said, without looking up, “Don’t spread it around.”

Gabby snorted and took another bite. “No promises.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the quiet between them easy. Comfortable.

Eventually, she reached for the juice, fingers toying with the condensation on the glass.

“Hey,” she said, just above a whisper.

Miles glanced up, chewing.

“I know we haven’t figured everything out yet,” she said. “And I know I’ve been… kind of manic about all of it. But thank you. For… this. For sticking.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said simply.

And Gabby—chaotic, fiercely independent Gabby—just nodded.

For once, no jokes. No sass.

Just the quiet comfort of two people figuring it out together.

The soft hum of The Stand had shifted into its evening rhythm—quieter, the lights dimmer, voices lower as the day drew to a close. CJ stood outside Y/N’s workspace, his ever-reliable presence cutting through the haze of exhaustion she didn’t realize she’d been carrying until she saw him.

She looked up from her desk just as he approached, her eyes catching on the familiar, steady green of his.

He didn’t say anything at first—just offered his hand like he always did, palm open, waiting.

Y/N smiled as she slid her fingers into his.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said gently, walking in step with her. “How was your day?”

There was something about the way he asked—not out of habit, not with half a mind somewhere else, but fully present. Like he actually wanted to know. Like her answer mattered.

Y/N exhaled as they passed the threshold of the main floor, her body beginning to unwind from the emotional weight of the day.

“A few bad calls,” she admitted. “One of them was especially rough.”

CJ’s thumb rubbed against the back of her hand. “You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Not tonight.”

“Okay.”

A quiet fell between them, companionable. Reassuring.

Then she glanced up at him, something soft in her eyes. “But… I’m okay. Really.”

He looked at her, tilting his head slightly.

“I had you,” she said, and her voice was full of something deep and certain. “Even on the hard days. I have you.”

CJ’s features shifted, his expression melting into something achingly tender.

“Always,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You always have me.”

She leaned into his side a little more as they stepped out into the early evening air, hand still tucked in his.

And whatever else the day had brought, whatever weight lingered behind them in the walls of The Stand—Y/N knew she wasn’t carrying it alone.

Not ever again.

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]

I knoooowwwww!

Baby Arlen countdown begins!

Whoops! Wrong countdown! 😉

Second Chances: Forever - Part Thirty-Third 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: 5,821

Tags/Warnings: So much sweet fluff! A touch of pregnancy/medical drama, but not a lot.

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: Please see THIS LINK for updates on the posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Waiting With Bated Breath

The bedroom was dim, bathed in the faint gold glow of the hallway nightlight and the distant chirp of crickets through the open window. The fan spun lazily above them, stirring the warm summer air just enough to make the sheets feel bearable.

Beau lay on his side, propped on one elbow, gently trailing his fingers over the curve of Y/N’s belly. She was curled toward him, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her eyes half-lidded but awake.

“I don’t think I’m gonna sleep,” she murmured.

Beau smiled softly. “Then we don’t have to. We’ll just lay here. Let the night take its time.”

She blinked slowly, soaking him in—the quiet strength in his eyes, the ease in his touch, the love that radiated from him without effort. “It’s real now,” she whispered. “This baby could come anytime.”

He nodded, his voice low and certain. “We’re ready.”

She let out a quiet laugh. “We say that, but are we really?”

“I don’t think anyone ever truly is. You just show up. You love ’em. You try. And then you do it again the next day.”

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, then her lips, then her belly. “But yeah. We’re ready.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them, until Y/N murmured, “We still haven’t settled on a name.”

Beau grinned against her skin. “You bringin’ that up now?”

“Why not?” she said. “Middle of the night. Baby stewin’ in there like a mystery. Seems like the right time.”

He settled down beside her, arms curled protectively around her as he considered. “Alright… if it’s a girl?”

Y/N looked up at the ceiling. “I like something strong. Not too frilly. But still beautiful.”

Beau nodded thoughtfully. “What about… Rowan?”

She blinked, surprised. “Rowan.”

“Strong,” he said. “Clean. Grows into any kind of person.”

“I like it,” she whispered, smiling. “Rowan.”

“And if it’s a boy?” she asked.

Beau was quiet for a moment. “Maybe something with weight to it. Nothing fancy. Just solid.”

Y/N waited, breath held a little, curious.

He exhaled. “I like the sound of Jesse.”

She smiled again, softer this time. “Jesse.”

Beau reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean that’s what we’ll choose. But I like havin’ a few tucked in our back pocket.”

“I do too,” she whispered. “Rowan. Jesse.”

“You got any names you’ve been holdin’ onto?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. “Maybe. But I want to see them first. See who they are.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

The room settled into stillness again, the kind of peace that came only after storms had passed, after fear had been weathered and hope had taken root.

Y/N closed her eyes, her body sore but full, her heart stretched to the edges with love.

Beau’s hand stayed resting on her belly, and as sleep slowly began to pull at them both, the baby shifted beneath his palm.

He smiled against her temple and whispered, “We’re waitin’ on you, little one. No rush. Just come home safe.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty.

Beau’s palm moved in slow, reverent circles over the curve of Y/N’s belly, warm and steady, like he was tracing love into the skin. His breath moved softly against her hair, his other arm curled beneath her to keep her close.

The baby shifted gently beneath his hand.

Y/N let out a long exhale, her body relaxing into his. “I could stay like this forever.”

“Me too,” Beau murmured.

Another few moments passed, the weight of night pressing gently around them like a soft blanket.

Then, quietly, he said, “I hope you’re okay.”

She blinked, turned her head slightly toward him. “I am.”

His voice was low, tinged with something just beneath the surface. “It’s just been a while since I’ve really touched you. I mean… really.”

Y/N didn’t need him to explain.

The doctor’s warnings had been clear: no intimacy. No triggering anything that could jumpstart labor. At thirty-seven weeks, they were in the safe zone—but they also knew how easily things could shift. How fast it could all change.

She reached for his hand where it rested against her skin, lacing her fingers through his. “I know. And I understand.”

Beau nodded once, eyes fixed on the place where their hands met over her belly.

“But,” she added with a faint smile, “if it were up to you…”

He glanced down, just enough moonlight spilling through the window to catch the playfulness in her eyes.

“…you’d make love to me every night.”

He gave a low, almost embarrassed chuckle. “Wrong.”

She raised a brow. “Wrong?”

Beau leaned in, his drawl thick and sweet in her ear. “Every morning and every night. And lunch too. If I could get away with it.”

Y/N burst into a quiet laugh, muffling it against his chest. “Insatiable man.”

“Can’t help it,” he whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “You’re mine. And you’re beautiful. And I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she said softly.

They didn’t move. There was nothing more to say. Just the warmth of his hand against her, the rhythm of her breath slowing, and the steady awareness between them that this too—this waiting, this restraint—was a kind of love.

Not lack.

Not loss.

But promise.

And when sleep finally came for them both, they were still wrapped in each other—skin to skin, heart to heart, and full of a wanting that could wait just a little longer.

Because the love never left.

It only deepened.

Morning crept in slowly, sunlight soft and golden as it filtered through the curtains. The hum of the ceiling fan spun overhead, rustling the edge of the blanket draped across Y/N’s legs. The world beyond their window was still quiet—no Caleb squeals, no Eliza treaties echoing through the halls just yet.

Y/N stirred beneath the sheets, one arm curling instinctively around the swell of her belly. For a moment, she thought Beau was still beside her—she could feel the lingering warmth in the sheets, the imprint of his body.

But then she heard it: the faint creak of the bathroom door and the rush of steam as it opened.

Beau stepped out into the bedroom, towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water still glistening on his chest and shoulders. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and he moved with the quiet confidence of a man used to mornings filled with purpose.

Y/N blinked slowly, letting her eyes adjust—and then she just… watched.

He was beautiful.

Not just in the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, or the way his broad shoulders tapered to lean hips—but in something deeper. Something in the way he reached for his shirt without rushing, wiped the fog from the mirror, checked his phone only after setting down her prenatal vitamins beside the water glass on her nightstand.

He didn’t know she was watching.

That made it even better.

Because in those quiet, unguarded moments, Y/N saw everything.

She saw the man who had carried her through fear and joy alike. The man who never once flinched at her swollen ankles, who rubbed her back through tears, who held her like she was a miracle and not a burden. The man who desired her even when she felt stretched and uncomfortable and far from anything glamorous.

She saw the father who chased Eliza through the yard like a proud wolf-king, who rocked Caleb through fevers without complaint, who made up songs in the kitchen just to make them laugh.

She saw the husband who rose before the sun, who made her tea without asking, who knew her moods by the tilt of her head and the silence in her breath.

Beau turned slightly, catching movement from the bed.

Y/N was awake now, propped on one elbow, watching him with quiet wonder.

He raised a brow and gave her that lopsided smile that still undid her. “Mornin’, darlin’. I was tryin’ not to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly, voice still laced with sleep. “But I’m not sorry I caught the show.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. “Well now, if I knew you were watchin’, I might’ve made it more interestin’.”

Y/N smiled and let her eyes trace him again, slower this time. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden earnestness.

“And not just because of what I see,” she continued, voice trembling with feeling. “But because of who you are. What you carry. How you love me. The kids. This whole life we’ve built.”

Beau stepped closer, his towel shifting slightly as he knelt beside the bed and reached for her hand.

“You’re makin’ me blush,” he murmured.

“I’m makin’ you seen,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t need fancy words or praise. Just this. You. Every day.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek. “You’ve got me. Every part.”

“And you’ve got me,” he said, leaning in, voice thick. “Always.”

She smiled and pulled him closer until his forehead touched hers. “Now get dressed before I forget I’m on doctor-ordered celibacy and make us both very late for breakfast.”

He laughed, deep and warm. “See, now that’s just cruel.”

But he kissed her again anyway.

And outside the bedroom door, the sound of tiny feet began to stir, the day beginning to bloom. But in that moment, in that room, time held still for just a breath longer—two hearts wrapped in the fullness of quiet, committed love.

By eight-thirty, the house had fully surrendered to chaos.

Y/N was parked on the couch, her feet propped on a cushioned stool, one hand resting protectively over her belly as the other cradled a mug of tea she hadn’t quite finished. The windows were thrown open to the warm July air, and sunlight poured in like gold, streaking across the hardwood floor and catching in Eliza’s curls as she dashed past.

“The wolves have reclaimed the forest throne!” Eliza declared, a tangle of paper streamers tied around her waist like a sash and a glittery plastic crown cocked slightly to one side. “But the ducks are mounting a revolution!”

Margaret stood near the stove with a wooden spoon in hand, keeping an eye on the pancakes browning in the skillet. She leaned out slightly into the living room and called, “Didn’t the wolves and ducks sign a peace treaty last week?”

“They did,” Eliza shouted back, spinning in a dramatic circle. “But the ducks broke it when they stole the blueberries!”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Those ducks really can’t be trusted.”

Before Margaret could reply, a loud thump and a squeal of glee echoed from down the hall, followed by Emily’s weary voice: “Caleb, no! That’s my hairbrush, not a sword!”

Seconds later, she emerged carrying Caleb in both arms—his curls sticking up in wild directions, his cheeks smudged with jam, and a single sock barely hanging on his foot. Emily’s tank top bore a streak of what looked suspiciously like yogurt.

“Why is he so strong?” she asked no one in particular. “He’s eighteen months old and I’m losing a wrestling match.”

Y/N tried to hide her smile. “He’s just passionate.”

“Passionate about sabotage,” Emily muttered, depositing him into the high chair.

Caleb smacked the tray and shouted, “Mama!”

“Hi, baby,” Y/N cooed, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Just then, Beau stepped in from the back door, shirt half-buttoned, holding a basket of laundry under one arm. He took in the scene—Eliza giving orders in her regal wolf-voice, Caleb banging a spoon on his tray like a war drum, Emily breathing heavily and Margaret flipping pancakes with military precision—and blinked.

“…Did I miss a coup?”

“You missed a duck uprising,” Eliza declared from the arm of the couch. “But don’t worry. I’m handling it.”

Beau crossed the room and leaned down to kiss Y/N’s temple. “Mornin’, darlin’. You holdin’ up?”

“Barely,” she murmured with a grin. “My troops are out of control.”

“Well, lucky for you…” He plucked a sippy cup from the counter and handed it to Caleb like a grenade being diffused. “I’ve got countermeasures.”

Margaret stepped over to refill Y/N’s tea and slipped her a knowing smile. “Still sure you wanted a big family?”

Y/N laughed quietly. “Every second of this circus.”

Emily, slumped in a chair with toast hanging out of her mouth, raised a hand. “Requesting formal leave from duck-related warfare.”

Eliza spun on the spot. “Only if you take the night patrol!”

Beau scooped Caleb’s spoon off the floor before it could clatter under the stove. “You’ve got yourself a fine little kingdom here, darlin’.”

Y/N leaned back, gaze soft as she looked around—at the pancakes, the glitter crown, the flying crayons, the jam-streaked toddler, the grown daughter in yesterday’s socks, and her mother calmly pouring syrup into a dish like she’d been training for this her whole life.

It was a little unhinged.

But it was hers.

And from her throne on the couch, propped up and weary but endlessly full of love, she smiled. “Long may it reign.”

It was mid-afternoon, and the heat had finally settled into the walls of the house like a tired guest refusing to leave. The fans were humming steadily, one pointed directly at Y/N where she sat, propped up on the couch. Her legs were swollen. Her back ached. And despite every ounce of joy she felt, she was getting very tired of being a beached whale on dry land.

“I need to pee again,” she grumbled.

Beau appeared from the kitchen like a genie summoned by the phrase, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Want me to help you up, darlin’?”

“No, I want to float there on a cloud of dignity and self-reliance,” she deadpanned. “But sure. Help me.”

He smirked, already at her side. His hands were gentle as he wrapped one arm around her back and offered the other for leverage. “You know I’d carry you if I could.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But it’s not your job to carry your heavily pregnant wife to the bathroom like a toddler who fell asleep in the car.”

He helped her stand slowly, careful to wait as she adjusted her balance. “No, ma’am. It’s my privilege.”

“Still annoying,” she muttered under her breath, waddling toward the hallway.

Beau trailed beside her just close enough to catch her if she wobbled, his presence solid, patient. But then—halfway down the hall—Y/N stopped.

Froze, even.

Beau caught the hesitation immediately. “You alright?”

She didn’t answer right away, just pressed both hands to her belly. Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“What is it? Pain?”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “Not pain. Just… different.”

Beau’s brow furrowed in concern, his hand finding the small of her back. “Talk to me, darlin’.”

She looked up at him, something like awe in her eyes. “The baby shifted. Just now. Downward.”

He blinked. “Dropped?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, both hands still cradling the underside of her belly. “I can feel it. Like my lungs finally took a breath again, but everything below my ribs suddenly feels… heavier. Lower.”

Beau’s eyes softened as the moment settled between them.

“That’s a sign, ain’t it?” he murmured.

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice quiet with wonder. “It’s happening. Not yet, but… it’s close. My body’s getting ready.”

Beau cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing along her temple. “You’re doin’ this. Just like you’ve done every step of the way. Strong and steady.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “I just needed to pee. And now I feel like the universe cracked open.”

“That’s pregnancy, darlin’,” Beau said, kissing her forehead. “One minute you’re fussin’, the next you’re havin’ a revelation.”

She grinned, hand resting over his heart. “Hold on. I still have to actually pee. Epiphany or not.”

“Right,” he chuckled, helping her back into motion. “Don’t let me distract you from greatness.”

As they made their way slowly to the bathroom, Beau’s hand remained on her back—steady, grounding—while Y/N moved with a new awareness. The baby was lower. Her breath came easier. Her steps were heavier.

And deep in her chest, something quiet and powerful was beginning to stir.

The final stretch was near.

And they were ready.

The morning air was already warm when Beau stepped out onto the porch, coffee mug in hand, the screen door creaking shut behind him. Sunlight stretched across the fields in long golden fingers, the grass glittering with dew, and the far-off sound of birds stirred in the trees.

Inside, the house was still stirring—Margaret in the kitchen making breakfast, Eliza humming a new wolf treaty under her breath, and Y/N resting on the couch with one hand cradling her belly and a small smile still lingering from their laughter the night before.

Beau took a sip of his coffee, then pulled out his phone. He leaned against the porch railing, thumb hovering for only a moment before tapping Jenny’s name.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

“Hey, Jenny,” Beau said, his drawl easy but steady. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah. Already halfway through my first cup. Figured you’d be callin’ soon.”

Beau smiled faintly, watching the sunlight flicker through the trees. “Y/N’s thirty-seven weeks now. Baby dropped yesterday. Things are... movin’ in the direction of real.”

A pause, then Jenny’s voice softened. “You need time cleared?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But I wanted to give you the heads-up. Once it starts, it’s gonna go fast. And I’m not missin’ a damn second of it.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve got it covered.”

“Jenny…”

“I mean it,” she cut in. “You’ve been there for all of us. This town, this department, me. You’ve earned this. Go be with your family. We’ll hold the line.”

Beau exhaled slowly, grateful. “Appreciate you.”

“You got names picked out yet?”

He chuckled. “Couple in our back pocket. Y/N wants to wait until we meet the baby.”

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest.”

Jenny was quiet a moment. Then, more gently: “How’s she holdin’ up?”

“Tired. Sore. Beautiful,” he said, voice dropping just a bit. “She’s hangin’ in there.”

“You let her know I’m rootin’ for her. For all of you.”

“I will,” Beau said. “And Jenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For real.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Beau. Just make sure you call when it’s time.”

“I will.”

They hung up, and Beau stood there a minute longer—phone in one hand, coffee in the other—watching the morning stretch itself out in golden light.

Soon, everything would change.

But for now, it was enough to know the people around him had his back.

And more importantly, that inside that house was everything he’d ever needed.

Beau stepped back inside, soft as the creak of the porch screen behind him. The house had woken gently in his absence—Margaret was humming in the kitchen as she stirred something on the stove, and the scent of maple and butter hung thick in the air. Caleb was chattering in toddler-speak from his high chair, slapping one hand against his tray with sticky abandon while Eliza narrated a wolf-duck breakfast summit from her perch on the floor.

But his eyes went straight to the couch.

There she was—his wife. Propped up in her fortress of pillows, hair slightly tousled, robe wrapped loosely around her. One hand cupped her belly in that unconscious way she always did now, like she was guarding a secret only she and the baby shared.

He walked to her without needing to think, setting his mug down first before leaning in to kiss her forehead.

“Mornin’, darlin’.”

She blinked up at him, already smiling. “You’re back. You weren’t gone long.”

“Called Jenny,” he said, brushing his hand gently over her shoulder. “Just to keep her in the loop. Let her know we’re on baby-watch.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh. “She’ll take over the world if you ask her nicely.”

“She already has. Told me not to worry. She’s got it all covered.” He sat beside her on the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle her belly as he reached for her hand. “Said to tell you she’s rootin’ for you.”

Y/N squeezed his fingers. “That makes two of us.”

Beau looked down at where their hands were joined. Her knuckles had thinned a little, skin tighter from the swelling, and her ring spun just slightly looser than it used to—but everything about the sight made his chest ache with love.

“She said somethin’ else too,” he murmured. “Asked if we had names yet.”

Y/N smiled and tilted her head. “You tell her?”

“Said we’ve got a few ideas. But that we’re waitin’. Just like you wanted.”

She rested her head back against the cushions, the smallest sigh of contentment slipping out. “Thank you.”

“I’m in no hurry to name someone I haven’t met,” he said softly. “I wanna see their eyes first. Hear their cry. Know ‘em.”

She turned her gaze to him, eyes misty. “You’re gonna be so good with them.”

He smiled, gentle and sure. “I learned from Caleb. And Eliza. And from you.”

She huffed a laugh. “I don’t know that I taught you anything.”

“You taught me everything that matters,” he said simply, leaning in to kiss her lips.

The kiss was slow. Sweet. Full of the kind of love that had settled into every inch of the life they’d built.

Outside, a breeze rustled the trees. Inside, Eliza declared peace negotiations successful, and Caleb dropped his spoon for the third time.

But on that couch, with the morning sun pouring in and the world held in soft pause, Beau held his wife’s hand and stayed with her.

Just stayed.

Late morning spilled in slow and easy.

Emily had taken Caleb into the backyard for a bit of sunshine and bubble-blowing chaos, while Eliza was perched at the dining table with Margaret, coloring in another elaborate wolf-duck alliance scroll. The TV murmured softly in the background—a documentary about rivers, long forgotten after the first few minutes—and the fan oscillated lazily over the living room.

Y/N was still on the couch, propped up just right, a fresh glass of ice water sweating on the side table beside her. Beau was folding laundry across the room—quiet, focused, content. The kind of domestic rhythm that only came from years of living side by side.

Then—something shifted.

It wasn’t pain exactly. Not yet.

But it was pressure.

Low. Deep. Like the baby had suddenly found a new anchor.

Y/N shifted a little in her seat, lifting her hips just slightly, adjusting the pillow behind her lower back. But the sensation didn’t ease—it lingered, thrumming quietly through her.

Her brows furrowed, and her hand came down to cradle her belly.

“Beau?”

He looked up instantly, a sock still balled in his hand. “Yeah, darlin’? You need somethin’?”

She hesitated. “I’m… not sure.”

That made him cross the room in two strides.

He knelt beside her, already scanning her face. “Talk to me.”

She placed both hands over the heavy curve of her belly, exhaling slowly. “It’s not contractions. Not yet. But there’s pressure. Low. Deep. Different than before.”

He softened, but his eyes sharpened just a touch. “Like baby’s pushin’ down?”

She nodded. “Like they’re… settling. Getting into position.”

Beau placed his hand carefully over hers, grounding her. “You okay?”

“I think so.” She blinked, trying to find words for a body she no longer fully understood. “It’s just… new. Like everything shifted again. And I can feel it in my hips, my back. Like the whole center of gravity just tilted.”

Beau stayed right there, kneeling beside the couch like he wasn’t going anywhere. “You want me to call the doc?”

“No,” she said softly. “Not yet. I don’t think it’s time. But I wanted you to know. Just in case.”

“Alright,” he said, voice steady. “We’ll keep an eye on it. Take it slow. If anything changes—anything at all—we’re callin’. Deal?”

She nodded, leaning her forehead against his. “Deal.”

Beau kissed her gently and sat beside her, hand never leaving hers. The laundry was forgotten. The TV droned on. The world outside kept spinning.

But inside this house, something had shifted.

The stillness before the storm.

The hush before the first wave.

The quiet knowing that soon—very soon—their family would grow again.

Beau moved with quiet purpose.

It started with him silently checking his watch for the second time in ten minutes, then casting a sidelong glance at the hallway closet. He tried to play it casual—retrieving his folded flannel, then his sneakers—but Y/N had known him too long to miss the change in his rhythm.

From her nest of pillows on the couch, she watched him disappear down the hall, heard the muted thump of the duffel bag hitting the bed, the slow zip of compartments being opened.

She couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at her lips.

Here they were again.

He’d packed the main go-bag weeks ago—meticulously, of course—but there were always “last things,” the elusive final pieces that were too everyday to live in a bag by the door. Phone chargers. Her favorite robe. The playlist she loved but hadn’t downloaded yet. Snacks, because “hospitals never stock the good kind.”

She heard the dresser drawer slide open and Beau mutter to himself, “Where the hell did I put that granola?”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, resting her hand on her belly. “He’s nesting,” she whispered to the baby.

Just then, Margaret sank down beside her on the couch, holding a cup of tea, her gaze trailing down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Is he packing again?” she asked softly.

“Mm-hm,” Y/N murmured. “We already have everything. But he’s been watching me like I might go into labor if I sneeze too hard. I think this is his way of staying ahead of the storm.”

Margaret took a sip of tea, eyes soft with something like understanding. “That man loves you.”

“I know,” Y/N said, her voice warm with it.

Margaret gave her a small, knowing smile. “He’s the kind of man who’d move mountains if you asked. Maybe even if you didn’t.”

Y/N blinked, touched.

She looked down the hallway again, where the sound of zippers and Velcro and a muttered “Where the hell are her fuzzy socks?” echoed faintly from their bedroom.

Margaret nudged her gently with her elbow. “You chose well, sweetheart.”

Y/N didn’t speak at first. Just watched the hallway. Felt the baby shift inside her. And smiled.

“I know I did.”

Margaret rose quietly and left her alone again, the kind of quiet that hummed with the peace of being loved well.

Not long after, Beau returned, slightly flushed and holding up two snack bars in one hand and a folded hoodie in the other. “Did you want the almond butter ones or the trail mix?”

Y/N tilted her head. “You really think I’ll be hungry while in labor?”

“I think,” he said, setting everything gently in the go-bag by the door, “that it’s my job to make sure you can be if you want.”

She watched him cross the room, sit beside her, and rest his hand on her belly.

“You’re something else,” she whispered, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He smiled. “Only for you.”

The day wound down slowly, like a lullaby in motion.

Dinner had been calm—a rare accomplishment—with Eliza too focused on drawing the official wolf-duck family crest to argue over carrots, and Caleb falling asleep face-first in his highchair halfway through a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Margaret had spirited him off to bed, and now the house was wrapped in that particular hush that came with a summer evening.

Y/N rested on the couch, drifting in and out of a light doze, her hand curled protectively over her belly. The ceiling fan spun above her in rhythmic laziness. Beau watched her for a long moment from the doorway—just long enough to feel the rise of emotion press gently into his chest—before he turned and walked softly down the hall.

Emily was in the laundry room folding a stack of fresh towels, earbuds in, head bobbing slightly to whatever song she was pretending not to dance to.

Beau rapped lightly on the doorframe.

She turned, startled, tugging one bud free. “Hey. You need somethin’?”

He leaned a shoulder against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Nah. Just wanted a word.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “A word?”

Beau gave her the look—that quiet, steady, no-nonsense dad expression that had stopped more teenage shenanigans than any lecture ever could.

Emily sighed. “Okay, fine. What did I do?”

“Not what you did,” he said gently. “It’s what you didn’t tell me.”

She blinked, then tried to deflect again. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m mysterious like that.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just kept watching her.

Eventually, she broke.

“…You noticed.”

“Course I noticed,” he said, voice warm but firm. “Postponed your fall courses.”

She looked away, setting down the towel in her hands. “I was gonna tell you.”

“You don’t have to explain, Em,” Beau said, stepping forward. “I just wanna know why.”

Emily hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the towel. Then, quietly, she said, “Because I didn’t want to miss this. Any of it. I didn’t want to be away if something happened. I didn’t want to be in a classroom while Y/N was in labor, or while you were worrying your way into a wall. I wanted to be here.”

Beau’s heart swelled so fast and full it made his throat tight.

Emily continued, eyes on her hands. “She’s not just my stepmom, you know. She’s... she’s Mom. And Caleb’s my brother and Eliza's my sister. And this baby…” She trailed off, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “They’re ours. This is our family. And I wanted to be here when we meet them.”

Beau didn’t hesitate.

He crossed the space and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

She sank into it instantly, head on his chest, breathing in the smell of home—his soap, his shirts, that grounding steadiness that had carried her through every hard season.

“You didn’t have to do that, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice thick. “We would’ve made it work. You didn’t have to change your plans for us.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “Because I love you. And her. And Caleb. And even when he cries at 2 a.m., this new little one too.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve always had the biggest heart.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Just don’t tell Eliza I postponed school. She’ll say I’ve officially joined the Wolf Council.”

He smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me, councilwoman.”

Emily laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Okay, now stop. I’m gonna go sob over laundry and pretend it’s the dryer’s fault.”

Beau gave her one more squeeze and stepped back. “I love you, Em.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

As she turned back to the towels, Beau lingered a moment longer, heart full.

She may not have been born into Y/N’s arms, but she’d grown there.

And as the light faded from the sky, he carried that truth quietly with him—every step back toward the woman on the couch, and the life they’d built together.

The house had quieted to a hush.

Eliza was asleep under her mountain of stuffed animals, Caleb tucked in after one last chorus of “Twinkle, Twinkle,” and even Emily had finally gone still in her room, the soft hum of music barely drifting beneath the closed door.

The lamp in the bedroom was low, casting a soft golden haze over the bed as Beau helped Y/N sit up from the edge, his arm steady beneath her.

She moved slow now—everything heavier, fuller, lower—but she leaned into him like always. Trusted him to carry just enough of her weight to let her rest.

“Come on, darlin’,” he murmured, guiding her down into the pillows, helping her shift until she sighed in relief. “Let’s get you settled.”

“I feel like I’m made of bricks,” she muttered, tugging the blanket up.

“You’re solid gold,” he replied, voice warm as he kicked off his boots and climbed in beside her.

Y/N gave a tired smile, eyes already half-closed as she turned slightly toward him, one hand slipping into his. “You’re good to me.”

Beau reached out and gently laid his hand over the curve of her belly, his fingers splaying instinctively.

The baby was moving—soft rolls and nudges beneath his palm, slow but certain, like stretching after a long nap.

And just like that, his breath caught.

His voice dropped low. “Well hey there, little one…”

Y/N stilled beside him, watching him through the dark. But Beau’s attention was fully on the baby now. His hand never moved, just rested there, letting himself feel each ripple, each tiny push from within.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he whispered. “Not even born yet and you’ve already turned our world upside down. Twice.”

His thumb moved gently over the swell, reverent. “I don’t even know what you look like yet. Don’t know your cry, or the color of your eyes. Don’t know if you’ll have your mama’s smile or her temper, or if you’ll howl at the moon with Eliza or try to wrestle us like Caleb. But I know this.”

He swallowed. The words weren’t rushed—they came slow, steady, with the weight of truth behind them.

“I love you.”

The baby rolled again, a strong little kick beneath his fingers.

Beau smiled, eyes glistening. “Yeah, I felt that. Love you too.”

Y/N reached over and placed her hand gently atop his, layering hers over the both of them.

“He knows your voice,” she whispered.

“Or she,” he murmured, eyes flicking to her with a crooked smile. “Can’t say for sure yet.”

They stayed like that for a long while—just their hands on the baby, the hush of night around them, and the quiet thump of love echoing in the spaces between.

Beau finally leaned down and pressed a kiss to her bare belly. “Rest easy, little one. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Then he curled around Y/N, protective and sure, his arms wrapped gently around both her and the life they’d made.

And in the hush of the deep night, wrapped in breath and heartbeat and warmth, they slept.

Together.

Waiting.

Ready.

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 Thirty-Third 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: 5,821

Tags/Warnings: So much sweet fluff! A touch of pregnancy/medical drama, but not a lot.

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: Please see THIS LINK for updates on the posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Waiting With Bated Breath

The bedroom was dim, bathed in the faint gold glow of the hallway nightlight and the distant chirp of crickets through the open window. The fan spun lazily above them, stirring the warm summer air just enough to make the sheets feel bearable.

Beau lay on his side, propped on one elbow, gently trailing his fingers over the curve of Y/N’s belly. She was curled toward him, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her eyes half-lidded but awake.

“I don’t think I’m gonna sleep,” she murmured.

Beau smiled softly. “Then we don’t have to. We’ll just lay here. Let the night take its time.”

She blinked slowly, soaking him in—the quiet strength in his eyes, the ease in his touch, the love that radiated from him without effort. “It’s real now,” she whispered. “This baby could come anytime.”

He nodded, his voice low and certain. “We’re ready.”

She let out a quiet laugh. “We say that, but are we really?”

“I don’t think anyone ever truly is. You just show up. You love ’em. You try. And then you do it again the next day.”

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, then her lips, then her belly. “But yeah. We’re ready.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them, until Y/N murmured, “We still haven’t settled on a name.”

Beau grinned against her skin. “You bringin’ that up now?”

“Why not?” she said. “Middle of the night. Baby stewin’ in there like a mystery. Seems like the right time.”

He settled down beside her, arms curled protectively around her as he considered. “Alright… if it’s a girl?”

Y/N looked up at the ceiling. “I like something strong. Not too frilly. But still beautiful.”

Beau nodded thoughtfully. “What about… Rowan?”

She blinked, surprised. “Rowan.”

“Strong,” he said. “Clean. Grows into any kind of person.”

“I like it,” she whispered, smiling. “Rowan.”

“And if it’s a boy?” she asked.

Beau was quiet for a moment. “Maybe something with weight to it. Nothing fancy. Just solid.”

Y/N waited, breath held a little, curious.

He exhaled. “I like the sound of Jesse.”

She smiled again, softer this time. “Jesse.”

Beau reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean that’s what we’ll choose. But I like havin’ a few tucked in our back pocket.”

“I do too,” she whispered. “Rowan. Jesse.”

“You got any names you’ve been holdin’ onto?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. “Maybe. But I want to see them first. See who they are.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

The room settled into stillness again, the kind of peace that came only after storms had passed, after fear had been weathered and hope had taken root.

Y/N closed her eyes, her body sore but full, her heart stretched to the edges with love.

Beau’s hand stayed resting on her belly, and as sleep slowly began to pull at them both, the baby shifted beneath his palm.

He smiled against her temple and whispered, “We’re waitin’ on you, little one. No rush. Just come home safe.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty.

Beau’s palm moved in slow, reverent circles over the curve of Y/N’s belly, warm and steady, like he was tracing love into the skin. His breath moved softly against her hair, his other arm curled beneath her to keep her close.

The baby shifted gently beneath his hand.

Y/N let out a long exhale, her body relaxing into his. “I could stay like this forever.”

“Me too,” Beau murmured.

Another few moments passed, the weight of night pressing gently around them like a soft blanket.

Then, quietly, he said, “I hope you’re okay.”

She blinked, turned her head slightly toward him. “I am.”

His voice was low, tinged with something just beneath the surface. “It’s just been a while since I’ve really touched you. I mean… really.”

Y/N didn’t need him to explain.

The doctor’s warnings had been clear: no intimacy. No triggering anything that could jumpstart labor. At thirty-seven weeks, they were in the safe zone—but they also knew how easily things could shift. How fast it could all change.

She reached for his hand where it rested against her skin, lacing her fingers through his. “I know. And I understand.”

Beau nodded once, eyes fixed on the place where their hands met over her belly.

“But,” she added with a faint smile, “if it were up to you…”

He glanced down, just enough moonlight spilling through the window to catch the playfulness in her eyes.

“…you’d make love to me every night.”

He gave a low, almost embarrassed chuckle. “Wrong.”

She raised a brow. “Wrong?”

Beau leaned in, his drawl thick and sweet in her ear. “Every morning and every night. And lunch too. If I could get away with it.”

Y/N burst into a quiet laugh, muffling it against his chest. “Insatiable man.”

“Can’t help it,” he whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “You’re mine. And you’re beautiful. And I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she said softly.

They didn’t move. There was nothing more to say. Just the warmth of his hand against her, the rhythm of her breath slowing, and the steady awareness between them that this too—this waiting, this restraint—was a kind of love.

Not lack.

Not loss.

But promise.

And when sleep finally came for them both, they were still wrapped in each other—skin to skin, heart to heart, and full of a wanting that could wait just a little longer.

Because the love never left.

It only deepened.

Morning crept in slowly, sunlight soft and golden as it filtered through the curtains. The hum of the ceiling fan spun overhead, rustling the edge of the blanket draped across Y/N’s legs. The world beyond their window was still quiet—no Caleb squeals, no Eliza treaties echoing through the halls just yet.

Y/N stirred beneath the sheets, one arm curling instinctively around the swell of her belly. For a moment, she thought Beau was still beside her—she could feel the lingering warmth in the sheets, the imprint of his body.

But then she heard it: the faint creak of the bathroom door and the rush of steam as it opened.

Beau stepped out into the bedroom, towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water still glistening on his chest and shoulders. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges, and he moved with the quiet confidence of a man used to mornings filled with purpose.

Y/N blinked slowly, letting her eyes adjust—and then she just… watched.

He was beautiful.

Not just in the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, or the way his broad shoulders tapered to lean hips—but in something deeper. Something in the way he reached for his shirt without rushing, wiped the fog from the mirror, checked his phone only after setting down her prenatal vitamins beside the water glass on her nightstand.

He didn’t know she was watching.

That made it even better.

Because in those quiet, unguarded moments, Y/N saw everything.

She saw the man who had carried her through fear and joy alike. The man who never once flinched at her swollen ankles, who rubbed her back through tears, who held her like she was a miracle and not a burden. The man who desired her even when she felt stretched and uncomfortable and far from anything glamorous.

She saw the father who chased Eliza through the yard like a proud wolf-king, who rocked Caleb through fevers without complaint, who made up songs in the kitchen just to make them laugh.

She saw the husband who rose before the sun, who made her tea without asking, who knew her moods by the tilt of her head and the silence in her breath.

Beau turned slightly, catching movement from the bed.

Y/N was awake now, propped on one elbow, watching him with quiet wonder.

He raised a brow and gave her that lopsided smile that still undid her. “Mornin’, darlin’. I was tryin’ not to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly, voice still laced with sleep. “But I’m not sorry I caught the show.”

He chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. “Well now, if I knew you were watchin’, I might’ve made it more interestin’.”

Y/N smiled and let her eyes trace him again, slower this time. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden earnestness.

“And not just because of what I see,” she continued, voice trembling with feeling. “But because of who you are. What you carry. How you love me. The kids. This whole life we’ve built.”

Beau stepped closer, his towel shifting slightly as he knelt beside the bed and reached for her hand.

“You’re makin’ me blush,” he murmured.

“I’m makin’ you seen,” she whispered.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t need fancy words or praise. Just this. You. Every day.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek. “You’ve got me. Every part.”

“And you’ve got me,” he said, leaning in, voice thick. “Always.”

She smiled and pulled him closer until his forehead touched hers. “Now get dressed before I forget I’m on doctor-ordered celibacy and make us both very late for breakfast.”

He laughed, deep and warm. “See, now that’s just cruel.”

But he kissed her again anyway.

And outside the bedroom door, the sound of tiny feet began to stir, the day beginning to bloom. But in that moment, in that room, time held still for just a breath longer—two hearts wrapped in the fullness of quiet, committed love.

By eight-thirty, the house had fully surrendered to chaos.

Y/N was parked on the couch, her feet propped on a cushioned stool, one hand resting protectively over her belly as the other cradled a mug of tea she hadn’t quite finished. The windows were thrown open to the warm July air, and sunlight poured in like gold, streaking across the hardwood floor and catching in Eliza’s curls as she dashed past.

“The wolves have reclaimed the forest throne!” Eliza declared, a tangle of paper streamers tied around her waist like a sash and a glittery plastic crown cocked slightly to one side. “But the ducks are mounting a revolution!”

Margaret stood near the stove with a wooden spoon in hand, keeping an eye on the pancakes browning in the skillet. She leaned out slightly into the living room and called, “Didn’t the wolves and ducks sign a peace treaty last week?”

“They did,” Eliza shouted back, spinning in a dramatic circle. “But the ducks broke it when they stole the blueberries!”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Those ducks really can’t be trusted.”

Before Margaret could reply, a loud thump and a squeal of glee echoed from down the hall, followed by Emily’s weary voice: “Caleb, no! That’s my hairbrush, not a sword!”

Seconds later, she emerged carrying Caleb in both arms—his curls sticking up in wild directions, his cheeks smudged with jam, and a single sock barely hanging on his foot. Emily’s tank top bore a streak of what looked suspiciously like yogurt.

“Why is he so strong?” she asked no one in particular. “He’s eighteen months old and I’m losing a wrestling match.”

Y/N tried to hide her smile. “He’s just passionate.”

“Passionate about sabotage,” Emily muttered, depositing him into the high chair.

Caleb smacked the tray and shouted, “Mama!”

“Hi, baby,” Y/N cooed, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Just then, Beau stepped in from the back door, shirt half-buttoned, holding a basket of laundry under one arm. He took in the scene—Eliza giving orders in her regal wolf-voice, Caleb banging a spoon on his tray like a war drum, Emily breathing heavily and Margaret flipping pancakes with military precision—and blinked.

“…Did I miss a coup?”

“You missed a duck uprising,” Eliza declared from the arm of the couch. “But don’t worry. I’m handling it.”

Beau crossed the room and leaned down to kiss Y/N’s temple. “Mornin’, darlin’. You holdin’ up?”

“Barely,” she murmured with a grin. “My troops are out of control.”

“Well, lucky for you…” He plucked a sippy cup from the counter and handed it to Caleb like a grenade being diffused. “I’ve got countermeasures.”

Margaret stepped over to refill Y/N’s tea and slipped her a knowing smile. “Still sure you wanted a big family?”

Y/N laughed quietly. “Every second of this circus.”

Emily, slumped in a chair with toast hanging out of her mouth, raised a hand. “Requesting formal leave from duck-related warfare.”

Eliza spun on the spot. “Only if you take the night patrol!”

Beau scooped Caleb’s spoon off the floor before it could clatter under the stove. “You’ve got yourself a fine little kingdom here, darlin’.”

Y/N leaned back, gaze soft as she looked around—at the pancakes, the glitter crown, the flying crayons, the jam-streaked toddler, the grown daughter in yesterday’s socks, and her mother calmly pouring syrup into a dish like she’d been training for this her whole life.

It was a little unhinged.

But it was hers.

And from her throne on the couch, propped up and weary but endlessly full of love, she smiled. “Long may it reign.”

It was mid-afternoon, and the heat had finally settled into the walls of the house like a tired guest refusing to leave. The fans were humming steadily, one pointed directly at Y/N where she sat, propped up on the couch. Her legs were swollen. Her back ached. And despite every ounce of joy she felt, she was getting very tired of being a beached whale on dry land.

“I need to pee again,” she grumbled.

Beau appeared from the kitchen like a genie summoned by the phrase, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Want me to help you up, darlin’?”

“No, I want to float there on a cloud of dignity and self-reliance,” she deadpanned. “But sure. Help me.”

He smirked, already at her side. His hands were gentle as he wrapped one arm around her back and offered the other for leverage. “You know I’d carry you if I could.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But it’s not your job to carry your heavily pregnant wife to the bathroom like a toddler who fell asleep in the car.”

He helped her stand slowly, careful to wait as she adjusted her balance. “No, ma’am. It’s my privilege.”

“Still annoying,” she muttered under her breath, waddling toward the hallway.

Beau trailed beside her just close enough to catch her if she wobbled, his presence solid, patient. But then—halfway down the hall—Y/N stopped.

Froze, even.

Beau caught the hesitation immediately. “You alright?”

She didn’t answer right away, just pressed both hands to her belly. Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“What is it? Pain?”

“No,” she said breathlessly. “Not pain. Just… different.”

Beau’s brow furrowed in concern, his hand finding the small of her back. “Talk to me, darlin’.”

She looked up at him, something like awe in her eyes. “The baby shifted. Just now. Downward.”

He blinked. “Dropped?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, both hands still cradling the underside of her belly. “I can feel it. Like my lungs finally took a breath again, but everything below my ribs suddenly feels… heavier. Lower.”

Beau’s eyes softened as the moment settled between them.

“That’s a sign, ain’t it?” he murmured.

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice quiet with wonder. “It’s happening. Not yet, but… it’s close. My body’s getting ready.”

Beau cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing along her temple. “You’re doin’ this. Just like you’ve done every step of the way. Strong and steady.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “I just needed to pee. And now I feel like the universe cracked open.”

“That’s pregnancy, darlin’,” Beau said, kissing her forehead. “One minute you’re fussin’, the next you’re havin’ a revelation.”

She grinned, hand resting over his heart. “Hold on. I still have to actually pee. Epiphany or not.”

“Right,” he chuckled, helping her back into motion. “Don’t let me distract you from greatness.”

As they made their way slowly to the bathroom, Beau’s hand remained on her back—steady, grounding—while Y/N moved with a new awareness. The baby was lower. Her breath came easier. Her steps were heavier.

And deep in her chest, something quiet and powerful was beginning to stir.

The final stretch was near.

And they were ready.

The morning air was already warm when Beau stepped out onto the porch, coffee mug in hand, the screen door creaking shut behind him. Sunlight stretched across the fields in long golden fingers, the grass glittering with dew, and the far-off sound of birds stirred in the trees.

Inside, the house was still stirring—Margaret in the kitchen making breakfast, Eliza humming a new wolf treaty under her breath, and Y/N resting on the couch with one hand cradling her belly and a small smile still lingering from their laughter the night before.

Beau took a sip of his coffee, then pulled out his phone. He leaned against the porch railing, thumb hovering for only a moment before tapping Jenny’s name.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

“Hey, Jenny,” Beau said, his drawl easy but steady. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah. Already halfway through my first cup. Figured you’d be callin’ soon.”

Beau smiled faintly, watching the sunlight flicker through the trees. “Y/N’s thirty-seven weeks now. Baby dropped yesterday. Things are... movin’ in the direction of real.”

A pause, then Jenny’s voice softened. “You need time cleared?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But I wanted to give you the heads-up. Once it starts, it’s gonna go fast. And I’m not missin’ a damn second of it.”

“You won’t have to. I’ve got it covered.”

“Jenny…”

“I mean it,” she cut in. “You’ve been there for all of us. This town, this department, me. You’ve earned this. Go be with your family. We’ll hold the line.”

Beau exhaled slowly, grateful. “Appreciate you.”

“You got names picked out yet?”

He chuckled. “Couple in our back pocket. Y/N wants to wait until we meet the baby.”

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest.”

Jenny was quiet a moment. Then, more gently: “How’s she holdin’ up?”

“Tired. Sore. Beautiful,” he said, voice dropping just a bit. “She’s hangin’ in there.”

“You let her know I’m rootin’ for her. For all of you.”

“I will,” Beau said. “And Jenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For real.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Beau. Just make sure you call when it’s time.”

“I will.”

They hung up, and Beau stood there a minute longer—phone in one hand, coffee in the other—watching the morning stretch itself out in golden light.

Soon, everything would change.

But for now, it was enough to know the people around him had his back.

And more importantly, that inside that house was everything he’d ever needed.

Beau stepped back inside, soft as the creak of the porch screen behind him. The house had woken gently in his absence—Margaret was humming in the kitchen as she stirred something on the stove, and the scent of maple and butter hung thick in the air. Caleb was chattering in toddler-speak from his high chair, slapping one hand against his tray with sticky abandon while Eliza narrated a wolf-duck breakfast summit from her perch on the floor.

But his eyes went straight to the couch.

There she was—his wife. Propped up in her fortress of pillows, hair slightly tousled, robe wrapped loosely around her. One hand cupped her belly in that unconscious way she always did now, like she was guarding a secret only she and the baby shared.

He walked to her without needing to think, setting his mug down first before leaning in to kiss her forehead.

“Mornin’, darlin’.”

She blinked up at him, already smiling. “You’re back. You weren’t gone long.”

“Called Jenny,” he said, brushing his hand gently over her shoulder. “Just to keep her in the loop. Let her know we’re on baby-watch.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh. “She’ll take over the world if you ask her nicely.”

“She already has. Told me not to worry. She’s got it all covered.” He sat beside her on the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle her belly as he reached for her hand. “Said to tell you she’s rootin’ for you.”

Y/N squeezed his fingers. “That makes two of us.”

Beau looked down at where their hands were joined. Her knuckles had thinned a little, skin tighter from the swelling, and her ring spun just slightly looser than it used to—but everything about the sight made his chest ache with love.

“She said somethin’ else too,” he murmured. “Asked if we had names yet.”

Y/N smiled and tilted her head. “You tell her?”

“Said we’ve got a few ideas. But that we’re waitin’. Just like you wanted.”

She rested her head back against the cushions, the smallest sigh of contentment slipping out. “Thank you.”

“I’m in no hurry to name someone I haven’t met,” he said softly. “I wanna see their eyes first. Hear their cry. Know ‘em.”

She turned her gaze to him, eyes misty. “You’re gonna be so good with them.”

He smiled, gentle and sure. “I learned from Caleb. And Eliza. And from you.”

She huffed a laugh. “I don’t know that I taught you anything.”

“You taught me everything that matters,” he said simply, leaning in to kiss her lips.

The kiss was slow. Sweet. Full of the kind of love that had settled into every inch of the life they’d built.

Outside, a breeze rustled the trees. Inside, Eliza declared peace negotiations successful, and Caleb dropped his spoon for the third time.

But on that couch, with the morning sun pouring in and the world held in soft pause, Beau held his wife’s hand and stayed with her.

Just stayed.

Late morning spilled in slow and easy.

Emily had taken Caleb into the backyard for a bit of sunshine and bubble-blowing chaos, while Eliza was perched at the dining table with Margaret, coloring in another elaborate wolf-duck alliance scroll. The TV murmured softly in the background—a documentary about rivers, long forgotten after the first few minutes—and the fan oscillated lazily over the living room.

Y/N was still on the couch, propped up just right, a fresh glass of ice water sweating on the side table beside her. Beau was folding laundry across the room—quiet, focused, content. The kind of domestic rhythm that only came from years of living side by side.

Then—something shifted.

It wasn’t pain exactly. Not yet.

But it was pressure.

Low. Deep. Like the baby had suddenly found a new anchor.

Y/N shifted a little in her seat, lifting her hips just slightly, adjusting the pillow behind her lower back. But the sensation didn’t ease—it lingered, thrumming quietly through her.

Her brows furrowed, and her hand came down to cradle her belly.

“Beau?”

He looked up instantly, a sock still balled in his hand. “Yeah, darlin’? You need somethin’?”

She hesitated. “I’m… not sure.”

That made him cross the room in two strides.

He knelt beside her, already scanning her face. “Talk to me.”

She placed both hands over the heavy curve of her belly, exhaling slowly. “It’s not contractions. Not yet. But there’s pressure. Low. Deep. Different than before.”

He softened, but his eyes sharpened just a touch. “Like baby’s pushin’ down?”

She nodded. “Like they’re… settling. Getting into position.”

Beau placed his hand carefully over hers, grounding her. “You okay?”

“I think so.” She blinked, trying to find words for a body she no longer fully understood. “It’s just… new. Like everything shifted again. And I can feel it in my hips, my back. Like the whole center of gravity just tilted.”

Beau stayed right there, kneeling beside the couch like he wasn’t going anywhere. “You want me to call the doc?”

“No,” she said softly. “Not yet. I don’t think it’s time. But I wanted you to know. Just in case.”

“Alright,” he said, voice steady. “We’ll keep an eye on it. Take it slow. If anything changes—anything at all—we’re callin’. Deal?”

She nodded, leaning her forehead against his. “Deal.”

Beau kissed her gently and sat beside her, hand never leaving hers. The laundry was forgotten. The TV droned on. The world outside kept spinning.

But inside this house, something had shifted.

The stillness before the storm.

The hush before the first wave.

The quiet knowing that soon—very soon—their family would grow again.

Beau moved with quiet purpose.

It started with him silently checking his watch for the second time in ten minutes, then casting a sidelong glance at the hallway closet. He tried to play it casual—retrieving his folded flannel, then his sneakers—but Y/N had known him too long to miss the change in his rhythm.

From her nest of pillows on the couch, she watched him disappear down the hall, heard the muted thump of the duffel bag hitting the bed, the slow zip of compartments being opened.

She couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at her lips.

Here they were again.

He’d packed the main go-bag weeks ago—meticulously, of course—but there were always “last things,” the elusive final pieces that were too everyday to live in a bag by the door. Phone chargers. Her favorite robe. The playlist she loved but hadn’t downloaded yet. Snacks, because “hospitals never stock the good kind.”

She heard the dresser drawer slide open and Beau mutter to himself, “Where the hell did I put that granola?”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, resting her hand on her belly. “He’s nesting,” she whispered to the baby.

Just then, Margaret sank down beside her on the couch, holding a cup of tea, her gaze trailing down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Is he packing again?” she asked softly.

“Mm-hm,” Y/N murmured. “We already have everything. But he’s been watching me like I might go into labor if I sneeze too hard. I think this is his way of staying ahead of the storm.”

Margaret took a sip of tea, eyes soft with something like understanding. “That man loves you.”

“I know,” Y/N said, her voice warm with it.

Margaret gave her a small, knowing smile. “He’s the kind of man who’d move mountains if you asked. Maybe even if you didn’t.”

Y/N blinked, touched.

She looked down the hallway again, where the sound of zippers and Velcro and a muttered “Where the hell are her fuzzy socks?” echoed faintly from their bedroom.

Margaret nudged her gently with her elbow. “You chose well, sweetheart.”

Y/N didn’t speak at first. Just watched the hallway. Felt the baby shift inside her. And smiled.

“I know I did.”

Margaret rose quietly and left her alone again, the kind of quiet that hummed with the peace of being loved well.

Not long after, Beau returned, slightly flushed and holding up two snack bars in one hand and a folded hoodie in the other. “Did you want the almond butter ones or the trail mix?”

Y/N tilted her head. “You really think I’ll be hungry while in labor?”

“I think,” he said, setting everything gently in the go-bag by the door, “that it’s my job to make sure you can be if you want.”

She watched him cross the room, sit beside her, and rest his hand on her belly.

“You’re something else,” she whispered, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He smiled. “Only for you.”

The day wound down slowly, like a lullaby in motion.

Dinner had been calm—a rare accomplishment—with Eliza too focused on drawing the official wolf-duck family crest to argue over carrots, and Caleb falling asleep face-first in his highchair halfway through a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Margaret had spirited him off to bed, and now the house was wrapped in that particular hush that came with a summer evening.

Y/N rested on the couch, drifting in and out of a light doze, her hand curled protectively over her belly. The ceiling fan spun above her in rhythmic laziness. Beau watched her for a long moment from the doorway—just long enough to feel the rise of emotion press gently into his chest—before he turned and walked softly down the hall.

Emily was in the laundry room folding a stack of fresh towels, earbuds in, head bobbing slightly to whatever song she was pretending not to dance to.

Beau rapped lightly on the doorframe.

She turned, startled, tugging one bud free. “Hey. You need somethin’?”

He leaned a shoulder against the door, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Nah. Just wanted a word.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “A word?”

Beau gave her the look—that quiet, steady, no-nonsense dad expression that had stopped more teenage shenanigans than any lecture ever could.

Emily sighed. “Okay, fine. What did I do?”

“Not what you did,” he said gently. “It’s what you didn’t tell me.”

She blinked, then tried to deflect again. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m mysterious like that.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just kept watching her.

Eventually, she broke.

“…You noticed.”

“Course I noticed,” he said, voice warm but firm. “Postponed your fall courses.”

She looked away, setting down the towel in her hands. “I was gonna tell you.”

“You don’t have to explain, Em,” Beau said, stepping forward. “I just wanna know why.”

Emily hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the towel. Then, quietly, she said, “Because I didn’t want to miss this. Any of it. I didn’t want to be away if something happened. I didn’t want to be in a classroom while Y/N was in labor, or while you were worrying your way into a wall. I wanted to be here.”

Beau’s heart swelled so fast and full it made his throat tight.

Emily continued, eyes on her hands. “She’s not just my stepmom, you know. She’s... she’s Mom. And Caleb’s my brother and Eliza's my sister. And this baby…” She trailed off, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “They’re ours. This is our family. And I wanted to be here when we meet them.”

Beau didn’t hesitate.

He crossed the space and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

She sank into it instantly, head on his chest, breathing in the smell of home—his soap, his shirts, that grounding steadiness that had carried her through every hard season.

“You didn’t have to do that, baby girl,” he murmured, his voice thick. “We would’ve made it work. You didn’t have to change your plans for us.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “Because I love you. And her. And Caleb. And even when he cries at 2 a.m., this new little one too.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve always had the biggest heart.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Just don’t tell Eliza I postponed school. She’ll say I’ve officially joined the Wolf Council.”

He smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me, councilwoman.”

Emily laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Okay, now stop. I’m gonna go sob over laundry and pretend it’s the dryer’s fault.”

Beau gave her one more squeeze and stepped back. “I love you, Em.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

As she turned back to the towels, Beau lingered a moment longer, heart full.

She may not have been born into Y/N’s arms, but she’d grown there.

And as the light faded from the sky, he carried that truth quietly with him—every step back toward the woman on the couch, and the life they’d built together.

The house had quieted to a hush.

Eliza was asleep under her mountain of stuffed animals, Caleb tucked in after one last chorus of “Twinkle, Twinkle,” and even Emily had finally gone still in her room, the soft hum of music barely drifting beneath the closed door.

The lamp in the bedroom was low, casting a soft golden haze over the bed as Beau helped Y/N sit up from the edge, his arm steady beneath her.

She moved slow now—everything heavier, fuller, lower—but she leaned into him like always. Trusted him to carry just enough of her weight to let her rest.

“Come on, darlin’,” he murmured, guiding her down into the pillows, helping her shift until she sighed in relief. “Let’s get you settled.”

“I feel like I’m made of bricks,” she muttered, tugging the blanket up.

“You’re solid gold,” he replied, voice warm as he kicked off his boots and climbed in beside her.

Y/N gave a tired smile, eyes already half-closed as she turned slightly toward him, one hand slipping into his. “You’re good to me.”

Beau reached out and gently laid his hand over the curve of her belly, his fingers splaying instinctively.

The baby was moving—soft rolls and nudges beneath his palm, slow but certain, like stretching after a long nap.

And just like that, his breath caught.

His voice dropped low. “Well hey there, little one…”

Y/N stilled beside him, watching him through the dark. But Beau’s attention was fully on the baby now. His hand never moved, just rested there, letting himself feel each ripple, each tiny push from within.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he whispered. “Not even born yet and you’ve already turned our world upside down. Twice.”

His thumb moved gently over the swell, reverent. “I don’t even know what you look like yet. Don’t know your cry, or the color of your eyes. Don’t know if you’ll have your mama’s smile or her temper, or if you’ll howl at the moon with Eliza or try to wrestle us like Caleb. But I know this.”

He swallowed. The words weren’t rushed—they came slow, steady, with the weight of truth behind them.

“I love you.”

The baby rolled again, a strong little kick beneath his fingers.

Beau smiled, eyes glistening. “Yeah, I felt that. Love you too.”

Y/N reached over and placed her hand gently atop his, layering hers over the both of them.

“He knows your voice,” she whispered.

“Or she,” he murmured, eyes flicking to her with a crooked smile. “Can’t say for sure yet.”

They stayed like that for a long while—just their hands on the baby, the hush of night around them, and the quiet thump of love echoing in the spaces between.

Beau finally leaned down and pressed a kiss to her bare belly. “Rest easy, little one. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Then he curled around Y/N, protective and sure, his arms wrapped gently around both her and the life they’d made.

And in the hush of the deep night, wrapped in breath and heartbeat and warmth, they slept.

Together.

Waiting.

Ready.

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]

(See? So very late. OMG.)

Yes, thank you so much for being concerned! ❤️

I'm okay! Just a lot of upheaval, but that upheaval comes with a lot of changes, life changes, but hopefully with a lot of good in store! Just one step of a lot of planned steps!

All that to say: lots of changes coming into my life, but hopefully with a minimum of missed posts. (Well, I hope to, anyway--but if it has to be missed, I'll let y'all know!)

This new job will, eventually, come with me moving (well, that's the hope anyway!), and a whole bunch of other things!

But first! New job!

So yes. I'm okay! Just... lost track of time with allllll these classes. Oh my god, so many classes. Videos! So many videos!

That's not to say I wasn't still writing! Wait until you see what's coming for Second Chances! 😉

New Posting Schedule

Hi all,

So sorry this came late! (Wow, very late!)

I was trying hard to get this up earlier, but lots happened, and well, time got out of hand.

Basically, started a new job, orientation, lots and lots of online classes had to be done in a short period of time. Which meant no time to write, no time to post.

Whoops.

So. New posting schedule! Yes, I will absolutely still write. I need to write. Not writing is... not possible for me, haha.

Anyway... for now:

Second Chances: Forever: posted on Tuesdays!

Crossroads of the Heart: posted on Wednesdays!

Thanks for your patience as always!

Sincerely, Taylor

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

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

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

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet, @star-yawnznn,

[lightdancingwords]

New Posting Schedule

Hi all,

So sorry this came late! (Wow, very late!)

I was trying hard to get this up earlier, but lots happened, and well, time got out of hand.

Basically, started a new job, orientation, lots and lots of online classes had to be done in a short period of time. Which meant no time to write, no time to post.

Whoops.

So. New posting schedule! Yes, I will absolutely still write. I need to write. Not writing is... not possible for me, haha.

Anyway... for now:

Second Chances: Forever: posted on Tuesdays!

Crossroads of the Heart: posted on Wednesdays!

Thanks for your patience as always!

Sincerely, Taylor

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

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

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

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet, @star-yawnznn,

[lightdancingwords]

Oh my goodness! I wasn't expecting this when I got notification I was tagged. Thank you so much! I'm honored to have been included in such a list of writers and recommendations!

Thank you!

Beau Arlen Fic Recs

A Crime of Passion by @zepskies - When Beau Arlen decides to “make it up to you,” he’s damn thorough.

A Good Man Is Hard to Find by @zepskies - When Beau starts pulling away from you and Emily during a very difficult case, will the pressure make or break your relationship?

After Hours by @smol-and-grumpy - They’re just outside of Helena, Montana, when they get pulled over. Dean knew that nothing good can come out of letting Y/N behind the wheels of his Baby. Little does he know that it’s probably the best thing that could happen to them in months. That good thing comes in the form of a tall, green-eyed Sheriff.

All My Ghosts by @carpenterswife - You’re a deputy working for the Lewis and Clark County Sheriff’s Department in Helena; a good one at that. Since Beau’s arrival, you befriended the Texan, who eventually became the town’s new permanent sheriff. With a growing friendship, blooming feelings, a ton of inside jokes, and way too much fun on the job, it seems like everything is going right for you. But, you’re running from your past, and it seems to be catching up fast.

Beau Arlen x Female Reader by @anklesoverackles

Broken Road by @waywardnerd67 - She moved to Helena to escape her past to end up running into the one who got away.

Chasin’ You by @angelbabyyy99 - Y/N and Beau go way back to when they were kids, but as they grew up, the more distant they became. A few years later, she is now a high school, teacher, recently divorced from her ex-husband and now moved back to Helena, Montana, only to find out that her old crush/friend is the new sheriff in town. What will happen when the two bump into each other again after all these years?

Come Find Me by @lightdancingwords - You are a new arrival to Big Sky, Montana, and found gainful employment with the local insurance department next door to the sheriff’s department. A whole new life with your past haunting you, while Beau is still dealing with the entanglements with his ex-wife. Can either of you succeed in overcoming your ghosts? (x Female!Reader)

Dangerous by @luci-in-trenchcoats - The reader does something “dangerous”. Beau thinks she ought to be punished for it…

Didn’t Mean To Stay by @zepskies - After three months, you ask Beau to make it clear. Is he serious about this relationship, or are you two just passing time?

Echoes by @zepskies - Beau has another rough night, but you help him face a harder truth.

Family by @lila-lou - This Christmas is your first with Emily, Beau’s teenage daughter. Between her shy smiles and sharp wit, she’s learning to trust you, and you’re creating a home together.

Forgotten Anniversaries by @mind-empty-just-fictional-people - beau forgets your two-year anniversary but you don’t realize the next day is another one

Fridays are for beer and heartbreak by @pamwritessometimes - Your favorite patron’s there to mend your broken heart.

Get It Off My Desk by @beauarlenswife - Reader is a new detective thst had been moved to the department in montana, when they get back from rescuing the girl and their in his office, let’s just say, her thoughts are not about the case.

Handcuffs and Piercings by @deangirlsstuff67 - You have gotten close to Jenny and Cassie since moving to Montana. You knew eventually you’d meet Beau, you just weren’t prepared for the girls to out your newest piece of jewelry in front of Beau.

Headcanon: Valentine's Day by @waynes-multiverse - Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine’s Day?

Hearts On Fire by @deanbrainrotwritings - would this be considered illegal? it didn’t matter because he was the sheriff and she’s the love of his life.

helping beau relax after a stressful day at work by @figthoughts (x GF!Reader)

Imagine: Beau gives you the support you need by @zepskies - After getting home from a terrible day at work, he’s able to lighten your mood.

Invisible Wall by @nescaveckwriter - Line: Broken Vows

Jurisdiction by @waynes-multiverse - Request: how about Beau loving the risk of getting caught fucking in his office? Maybe turning it into a Blowjob under his desk befor they actually get caught by Popcorn or Jenny?

Just One More by @nescaveckwriter - Line: Please be quiet, I haven’t had enough coffee yet, to deal with this

Last Minute Customer by @marvelwitchergilmore - Beau Arlen x Reader -> When you’re closing up the store for the evening, you have one final customer.

Lookin’ At the Stars by @kaleldobrev - Beau takes you and your daughter out on a special family date to look at the night sky

Luck of the Irish by @deangirlsstuff67

Mine by @supernaturalneurodivergentwolf

Montana by @klutzygirl - Born and bred Texan Beau Arlen never expected to end up in Montana. [AO3]

Mr. Yeehaw by @deanoheartspie

Polaris by @waynes-multiverse - When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

S.I.N.G. by @zepskies - Beau wishes you’d take this self-defense lesson a little more seriously.

Sheriff’s Bargain by @cheynovak - Y/N, a seasoned con artist, is arrested after returning to Montana, where her past comes back to haunt her in the form of Sheriff Beau Arlen—the man she abandoned five years ago. Facing charges linked to a drug lord, she’s offered a deal to work as an informant. Torn between her criminal life and lingering feelings for Beau, Y/N must decide whether to help him bring down the crime ring or continue running from her past.

Something serious by @jessjad - Beau and Y/N spend a summer evening together. But do they both expect the same thing?

Stormy Nights by @cheynovak - Beau and Y/N have been dating some time now, a thunderstorm is moving over Montana, something Y/N isn’t quite fond of. Beau gets home to comfort her.

Sweet As Pie by @that-sarcastic-writer - Beau has a crush on you, so with a bit of help from Jenny, he asks you out.

Take Me Home by @zepskies - You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you both have a past you’re running from.

Taken for Granted by @pink-sparkly-witch - Having had his share of dangerous situations and close calls in Houston, this was meant to be the start of a quieter, slower life for Beau, Y/N and their daughter. Taking the job as Acting Sheriff in Helena, Montana, was a dream come true until Beau starts to spend far too much time with Jenny Hoyt, in and out of the office. At first, Y/N doesn’t mind too much, but one night Beau misses his daughter’s hockey tryouts and phone calls in favour of shooting tequila in a bar with his co-worker, and Y/N isn’t sure if she’s being taken for granted or if something bigger is going on that she needs to worry about.

Tap The Badge by @xenaxena - you’re very turned on by the way the sheriff gestures to his badge

That Simple by @avanatural - Beau goes to Y/N, a new friend of his, for some dating advice. Is the charming new sheriff gonna get the date that he’s hoping for?

The Triplets by @welldonebeca - Lizzie moves in with her favourite honorary Uncle, Beau, to find work in a big city, and starts sharing a house with him and his other two twins brothers. The triplets - Dean, Ben and Beau - couldn’t be more different and more similar at the same time. One thing they all share? Well, they all want to fuck her, of course.

The Way We Fell In Love by @smellingofpoetry - This is the story of how they fall in love.

Trouble by @smol-and-grumpy - Beau always knows how to grind her gears, and Y/N hates that she secretly loves it. When, once again, he manages to make her angry and sick with worry, he knows he’s in trouble — but sometimes she thinks it’s his intention all along because he knows the best ways to tame her

Trust Me by @luci-in-trenchcoats - When the reader wakes up in what was meant to be her grave, she doesn’t want to trust anyone, especially the charming cop that found her…

Under the Montana Skies by @spnbaby-67

Untitled Beau drabble by @beauswhore (x GN!Reader)

Whole Lotta Love by @deanbrainrotwritings - beau finds a way repays the reader after taking care of him when he’s injured, but also to apologise for worrying her. but most importantly, to prove he was okay.

Wonderwall by @deanbrainrotwritings - teasing beau during work and leaving without finishing. when he gets home he wants to pick up where they left off.

You Belong With Me by @justwhisperingfantasies - You’re in love with your best friend, but he is with someone else. You try to move on when the new cute guy in town asks you on a date.

You’ve Been a Bad Girl by @deangirlsstuff67 - few weeks after your first run in with the new sheriff, you can seem to get him off your mind. You decided to find a way to get him back to your house, which makes you a very bad girl.

[lightdancingwords]

Right?? Getting sooooo close! I'm actually counting the weeks and going "Okay, now what should i have happen before then??" Haha!

And once Baby Arlen is there, more adventures, sleepless nights, and new chaos! 🥰

Second Chances: Forever - Part Thirty-Two 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: 4,952

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, medical drama, pregnancy drama

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: Please see THIS LINK for updates on the posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Believing In Hope

The house had long gone quiet.

The drizzle had turned into a steady rhythm on the roof, soft and lulling. Somewhere down the hall, Caleb murmured in his sleep, the occasional thump of his foot against the crib rails echoing faintly. Eliza was deep in a dream kingdom, no doubt presiding over another alliance between wolves and ducks.

And in the master bedroom, Beau lay curled behind Y/N, one arm draped protectively around her growing belly, his palm flat and warm over the gentle rise.

Neither of them had spoken in a while. Just breathing together. Letting the quiet settle.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice low and tired, but clear. “Today felt like a breath I didn’t know I was holding.”

Beau’s voice was gravel-deep against her shoulder. “You’re still carryin’ so much, darlin’. Even if the numbers look good.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But it helps. Having good days. Hearing the baby’s heart. Knowing we’ve made it this far.”

He pressed a kiss just behind her ear. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

She turned a little toward him—not all the way, but enough that they could meet each other’s gaze in the soft lamp light.

“You’ve held everything together,” she said quietly. “The kids. This house. Me.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” he murmured.

Y/N reached for his hand over her stomach, interlacing their fingers. “What if this is our last time?”

Beau blinked. “Pregnancy?”

She nodded slowly. “I think about it a lot. Whether I could ever go through this again. Whether I should.”

Beau didn’t rush his answer. He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it once. “I think about it too.”

She studied him. “Do you still think about… the vasectomy?”

His gaze softened, but stayed steady. “I do. Not ‘cause I don’t want more kids. But ‘cause I don’t wanna risk you. This pregnancy scared me more than I’ve let on.”

“I know,” she said gently.

“But I also want you to be the one who decides. Not outta fear. Not just for me. But when you’re ready.”

Y/N breathed in deep, eyes flicking down to where their hands rested on her belly. “We’ll wait. Let the dust settle. But it means a lot, knowing you’d give up more babies for me.”

“I didn’t give up a thing,” he said, kissing her again. “I already got everything I need.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she let them come.

Because this—this kind of love—was rare. Soft and hard-earned. The kind that weathered storms and made a home of silence.

She pulled him close, and he held her tighter, their hands never breaking apart, their hearts beating slow and steady through the hush of the rain.

The next few days unfolded with a gentleness Y/N hadn’t dared hope for.

There were no contractions. No sudden spikes in blood pressure. No alarming twinges or hospital bags being flung into the truck at midnight. Just the steady rhythm of a home in motion—guided by love, laughter, and the slightly chaotic soundtrack of a family hanging on together.

Y/N spent most of her days on the couch, still under strict bedrest, surrounded by a mountain of pillows and a carefully arranged snack tray Margaret refreshed without fail. She was often found with one of Eliza’s storybooks open on her lap, Caleb nestled at her side, chattering softly in toddler-speak, or with Emily stretched out in the armchair reading aloud from a book they’d both pretended not to enjoy.

On this particular afternoon, she was half-reclined with a mug of lukewarm tea in hand, watching the swirl of life unfold around her.

Beau had the back door propped open, the screen keeping the bugs out as he hosed off Eliza’s muddy boots from her most recent “expedition to the forbidden marshlands” (which Y/N strongly suspected was just the back corner of the garden, currently overgrown with weeds). His sleeves were rolled up, forearms damp, shirt clinging just slightly to his chest and back as he worked.

Eliza was spinning around on the porch, barefoot and wearing one of Emily’s old scarves as a cape. “The wolves saved the ducks from the falling sky!” she yelled. “Now we are all sky-siblings!”

Caleb squealed and banged a spoon on a plastic bowl in rhythm, thrilled to be part of something he didn’t understand.

Emily stood at the counter drying dishes with Margaret, exchanging a quiet conversation Y/N couldn’t quite hear—though she saw the moment they both laughed, heads tipping slightly toward each other like a secret had just passed between generations.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N felt time slow down.

Her body still ached—her joints swollen, her belly stretching too tightly at times—but her heart was still. Peaceful.

Beau stepped inside a minute later, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he toed them off. He crossed the room and knelt beside the couch, his hand automatically finding hers.

“How you holdin’ up, darlin’?” he asked softly, his hazel-green eyes scanning hers.

Y/N smiled and brushed her fingers against his jaw, her thumb tracing the edge of his beard. “I was just thinking… this is it.”

He tilted his head. “This is what?”

“This is the life I never knew I wanted,” she said. “And now… I can’t imagine not having it.”

Beau leaned in, kissed her gently. “It’s yours, sweetheart. All of it. Every day.”

She blinked back tears, not from sadness—just the kind that came when something was too beautiful to name. “I want to remember this. Exactly as it is.”

Beau brushed his nose against hers. “Then let’s hold onto it tight.”

And across the room, Caleb shrieked with delight as Eliza announced a royal parade, Margaret tied a dish towel around his shoulders like a cape, and Emily began drumming a wooden spoon against a pot in mock ceremony.

Y/N leaned into Beau’s side, heart full, hand on her belly.

Home wasn’t just where they lived.

It was where they loved.

The house had finally quieted.

The storm of the day had passed—Eliza tucked in bed with her stuffed wolves, Caleb in his crib snoring softly like a tiny freight train, Margaret in her room with the door cracked open just enough to hear if anyone stirred. Emily had long since retreated with her headphones and a promise to handle breakfast duty in the morning.

In the master bedroom, the lights were low.

Y/N lay propped against the pillows, one hand resting over the firm swell of her belly, the other loosely tangled in the edge of the blanket. Beau stood at the dresser in nothing but flannel sleep pants, folding a soft old T-shirt he’d pulled from the dryer. The muscles in his back moved in slow, familiar rhythm—effortless strength, quiet grace.

She watched him for a long moment, her gaze drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the worn scar at the bend of his left elbow, then lower, where the waistband of his pants rested on the sharp cut of his hips.

“You know,” she said softly, voice low and even in the quiet, “you really are a beautiful man.”

Beau stilled mid-fold. Then turned.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers—surprised, a little amused, but soft all the same. “That right?”

Y/N nodded, a lazy smile curving her lips. “I was watchin’ you earlier. Out on the porch. With Eliza’s boots.”

His mouth quirked. “You mean when she tracked half the backyard in and swore it was for ‘training purposes’?”

“I mean,” she said, her voice slow, thoughtful, “the way the water clung to your arms. The way your shirt stuck to you. The way you moved—like you weren’t even thinking about how good you looked. But you did.”

He walked to the bed, slowly, setting the folded shirt on the nightstand. “You flirtin’ with me, darlin’?”

“Maybe I am,” she murmured. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Beau leaned over her carefully, bracing his hands on either side of her belly. He didn’t put any weight on her—just hovered close, his mouth barely an inch from hers, eyes searching her face.

“You know I can’t touch you the way I want to right now.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I still want you to know how much I see you.”

Beau’s throat bobbed with a swallow. He brushed his lips against her forehead, then her temple, then finally—tenderly—her mouth. “I see you too, sweetheart. You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

She blinked slowly. “Even swollen and sweaty and emotionally unstable?”

“Especially then,” he said with a smile. “Because you’re real. You’re mine. And you’ve never looked more like home.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to his. “We’ve still got a few more weeks.”

“We’ll get through ’em,” he whispered. “One heartbeat at a time.”

He helped her shift lower in the bed, settled in beside her with a protective arm wrapped gently around her middle. One hand rested on her belly, thumb stroking slow circles as the baby shifted and turned inside her.

Y/N closed her eyes and felt the warmth of him all around her.

Beautiful, indeed.

The smell of cinnamon and toasted oats filled the kitchen, mingling with the soft sound of rain tapping the windows and Caleb’s squeals as he banged a wooden spoon on the edge of his high chair tray.

Y/N sat at the table, feet up on a second chair with a cushion tucked beneath her, a soft cardigan draped around her shoulders. She was bleary-eyed but smiling, one hand wrapped around a warm mug, the other bracing her belly as the baby gave a particularly sharp kick.

Across the table, Eliza wore a crown made of cardboard and pipe cleaners, still sticky with glue. “The ducks have chosen oatmeal for their victory breakfast,” she announced grandly. “With sprinkles.”

Emily, by the stove, turned just enough to shoot her a flat look. “The sprinkles are chia seeds, Your Majesty.”

Eliza considered that, then nodded. “Acceptable.”

Beau stood behind Y/N, his hand drifting down to her shoulder as he leaned to kiss the top of her head. He smelled like soap and fresh coffee, his flannel shirt rumpled and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“You good, darlin’?” he murmured low into her hair.

She hummed. “Getting there. Baby’s doin’ gymnastics, though.”

Beau glanced at her belly and chuckled. “Little one’s probably learnin’ somersaults from their big sister.”

“I taught them,” Eliza chimed in from across the table, spooning oatmeal into her mouth with dramatic flair. “Wolves are very limber.”

Margaret walked in carrying a small tray—extra toast, more tea, a folded cloth napkin embroidered with a daisy. She set it gently beside Y/N and gave her a once-over. “Feet still up?”

“Yes, Mom,” Y/N said with a faint grin.

Margaret raised a brow. “Doctor’s orders. I’ll keep checking.”

Caleb made a delighted sound as Beau placed a handful of blueberries on his tray. “Boo-buh!” he shouted triumphantly, grabbing one with his chubby fingers and smashing it gleefully against his cheek.

Y/N laughed. “We’ll work on his delivery.”

“Hey, he got it to his face. That’s a win,” Beau said, grinning as he wiped blueberry juice from Caleb’s chin with a dish towel.

Emily brought over two bowls of oatmeal, setting one in front of Eliza and the other in front of Y/N. “Extra cinnamon. And yes, a tiny bit of honey.”

“You’re an angel,” Y/N murmured.

Emily gave her a soft, pleased shrug and returned to her own coffee at the counter.

Beau sat beside Y/N, long legs stretched out, his hand finding hers under the table. They didn’t say anything at first—just sat with the sounds of family all around them.

The clink of spoons. Caleb’s delighted chatter. Eliza explaining to her stuffed wolf the tenets of forest diplomacy. Margaret refilling coffee without being asked. Emily softly humming under her breath while she read the back of the cereal box.

It wasn’t extraordinary.

But it was theirs.

And it was everything.

Y/N leaned her head on Beau’s shoulder for a moment, the weight of it making his posture straighten a little more. She felt his lips press against her hair and stay there.

Thirty-six weeks was right around the corner.

But for now, breakfast and baby kicks, chia seed treaties, and blueberry-stained toddlers would do just fine.

It was already warm by the time they stepped out the door.

Not quite the thick, breath-stealing heat of peak July afternoons, but enough that the sunlight pressed gently against their skin, promising another sweltering Montana day. The air smelled faintly of dry grass and pine, and somewhere nearby, cicadas sang their sharp, steady rhythm like a pulse in the background of everything.

Beau opened the truck door with his usual care—guiding Y/N in with one hand at her back and a murmured, “Easy, darlin’.” He passed her a cold water bottle from the cup holder and waited until she was buckled in before shutting the door gently and walking around to his side.

The drive to the clinic was quiet, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze in, warm and dry and alive with the sound of summer.

Y/N sat with her hand curved over the top of her belly, thumb tracing slow arcs just beneath her ribcage. The baby had been more active that morning, almost like they knew the milestone they were approaching.

Thirty-six weeks.

The appointment room felt cooler than the world outside—sterile but familiar now. The hum of the AC, the faint scent of antiseptic, the worn posters on the wall listing signs of labor they already knew by heart. Beau helped her onto the table, settled beside her, and didn’t let go of her hand.

Dr. Harrell came in with his usual calm presence and a pleasant smile. “Morning, you two. Thirty-six weeks today—look at you go.”

Y/N managed a smile. “Somehow.”

“You’ve been doing more than ‘somehow,’” he said kindly, pulling up the ultrasound machine. “Let’s check on this little one.”

The gel was cool, but Y/N barely noticed. Because the second the wand touched her belly, the screen lit up—strong heartbeat, tiny curled limbs, spine like a string of pearls.

Harrell tilted the screen toward them. “Heartbeat’s steady. Movement’s solid. Still head down. And… look at that.”

Beau leaned closer, eyes wide. “What am I lookin’ at?”

“Hair,” Harrell said with a chuckle. “Not much, but it’s there.”

Y/N gave a soft, teary laugh. “Oh, this kid’s gonna come out ready to sweat.”

“Like their daddy,” Beau murmured.

Harrell wiped away the gel and leaned back with a pleased nod. “Everything’s looking excellent. No signs of labor yet, and your blood pressure is still holding. I’d like to see you again in three or four days. If we make it to thirty-seven without a flare-up, we’ll talk about birth plans.”

Y/N’s voice came out softer than she intended. “So we’re still in the clear?”

Harrell’s gaze was steady. “For now? Yes. You’re doing beautifully. Keep up the bedrest, drink water like it’s your job, and avoid the heat as much as possible. This baby is in no rush, and that’s what we want.”

Beau squeezed her hand. “Hear that? You’re doin’ everything right, darlin’.”

Dr. Harrell gave them both a final smile. “You’re almost there.”

Outside, the heat had risen, the pavement shimmering with that summer mirage glow. Cicadas still sang, and the truck was already warming up under the sun as they climbed back in.

Beau turned on the AC full blast before reaching for her hand again. “Told you we’d get here.”

Y/N leaned her head against the seat and let out a slow, hopeful breath.

“I believe you now.”

The sun was high overhead by the time they pulled into the drive, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as Beau eased the truck to a stop. A shimmer of heat danced just above the earth, and the scent of warm pine and sunbaked soil drifted in through the vents.

Margaret must’ve heard them coming—she opened the front door before Beau had even shifted into park. Her eyes immediately swept toward Y/N on the passenger side, and when she saw the relaxed smile on her daughter’s face, some of the tension around her shoulders slipped free.

Y/N waved gently through the glass. “All good, Mom. Still cookin’.”

Beau came around to help her out, one hand shielding her from the truck’s sun-hot metal, the other steady beneath her arm as she eased onto her feet. Her steps were slower now, heavier, but no longer burdened by fear. Not today.

“Feet up soon as we get inside,” he murmured.

“Bossy,” she teased, even as she leaned into him gratefully.

Inside, the air was cooler. The fans hummed gently in the background, and somewhere deeper in the house, Caleb babbled in that soft, musical language of his. The smell of sliced peaches and something yeasty and warm filled the air.

Emily was at the kitchen counter, flour-dusted and ponytailed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “We’ve got fresh rolls and peach iced tea,” she said. “You’re about to be very spoiled.”

“Wasn’t I already?” Y/N asked, smiling as she sank onto the couch with Beau’s help.

Caleb came toddling in from the hallway like he’d been summoned, squealing when he saw her. “Mama! Mama!”

He crashed gently into her legs, patting her knee with both hands, then resting his cheek against her shin with a long sigh like he’d just completed a grand journey.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered, stroking his soft curls.

Eliza followed a moment later, her arms full of construction paper and crayons. “We were working on the welcome home party!” she announced. “But I also had to stop a war between the frogs and the butterflies, so it’s not done yet.”

Beau raised his brows. “Frogs and butterflies, huh?”

“Frogs are tired of bein’ sat on. It’s a whole thing,” Eliza explained seriously as she set her papers down beside Y/N. “But we’re declaring a birthday truce.”

“A what?”

“Because the baby’s gonna have a birthday,” she said simply. “So everyone’s gotta behave.”

Beau nodded, glancing over at Y/N with a grin. “Queen Eliza’s law.”

Y/N reached for her daughter’s hand. “I’m honored, my little wolf.”

Margaret brought over a tray with two glasses of tea, a cold compress wrapped in a towel, and one of Y/N’s favorite snacks—salted crackers and peach slices. She set it down without a word, just smoothed her daughter’s hair once and kissed the top of her head.

Beau lowered himself onto the couch beside her, letting Y/N lean into his side, one arm draped gently over her shoulders. He took her tea in one hand, held it out to her.

“Cheers to thirty-six weeks, darlin’.”

She clinked her glass gently against his. “And the wild little tribe that got us here.”

Eliza, Caleb, and Emily piled onto the rug at their feet with crayons, blocks, and a fierce debate about which animal should get to name the baby first.

And all around them, the summer light poured through the windows in quiet golden sheets—hot, bright, and full of life.

The porch creaked softly beneath the weight of summer.

It was late—well past the hour most of the house had surrendered to sleep—but Y/N couldn’t make herself go to bed just yet. Not while the night was this still, this warm. The air smelled of dry earth and distant pine, and the stars above spilled across the sky in a quiet kind of majesty.

She sat in the rocking chair with her legs curled under her, wearing one of Beau’s soft old T-shirts and a light throw across her lap. The hum of cicadas carried faintly on the breeze, and the screen door clicked once behind her.

Beau stepped out, barefoot, with two mugs in hand.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked gently.

Y/N shook her head as he handed her one. “Didn’t want to. Not yet.”

He settled into the chair beside her, exhaling as he leaned back and stretched out his legs. “Fair enough. Kinda peaceful out here tonight.”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping the tea and letting the night hold them. There was no need to fill it. No need to explain.

Y/N glanced over at him.

His flannel pajama pants were slightly wrinkled, the buttons of his henley undone at the top. His hair was tousled, still damp from his shower, and in the soft golden porch light, she could see the curve of his cheekbone, the shadow of his jaw, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

And just like that—without warning—her heart squeezed.

“You’re a beautiful man,” she said quietly, almost more to herself than to him.

Beau looked over, startled by the softness in her voice. “What?”

She smiled, shy but sure. “You are. I don’t say it enough, but… I think it all the time. The way you carry yourself. The way you love us. The way you look at me—even now.”

He turned toward her more fully, brows knitting gently. “Darlin’…”

“I’m just—” She paused, blinking slowly. “I’m overwhelmed sometimes. Not by the baby or the aches or the waiting. But by you. That you’re mine. That I get to do this life with you.”

Beau didn’t speak at first. Just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands wrapped around the mug. Then, in that low, gravelly drawl of his, he said, “I’m the one who’s blessed.”

Y/N tilted her head, smiling.

“I get to wake up beside you,” he went on. “I get to raise our kids with you. Watch you carry life and still be the strongest damn woman I’ve ever known. If that ain’t beauty, I don’t know what is.”

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

Beau stood slowly and crossed the space between them. He knelt by her chair, set both mugs aside, and cupped her face in his hands.

“No matter what tomorrow brings,” he said, “you remember this: I wouldn’t trade this life with you for anything. Not even for peace and ease. Not even for simple.”

She nodded, brushing her fingers over his knuckles. “You’re everything, Beau.”

“And you’re my heart,” he murmured.

He kissed her then—soft, slow, long. The kind of kiss that didn’t lead anywhere but here.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N let out a trembling breath. “Okay. Now I can sleep.”

Beau helped her up, holding her steady as they stepped inside, hand-in-hand. The door clicked shut behind them, and the porch light stayed on just a little longer—like the house itself was watching over them.

The sunlight had barely crested the hill beyond the pasture when the household began to stir.

Well—most of the household.

From the living room sofa, Y/N watched with quiet amusement as Emily half-crouched, half-crawled across the rug in an effort to wrangle a shirtless, giggling Caleb, who was all legs and flailing joy, squealing as he darted behind the armchair with a wild cackle.

“Caleb Arlen!” Emily hollered, her tone dramatic but laughing. “Put those pajamas on!”

He shrieked in reply—something between a cackle and a war cry—and launched a stuffed dinosaur into the air like a victory salute.

Y/N, tucked beneath a soft knit throw and propped up by an arrangement of pillows the size of a small mountain, chuckled into her tea. “You might as well try to bathe lightning,” she offered helpfully.

Emily popped her head over the back of the chair. “He’s a feral creature!”

“A wild wolverine-child,” Y/N agreed with a grin, rubbing her belly. “He gets it from his daddy.”

“Hey now,” Beau’s voice called from the kitchen. “That boy’s got your stubborn streak.”

“And your escape artistry,” Emily added, reaching behind the chair and plucking Caleb up like a wiggly sack of potatoes. He kicked and giggled, trying to squirm away, but Emily managed to tug his pajama top over his head in one smooth, practiced motion.

Y/N watched with that soft, slow smile that came from deep inside—tired but content. Her body ached in every direction, her feet were swollen, and the baby was pressing hard against her ribs, but this—this scene—was everything.

Across the room, Eliza sat on the floor in her little plastic chair, working on what appeared to be a royal treaty between the Sky Wolves and the River Ducks. Crayon lines stretched across the page like ancient runes, punctuated by stars and arrows and looping swirls.

“Once the wolves agree to stop howling during duck naps,” she explained solemnly, “then we’ll finally have peace.”

Beau crossed behind her, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, and bent to kiss the top of her head. “You workin’ on international diplomacy again, little wolf?”

She nodded, pushing her curls out of her eyes. “It’s important work, Dad.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly. “She’s building a better world one treaty at a time.”

“And I’m over here negotiating pajamas with a future outlaw,” Emily muttered, finally managing to wrestle Caleb into the rest of his pajamas before he wriggled out of her lap and toddled off in search of new chaos.

Beau wandered into the living room with a plate in hand—toast with almond butter and a few slices of apple arranged carefully around the edge. He set it on the table next to Y/N with a wink. “For the queen of the wolves and mother of the wolverine.”

Y/N reached for his hand. “You’re too good to me.”

“I could say the same,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

Across the room, Eliza groaned. “Ew. Again?”

Caleb threw his dinosaur into the air and yelled, “Mama kiss!”

Emily flopped back onto the rug with a dramatic sigh. “This house is unhinged.”

“And I wouldn’t change a thing,” Y/N said, eyes full of love, hands resting over the steady movement of their unborn baby.

Because chaos or not, this was home. And every giggle, every tumble, every scribbled treaty and barefoot sprint across the hardwood was another moment stitched into the tapestry of the life they’d built.

The sun was already high when they arrived at the clinic, a dry heat clinging to the breeze like static. The fields beyond the town shimmered under the weight of the July sky, and even the birds moved slower—wings dragging just a little heavier through the heat.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat with one hand braced beneath her belly and the other wrapped around Beau’s fingers. The AC hummed faintly in the truck cab, doing its best to fend off the press of warmth. Caleb and Eliza had stayed home with Margaret and Emily—no chaos today, no glitter treaties or wolverine chases. Just the two of them, moving quietly toward another milestone.

Thirty-seven weeks.

Not full term. Not yet. But closer.

So close.

Inside the clinic, the air was crisp and sterile and too familiar by now. Dr. Harrell met them with that same calm steadiness he’d carried through every twist and turn, clipboard in hand, soft blue scrubs pressed clean.

“You made it,” he said with a smile, already scanning her chart. “How’re we feeling?”

“Like I’m fifty months pregnant,” Y/N muttered. “But still standing.”

Beau chuckled quietly, brushing his thumb along the side of her hand. “She’s been a champ.”

Y/N shot him a look. “Your child’s been doing somersaults at 3 a.m.”

Dr. Harrell laughed. “That’s a good sign—movement is still strong. Let’s check that blood pressure, do a quick scan, and we’ll talk next steps.”

The routine moved fast now—familiar, almost muscle memory. Pressure cuff. Gentle pulse. The gel and wand. Beau seated at her side, leaning in, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

The baby filled the screen. Big now. Tightly curled. Heart beating steady. A hiccup. A shift. A tiny hand brushing past its face.

Dr. Harrell nodded, adjusting the view. “Fluid levels are holding. Baby’s in a good position. And we’re still looking stable. Which means…”

Y/N held her breath.

“…you get to keep cooking a little longer.”

Beau let out a slow breath, almost a laugh. “We’ll take it.”

Dr. Harrell turned back to them. “We’re not quite ready to schedule anything, and I want to avoid induction as long as we’re still healthy. But from this point on, you’re technically considered early term. If you go into labor naturally, we won’t try to stop it.”

Y/N blinked. “So… this could happen any day now?”

“Could,” he agreed. “Or in another week or two. There’s no telling with babies. They tend to show up when they want.”

She nodded slowly. “So we wait.”

“You wait. You rest. You stay cool. You keep checking your pressure. And you call if anything feels off. But for now? You’ve made it to thirty-seven weeks. That’s no small thing.”

Dr. Harrell gave them a few more notes, a smile, and then left them in the room together, silence rushing in like water.

Beau was the first to speak. “You okay, darlin’?”

Y/N exhaled and nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

She looked down at her belly and then up at him, her eyes bright and tired and full of awe.

“I think… we’re really gonna meet this baby soon.”

Beau took her hand, kissed her knuckles. “I can’t wait to see you hold ’em.”

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]

Ooops! I thought I responded to this! I'm sorry!

And yes, exactly! While there's so little of it mentioned in the show itself (Dawson's Creek), I decided to take liberties and figured this was how it went for CJ. And well... it just made sense for me. My own little analysis of CJ and how he became the young man he was.

It's why they worked so well. She hasn't reached that stage; CJ has, and can help her along the way.

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Forty-Three 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: 3,494

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, parental estrangement

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: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

❗️Note:❗️My apologies for the lateness! Thank you for being patient!

Chapter Forty-Three: The Final Door

The weekend arrived faster than Y/N expected.

One minute she was elbow-deep in files, trying to keep her mind on anything but the impending dinner, and the next… she was standing in their bedroom, staring at the closet like it held the secret to surviving the evening.

CJ was behind her, fixing his collar in the mirror, watching her from the reflection. He hadn’t said much—he knew better. He could feel the nerves coming off her in waves, subtle but persistent, like the distant hum of static in a quiet room.

Y/N pulled out a dress, held it up, frowned, and hung it back again. Then another.

CJ turned, leaned against the dresser. “You could wear a paper bag and still be the most beautiful person in the room.”

She glanced at him, half amused, half strung tight. “That is not helpful.”

He smiled gently and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her from behind. His chin rested lightly on her shoulder, his voice low, calm. “You’re nervous.”

Y/N sighed, leaning slightly into his hold. “Of course I’m nervous. I’m meeting your parents. I want to make a good impression.”

CJ was quiet for a beat before he kissed her shoulder and said, “Their impression of you doesn’t matter to me.”

She turned slightly in his arms, brow furrowing. “CJ…”

He met her gaze, steady and soft. “I don’t mean that harshly. I just mean… you don’t have to earn your place. Not with them. You already have it—with me.”

Her eyes shimmered just a little at that.

He ran his hand slowly down her arm. “They’re going to see someone brilliant and kind and strong, whether they’re smart enough to know that or not. But none of it changes what I see. Who I love.”

Y/N exhaled, some of the pressure in her chest loosening.

“I just want them to like me.”

CJ nodded. “They probably will. But even if they don’t—I do. And I’m the one who asked you to marry me.”

She cracked a small smile, soft and grateful.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay,” he echoed, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Now pick the dress you feel best in. Not the one you think they’d like. We’re not auditioning for in-laws tonight—we’re showing them what happiness looks like.”

Y/N nodded slowly.

Then, finally, she reached for a dress. One that felt like her.

And CJ smiled—because that’s all he ever wanted.

CJ watched Y/N as she slipped the dress over her head—the one that hugged her curves just right and made her feel like herself. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. There was a softness in his gaze, a quiet reverence, the kind of look he reserved only for her. Like he was memorizing this exact moment: her half-turned in the mirror, tucking a curl behind her ear, worrying her lower lip as she adjusted the hem.

He stepped closer, his hand sliding to the small of her back.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, and there was no performance in it—just truth.

Y/N let out a breath, smiling faintly at his reflection. “Thanks. I’m… okay now, I think.”

CJ nodded, fingers brushing a loose thread from her sleeve. Then, as gently as ever, he asked, “How’s Gabby doing?”

Y/N’s smile widened slightly, more real this time. “Still kind of freaking out,” she said, turning to face him fully. “But also? She sent me like fifteen screenshots of baby clothes last night. Little beanies with ears. A onesie that says ‘I Bite’ with a cartoon bat on it.”

CJ chuckled under his breath. “Sounds about right.”

“She keeps swinging between panic and look at this adorable hat, and I think that’s actually a pretty solid sign she’s finding her footing.”

CJ tilted his head. “Miles?”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “Trying. Quiet. Really there for her. I think they’re gonna be okay.”

He nodded slowly, fingers grazing hers. “That’s good.”

For a moment, they just stood there in the low light of their bedroom, the tension of the upcoming dinner hanging in the background—but not suffocating. Not anymore.

Because whatever the night brought, this part was solid. They were solid.

And that was enough to carry them through.

CJ watched Y/N as she reached for her earrings, the subtle shift in her expression betraying the steadiness she tried to wear. He saw the slight crease at her brow, the way her shoulders held a little too much tension even when she smiled.

He reached for her hand, stopping her gently. Their fingers linked easily, like muscle memory.

“You’ve been checking on everyone else lately,” he said softly. “Miles. Gabby. Me.”

Y/N blinked at him, caught off guard but not unsettled.

CJ studied her for a moment longer, then added, his voice barely above a murmur, “How are you doing… about the letter?”

Her breath caught.

She looked away for a second, swallowing hard, then back at him. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

CJ didn’t rush her. Just stood there, hand in hers, waiting.

Y/N’s eyes flicked down to the floor before meeting his again. “Some days I feel like I’ve made peace with it. Like it helped. Other days… it just sits in my chest like a stone. I keep rereading it. Trying to feel something other than grief. Or guilt.”

CJ nodded once. His thumb traced a slow, grounding circle on her hand. “You don’t have to know how to feel. Not yet.”

“I keep thinking I should do something. Say something. But I also don’t want to open a door I’m not sure I want open.”

He stepped closer, gently resting his forehead against hers. “You don’t owe him anything. You know that, right?”

“I do,” she whispered. “But it still doesn’t make it easier.”

CJ nodded again, his voice low and steady. “Whatever you decide… or if you don’t decide anything at all—you won’t go through it alone.”

Her eyes shimmered, not with fresh tears, but with quiet understanding. Gratitude.

And for a moment, they just stayed there—holding each other in the hush before the evening began, the outside world kept at bay by the strength of the bond between them.

She wasn’t okay. Not fully.

But CJ would hold space for her until she was.

And she would hold onto him until she could breathe again.

They didn’t rush.

But they didn’t hesitate either.

Once Y/N slipped on her shoes and CJ reached for his keys, there was a quiet understanding between them—this wasn’t a night either of them wanted, not really. But it was a step CJ had chosen to take, not out of longing for reconnection, but out of clarity. Closure. A final page turned, not reopened.

Y/N slipped her hand into his as they walked down the hall toward the front door. CJ laced their fingers tightly, that familiar grip a silent reassurance. His hand was warm. Steady. Hers was grounding, like always.

Outside, the sun had already dipped below the buildings, the sky streaked in muted hues of rose and steel-blue. They crossed to the car without speaking, not out of discomfort—but out of peace. Everything they needed to say had been said in the quiet moments before.

Inside the car, CJ turned the ignition, the low hum of the engine filling the space. Y/N reached for the music, opting for something instrumental and soft, just enough to ease the nerves humming beneath her skin.

He glanced at her once as he pulled onto the road. “We don’t have to stay long.”

She smiled faintly. “We’ll stay as long as you want to.”

CJ reached across the console and gave her hand another squeeze. “Just long enough to show them I’m okay.”

And with that, they drove on—toward the restaurant, toward his parents, toward a conversation that didn’t need to fix anything.

Only to mark the fact that he no longer needed anything fixed.

The restaurant was understated but elegant, with warm lighting and soft music humming beneath the low murmur of conversations. The kind of place chosen for its neutrality—nice enough to honor the formality, impersonal enough not to feel like home.

CJ parked the car and stepped out, his hand immediately finding Y/N’s as they approached the entrance. His expression was composed, calm, but she could feel the tension radiating quietly through his grip. He wasn’t dreading the meeting.

He had simply already let it go.

Inside, the hostess guided them to a table by the window where CJ’s parents were already seated. His mother was the first to rise.

Y/N saw it immediately—the resemblance.

CJ had her eyes: that distinct shade of green that held a quiet storm behind it. Her hair was dirty blonde, pulled back into a low twist, and she wore a soft, neutral smile that didn’t quite mask her nerves. There was grace to her, yes, but also hesitance—like she knew she was walking on thin, brittle ice.

His father stood next, taller, broader. The man had CJ’s frame, his jawline, his quiet intensity—but none of the warmth. His eyes were darker, more guarded. The resemblance between father and son was unmistakable, but CJ carried a softer version of it. Kinder. Earned.

CJ didn’t falter. He stood tall, posture relaxed but unreadable.

“Mom. Dad,” he said simply, his voice smooth and measured. “This is Y/N.”

Y/N smiled politely and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

His mother took it with both hands, clasping gently. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Y/N blinked once, glancing at CJ in surprise.

But CJ didn’t flinch. “Y/N is my fiancée.”

The word hung between them for a beat.

Then his mother recovered quickly, her smile widening. “Well, congratulations. That’s wonderful.”

CJ gave a slight nod and turned toward the table. “Shall we?”

They all sat, menus opening with practiced ease. His mother tried, softly, to draw conversation—asking how they met, what work was like, if they’d set a date yet.

CJ answered with civility. Cordial, polite.

But he didn’t pretend.

The distance remained in his tone—not cold, but unmistakable. A line that had long since been drawn.

His father spoke little, offering the occasional nod or curt word. But it was his silence that said more than anything: they were here because CJ had allowed it. Not because they had earned it.

And CJ?

He was calm. Steady. Not bitter, not resentful.

Just finished.

Y/N sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his thigh beneath the table, and CJ’s hand slid over hers once, briefly.

It was done. This wasn’t about mending. It wasn’t about rebuilding.

It was simply bearing witness.

They were here to show the truth.

That CJ had built a life without them.

And he was happy.

The moment Y/N excused herself from the table, CJ knew it was coming.

His mother straightened slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of her wine glass, voice softening like she was trying to slide into something more intimate. “CJ,” she said gently, “you know, I’ve always wanted—”

He held up a hand, not unkindly, but with precision. His eyes stayed steady. Calm.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low but unmistakably firm. “Please.”

His mother blinked, surprised. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” he said, sharper now. “And I’m asking you not to.”

His father shifted beside her, letting out a low scoff. “That’s enough. You don’t speak to your mother like that.”

CJ turned his gaze to him, still level. Still composed.

“You don’t get to pull that card,” he said evenly. “Not after everything.”

His father’s jaw tensed. “Watch it.”

“No,” CJ said, and his voice was harder now—quiet, but unflinching. “I spent years watching it. Watching myself spiral while you both pretended everything was fine. While I drank myself into oblivion just to feel something, anything, and you told yourselves it was teenage mood swings.”

His mother paled, but CJ didn’t look away.

“You didn’t ask. You didn’t notice. You didn’t help.” His jaw flexed, his voice thickening. “I scheduled the doctor’s appointment myself. I said the word depression out loud for the first time alone. I got help. I climbed out.”

He leaned forward, fingers steepled in front of him.

“And you stayed gone.”

Neither of them spoke. His mother looked like she wanted to cry, but CJ didn’t flinch. His father looked like he wanted to speak again, but didn’t.

“I’m not here to rebuild anything,” CJ said. “I’m not here to make peace or pretend we’re close. I’m here so you can see what I became without you. Not to spite you. Just so you know.”

His voice softened—not with forgiveness, but clarity.

“I’m okay. I built a life. I found someone who sees me, who loves me. And that’s enough.”

He leaned back slowly in his chair, the silence stretching thick between them. Neither parent said a word.

They had come expecting something.

And instead, they found the son they hadn’t known.

The man they had lost.

And the distance he had no intention of closing.

Y/N stepped quietly around the corner from the hallway that led to the restrooms, her steps slowing as she heard CJ’s voice—low, firm, and brimming with something deeper than frustration. She didn’t catch every word, but the tone was enough. And the fragments—you stayed gone… I climbed out…—hit like cold water.

She hadn’t known it was that bad.

She stood still for a moment, not wanting to interrupt. Her heart ached, not just for CJ, but for the younger version of him who had been left to fend for himself. Who had clawed his way out of a pit with no one reaching back.

But then she straightened her shoulders and quietly stepped back to the table.

CJ saw her first. His expression shifted the second their eyes met—his posture relaxed a fraction, the line in his jaw easing just enough to let her in. Y/N smiled, small but warm, and slid back into her seat.

“I’m back,” she said gently, her tone light, trying to smooth over the tension that still crackled in the air. “Hope I didn’t miss dessert.”

His mother startled slightly, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin as if just remembering where she was. His father said nothing.

CJ didn’t look back at either of them. He turned toward Y/N, and that same tenderness he always held for her returned to his face like a tide coming home.

“Nope,” he said with a soft smile. “Perfect timing.”

Then he turned his attention briefly to his parents, his voice calm again. “Thanks for dinner.”

Simple. Final.

His mother opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. She nodded.

CJ reached for Y/N’s hand beneath the table, and she threaded her fingers through his.

And just like that, the conversation closed.

No fireworks. No dramatic exit.

Just a quiet door shutting gently behind them—one CJ had already walked through long ago.

Outside the restaurant, the summer night was warm but not stifling, a light breeze moving through the street as patrons trickled in and out of nearby storefronts. CJ and Y/N stepped out first, followed by his parents a moment later.

The four of them stood together in a loose, awkward circle near the curb, the air thick with unspoken things. His mother offered a faint, strained smile as she reached out, touching CJ’s arm gently—just for a moment.

“It was good to see you,” she said, her voice thin with effort.

CJ nodded once, courteous but unmoved. “Take care.”

His father muttered a quiet, indistinct farewell, then looked away, clearly done with the evening.

Y/N gave a polite smile, soft but distant, and CJ’s arm shifted behind her, instinctively guiding her toward the car.

He paused just before they left, turning back, gaze firm but not hostile. “Please don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t try to follow up. I meant what I said.”

There was no bite in his voice. No need for it. Just truth.

Final and immovable.

His mother opened her mouth, but CJ had already turned, his hand resting lightly at the small of Y/N’s back as they continued toward the car.

Neither parent followed.

He opened the door for Y/N like he always did, waiting until she was settled before closing it gently behind her and moving around to the driver’s side.

Once inside, he took a quiet breath and started the engine.

They pulled away from the curb without looking back.

No waving. No second glances.

Just the hum of the tires on the road and the final, full stop of a chapter that never quite had a middle—just a distant beginning and a long, quiet end.

Y/N reached across the console and rested her hand over his. He didn’t say anything.

He just laced his fingers through hers and drove them home.

They drove in silence for a while, the city lights slipping past the windows like soft, golden ribbons. CJ’s grip on the wheel was relaxed now, his jaw no longer set in stone. The tension had drained from his shoulders, bit by bit, with every passing block.

Y/N sat quietly beside him, watching the gentle play of shadows across his face—the slight furrow still lingering between his brows, the calm behind his eyes. She didn’t rush her words. She let the quiet settle first, made sure it wasn’t still raw.

Then, softly, she said, “I heard.”

CJ’s eyes flicked toward her briefly before returning to the road. His expression didn’t shift much, but she could feel it—the way his breath caught, just slightly.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she added quickly. “I came back and… I caught the end of it. Enough to realize…” Her voice lowered. “I didn’t know, CJ. Not all of it.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept driving, one hand still laced with hers across the center console. But she felt the faint squeeze of his fingers.

“I didn’t want you to carry it,” he said finally. “It’s not your weight.”

“But it’s part of your story,” Y/N replied. “It shaped you. And I love all of you, not just the parts you hand over in daylight.”

That made him glance at her again—longer this time. His expression softened, something tender flickering behind his steady green eyes.

“I was so angry for so long,” he admitted. “And then I just… stopped expecting anything from them. I stopped needing it.”

Y/N nodded, quiet. “You still deserved better.”

He smiled faintly, a little sad, a little proud. “I got better.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles gently. “Yeah. You did.”

And he had.

No more pretending.

No more silence.

Just truth—and the woman beside him who loved him through every scar, seen or unseen.

They pulled into the driveway, the soft crunch of tires on gravel giving way to stillness as CJ turned off the ignition. The headlights faded, leaving the car in gentle shadow, lit only by the faint glow from the porch light ahead.

Neither of them moved at first.

Y/N was quiet beside him, her fingers still curled around his. But as CJ went to open the door, she reached across and stopped him with a hand on his arm.

He turned, brows drawing together slightly, surprised by the sudden pause.

Then he saw her face—open, tender, full of quiet intent—and the confusion faded from his features. His expression softened, something gentle blooming behind his eyes.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, almost reverent. “Come here.”

He didn’t hesitate. He unbuckled slowly and leaned in, and Y/N met him halfway. Her hands cupped his face with a kind of reverence that caught him off guard—not rushed, not fueled by desire, but something deeper. Something grounding.

She kissed him softly, fully, like she needed him to feel what she couldn’t quite say aloud.

When they pulled back, their foreheads touched.

“I love you,” she whispered. “All of you. The boy who suffered. The man who healed. The person who never stopped trying.”

CJ’s eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, he just breathed her in.

“I know tonight was for you,” she murmured. “But it mattered to me, too. To see you. To understand you better. And I just… I needed you to know.”

He opened his eyes slowly, searching hers, his voice barely audible. “You’re the only thing that ever made it make sense.”

Her lips trembled into a smile as she kissed him again—deeper now, not rushed but certain. A kiss that promised comfort and love and everything that had never been given to him before.

She was trying to show him—with her body, her heart, her soul—that he wasn’t alone anymore.

That he never would be again.

And when they stepped out of the car and walked to the apartment, it was with no lingering weight from the past—only the quiet strength of two people who had chosen each other, again and again.

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]

Haha, I know, I know! Sooner or later, I'm going to have to get Y/N to do something!

In real life, we really struggle with that, don't we? But in a story, sooner or later, it'll need that neat bowtie to tie it off.

I just can't decide which way to go, haha! Oops. 😅

And yes... Gabby loves that grumpy tech guy. And Miles does love her. They're our contrarian mix that somehow just... work! 🥰

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Forty-Four 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: 3,215

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, parental estrangement

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: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Forty-Four: Holding Boundaries

That night, long after the quiet settled and the world outside their bedroom faded into darkness, Y/N stirred.

CJ’s arm was draped around her, protective even in sleep. His breath brushed the back of her neck in a slow, steady rhythm. The heat of his body, the security of his embrace, should’ve lulled her back to sleep—but her mind wouldn’t quiet.

She lay there, thinking about the dinner. About CJ’s parents. About the quiet firmness with which he had held his boundaries—how he never raised his voice, but didn’t yield either. He had made it clear. They didn’t get to rewrite history. They didn’t get to pretend they hadn’t failed him.

He had drawn his line, and walked away clean.

And she admired that.

More than admired it—she ached with the difference.

Because she hadn’t done that with her father. Not really. Not yet. She’d read the letter a dozen times in her mind without even opening the envelope. She kept circling the question like it was a wound she couldn’t decide whether to press on or ignore.

CJ had made his peace. Had built a life without them, and was… okay.

She wondered if she could ever get there.

She realized then that she wasn’t still hoping for her father’s approval. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

What lingered wasn’t hope.

It was grief.

Grief for the father he could’ve been.

Grief for the childhood she didn’t get to have.

And perhaps, worst of all, grief for the part of her that still—deep down—wanted it to matter. Wanted an apology to mean something. Wanted him to try… even if she didn’t know whether she could forgive him.

Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry.

Instead, she turned slightly, just enough to see CJ’s face in the dim light that spilled in from the hallway. His features were relaxed in sleep, his jaw slack, his brow soft. One of his hands still rested over her stomach, a quiet, steady weight that grounded her.

She watched him for a long moment.

This man. This incredible man.

The same one who defended her that day in The Stand when her father had come to shame her. The same one who met that storm head-on, who refused to back down even when it wasn’t his fight.

Except, somehow, it was.

Because it was always him, now.

CJ didn’t try to fix her. He didn’t push her. He just stayed—solid, calm, present.

He didn’t need her to be okay.

He just needed her to be real.

And she realized then—she didn’t have to figure it all out yet.

She didn’t have to make peace with her father tonight. Didn’t have to open that letter. Didn’t have to forgive or forget or decide what came next.

She could grieve.

And CJ would still be there in the morning.

Holding her through all of it.

Because unlike the man who gave her life and vanished at the first sign of discomfort—CJ never once asked her to be anything but herself.

And that?

That was the kind of love that changed everything.

The soft morning light bled through the curtains, casting a faint golden glow across the bedroom floor. CJ stood by the dresser, slowly buttoning his shirt, while Y/N stood at the mirror near the window, twisting her hair up in a clip with that familiar grace that always stole his breath a little.

She was quiet, humming something under her breath—absent, peaceful.

CJ watched her reflection for a second too long before turning back to his shirt. His hands moved with practiced ease, but his thoughts lingered somewhere else entirely.

Last night.

Dinner.

His parents.

He had said everything he’d meant to say. He had kept his voice even, his spine straight, his boundaries clear. No more pretending. No more swallowing the ache just to keep things polite. He hadn’t needed them to understand. He hadn’t even wanted reconciliation.

He’d just needed them to know.

That he had survived them.

That he had built a life without them.

That he was okay.

Better than okay—because he had Y/N. He had The Stand. He had purpose. Love. Home.

Still, he hadn’t expected the kind of weight that pressed against his chest this morning. Not regret—he didn’t regret the confrontation. But a strange hollowness. Like laying something to rest. Like closing a book he had stopped reading years ago, only now bothering to turn the final page.

He drew in a slow breath, fastening the last button at his cuff.

Across the room, Y/N clipped her hair back and glanced at him in the mirror. Their eyes met. She gave him a soft smile—faint, but warm—and something in his chest eased.

He didn’t need his mother to say she was sorry.

He didn’t need his father to finally step into the role he'd never played.

What he needed… what he had—was right here, brushing moisturizer into her cheek, yawning a little as she blinked at her reflection, the curve of her bare shoulder catching the morning light.

She wasn’t his parent. She wasn’t responsible for the hurt they left behind.

But loving her made it easier to believe in the kind of unconditional love he once thought didn’t exist.

And if that ache lingered sometimes?

Well, it only reminded him how far he’d come.

CJ crossed the room and came up behind her, resting his hands gently on her hips. Y/N stilled, smiling a little wider at his touch.

“You okay?” she asked, not turning around.

He leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Just… glad I have you.”

She turned, just enough to look over her shoulder at him, her eyes searching his.

“I’m glad I have you too.”

He smiled then, quiet and real, and pressed another kiss to her skin—then reached for the watch on the dresser and said nothing else.

He didn’t need to.

Not anymore.

They arrived at The Stand just after eight, the morning sun already climbing steadily across the sky. The building cast a long shadow over the sidewalk as CJ pulled into his usual spot. Y/N sat quietly beside him, hands resting on her thighs, her head tilted just enough to catch the breeze from the A/C vent. The car engine ticked as it cooled.

Neither of them moved to get out right away.

CJ turned the key in the ignition, silencing the low hum of the car, and turned to her. “You good?”

Y/N gave a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah,” she said. “Just… gathering myself.”

He nodded, reaching across the console to squeeze her hand. “I’ve got you,” he said simply.

“I know,” she murmured, then kissed his knuckles.

They exited the car, their steps in sync as they approached the building. CJ’s hand hovered near hers without touching it. They didn’t need to hold hands right now. The connection was there in the quiet between them.

Inside, the air was cool, humming with the low sounds of early work chatter and the distant ringing of phones. A few staffers looked up and offered quick hellos. CJ returned them with nods, his professional mask slipping into place as he shifted into work mode.

Y/N headed toward her desk, pausing only to glance back at him once.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

Then they parted for the day, just as they always did—carrying the weight of the world a little more lightly than the day before.

Gabby popped a piece of gum into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she stared at the screen in front of her. The tech system was loading slow this morning, which gave her more time than she needed to overanalyze the blinking cursor and the cold coffee beside her.

But she wasn’t freaking out.

Not like she had been a few days ago.

She glanced up just as Miles walked by, holding two mugs. He didn’t say anything—just set the one with the rainbow cat sticker down beside her without meeting her eyes. The smell hit her first: chamomile and cinnamon, her favorite. No fanfare. No smirk. Just that quiet kind of gesture he was becoming known for with her.

When he walked away, she watched him go.

Yeah. They were doing okay.

She picked up the mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. Her body still felt off—her stomach didn’t exactly know how to behave lately, and she had another appointment coming up—but the sheer panic of I’m pregnant had softened.

It helped that Miles hadn’t run.

He hadn’t even blinked hard.

He’d sat with her. Held her. Whispered, okay, then that’s what we’ll do.

And he hadn’t backed down since.

She still hadn’t told anyone else. Not yet. Just Priya, CJ, and Y/N. But there was something comforting in that small circle—how they’d rallied around her quietly, the way she had for them so many times without even realizing it.

Gabby sipped her tea, watching the cursor blink back to life on the monitor. Her stomach fluttered—not nerves this time, but something unfamiliar.

Hope.

Then she felt it—that unmistakable presence—before she even saw him. Miles had circled back, hovering just at the corner of her cubicle. He cleared his throat.

“Need anything?”

Gabby looked up, brow arching. “Besides a full-body massage, a foot rub, a ten-hour nap, and someone else’s bladder? Nah. I’m good.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “I can manage one of those.”

She smirked, her hand drifting protectively across her stomach. “Don’t tempt me.”

Miles lingered for a second longer, then gave a little nod. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And just like that, he was gone again—off to whatever backend system needed debugging or data log needed untangling.

Gabby leaned back in her chair.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe there were a million hard conversations and sleepless nights ahead.

But damn if she didn’t already love that weird, grumpy tech guy more than she knew what to do with.

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she was drowning.

She felt… solid.

And maybe, just maybe, a little excited.

From her small office window, tucked just off the main hallway, Priya could see most of the floor. She didn’t need to linger long to notice the shifts—she was good at reading people. Always had been. It wasn’t about expressions or tone, not really. It was the energy they moved with. The silences they let stretch. The pauses between sentences.

Her gaze moved first to CJ, just stepping out of his office with a folder in hand, his mouth set in that familiar line of focused calm. But there was a softness to him this morning. The kind that only showed when he was around Y/N.

Priya followed the natural turn of his head—how his eyes tracked toward the far side of the room, toward the desk where Y/N was laughing quietly at something on her screen. He didn’t interrupt her. Just stood there for a moment, as if gathering strength, then moved on.

They were steady, those two. Solid in a way that wasn’t flashy or dramatic. It had taken them a long time to find that rhythm, and it showed. Priya had seen the storm Y/N had been weathering these past few weeks—how the letter from her father had scraped open old wounds, how she carried grief in the curve of her shoulders some days—but CJ had become a constant.

He didn’t hover. He anchored.

Priya respected that.

Her gaze drifted next to Gabby, who was bouncing one leg furiously under her desk while attempting to fill out a requisition form. The moment Miles passed her with a glance and a soft smile, the bounce slowed. Gabby rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but her lips tugged into a grin all the same.

They were different, wildly so. Chaotic color and measured code. But somehow it worked.

Priya saw the way Miles looked at Gabby when he thought no one was watching—like she was gravity and sunlight and maybe a little dangerous. He’d been softer lately. Still guarded, still a little surly, but there was less armor. More warmth.

She turned from the window and sat back in her chair, letting the distant murmur of voices and footsteps rise and fall around her like waves.

It was strange, sometimes, to be the still point in the middle of so much motion. But she didn’t mind. Watching them—all of them—felt a little like witnessing a garden finally bloom after a long winter.

There was healing here.

And even if no one said it aloud, she could feel the quiet threads of love being spun tighter by the day—between CJ and Y/N, between Gabby and Miles, between all of them.

It made her think of Raja.

Her lips curved, slow and thoughtful.

She reached for her tea.

Let them grow.

Let them bloom.

She would be here.

Always watching. Always steady.

And ready to catch them, if they fell.

Priya’s tea had gone lukewarm, but she didn’t mind. The ceramic cup was warm enough between her palms, grounding.

She leaned back in her chair, the gentle hum of The Stand’s rhythm moving just beyond her door. Out there, people bustled—CJ with his quiet intensity, Gabby and Miles finding their footing, Y/N slowly rising from the emotional ash of her father’s letter.

And here she was. Still. Steady. Quietly content.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Raja.

They’d been together for years now. Not flashy years. Not whirlwind or fairytale. Just real, lived-in time. Soft Sunday mornings with mismatched socks and slow breakfasts. Quiet phone calls after long days. Check-ins that didn’t feel like obligations, just rhythms. Rituals.

They hadn’t moved in together. There was no ring. No pressure.

And that, to Priya, was perfect.

Not because she didn’t want those things someday—marriage, a home, a life built side by side—but because there was no rush. No ticking clock. No manufactured milestones.

Raja understood that about her.

He never pushed. Never hinted. Never made her feel like she was delaying something that needed to happen on anyone else’s timeline.

He respected her rhythm.

He respected her.

That was the thing about love, she thought. It didn’t always have to blaze like fire or sweep you off your feet. Sometimes it could be the quiet warmth of knowing someone would wait as long as you needed. Would walk beside you at your pace, not drag you toward theirs.

Raja made her feel seen, understood in the small, specific ways that mattered most. He remembered how she liked her tea—strong, unsweetened. Knew that when she got quiet, it wasn’t always sadness—it was thinking. Processing.

He asked questions, not to fix, but to know her better.

He’d told her once, years ago, “There’s no deadline for forever.”

She hadn’t needed poetry. She’d needed that.

Priya smiled faintly at the memory, thumb brushing along the edge of her mug. Their relationship wasn’t defined by grand declarations. It was woven in the silences. The choices. The patience.

And it made her heart ache, in the gentlest way, that she was so deeply loved.

She glanced again toward the window, where the rest of The Stand lived and breathed in motion.

Everyone was learning what love looked like in their own language.

CJ, learning to speak with presence instead of perfection.

Y/N, learning that trust didn’t require certainty.

Gabby, learning that fear didn’t mean she wasn’t brave.

And Miles… learning that he was worthy of love at all.

Priya set her tea down and straightened her posture, heart light.

Whatever storms came—and she knew they would—she trusted them to weather it.

After all, love didn’t have to be loud to be unshakable.

Sometimes, it just had to be true.

The sun was dipping low by the time CJ pulled the car out of The Stand’s parking lot. The golden hour light stretched long across the windshield, washing everything in soft amber. The radio played quietly—instrumental, low, just enough to fill the silence.

Y/N sat with her legs crossed at the ankle, hands curled in her lap. She hadn't spoken much since they'd left the building. CJ didn’t press. He knew her silences well enough by now. Some were tired. Some were thoughtful. This one… was something else.

They were halfway home when she finally spoke, her voice soft, so quiet it nearly got lost under the hum of tires on pavement.

“I envy you.”

CJ’s hand twitched slightly on the steering wheel, his eyes flicking toward her. “What?”

She didn’t look at him. Just kept her gaze out the window, watching the way the last of the light spilled over rooftops.

“I envy how strong you were… with your parents,” she said. “The way you held those boundaries. The way you didn’t let them pull you back in. I wish I could be like that.”

He was quiet for a moment, the weight of her words settling between them.

“You think it was strength?” he asked gently, his voice a little rough.

Y/N turned to look at him. “It looked like strength to me.”

CJ’s jaw tensed, then relaxed. “It didn’t feel like strength. It felt like survival. Like if I didn’t draw that line… I was going to lose myself again.”

The car slowed as he turned onto a quieter street. Trees blurred past, their leaves fluttering in the warm evening breeze.

“I tried for a long time to get them to see me,” he continued. “To love me in a way that made sense. To show up. But they never did. And eventually… I just stopped hoping they would.”

He glanced at her, catching her eyes briefly before looking back at the road.

“It wasn’t brave. It was necessary.”

Y/N exhaled, a shaky breath that betrayed the emotion she’d been holding.

“I’m still hoping,” she whispered. “Even after everything. After the letter. After the pain. There’s still some part of me that… wants it to be different.”

CJ reached over and took her hand in his, warm and sure.

“That doesn’t make you weak,” he said quietly. “It makes you human.”

They drove in silence for a few more blocks, the air between them heavy but safe. Then, softly, Y/N spoke again.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let it go. Not like you did.”

CJ brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Then don’t,” he said simply. “Not until you’re ready. And if you never are—that’s okay too. You don’t owe him forgiveness. Or closure. You only owe yourself peace.”

She looked at him then, eyes shimmering—not with tears, but with something deeper. Something like gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For loving me exactly as I am.”

He smiled, eyes soft.

“Always.”

And with her hand still in his, they drove the rest of the way home together—no longer in silence, but in the kind of quiet that holds more than words ever could.

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 Forty-Four 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: 3,215

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, parental estrangement

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: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Forty-Four: Holding Boundaries

That night, long after the quiet settled and the world outside their bedroom faded into darkness, Y/N stirred.

CJ’s arm was draped around her, protective even in sleep. His breath brushed the back of her neck in a slow, steady rhythm. The heat of his body, the security of his embrace, should’ve lulled her back to sleep—but her mind wouldn’t quiet.

She lay there, thinking about the dinner. About CJ’s parents. About the quiet firmness with which he had held his boundaries—how he never raised his voice, but didn’t yield either. He had made it clear. They didn’t get to rewrite history. They didn’t get to pretend they hadn’t failed him.

He had drawn his line, and walked away clean.

And she admired that.

More than admired it—she ached with the difference.

Because she hadn’t done that with her father. Not really. Not yet. She’d read the letter a dozen times in her mind without even opening the envelope. She kept circling the question like it was a wound she couldn’t decide whether to press on or ignore.

CJ had made his peace. Had built a life without them, and was… okay.

She wondered if she could ever get there.

She realized then that she wasn’t still hoping for her father’s approval. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

What lingered wasn’t hope.

It was grief.

Grief for the father he could’ve been.

Grief for the childhood she didn’t get to have.

And perhaps, worst of all, grief for the part of her that still—deep down—wanted it to matter. Wanted an apology to mean something. Wanted him to try… even if she didn’t know whether she could forgive him.

Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry.

Instead, she turned slightly, just enough to see CJ’s face in the dim light that spilled in from the hallway. His features were relaxed in sleep, his jaw slack, his brow soft. One of his hands still rested over her stomach, a quiet, steady weight that grounded her.

She watched him for a long moment.

This man. This incredible man.

The same one who defended her that day in The Stand when her father had come to shame her. The same one who met that storm head-on, who refused to back down even when it wasn’t his fight.

Except, somehow, it was.

Because it was always him, now.

CJ didn’t try to fix her. He didn’t push her. He just stayed—solid, calm, present.

He didn’t need her to be okay.

He just needed her to be real.

And she realized then—she didn’t have to figure it all out yet.

She didn’t have to make peace with her father tonight. Didn’t have to open that letter. Didn’t have to forgive or forget or decide what came next.

She could grieve.

And CJ would still be there in the morning.

Holding her through all of it.

Because unlike the man who gave her life and vanished at the first sign of discomfort—CJ never once asked her to be anything but herself.

And that?

That was the kind of love that changed everything.

The soft morning light bled through the curtains, casting a faint golden glow across the bedroom floor. CJ stood by the dresser, slowly buttoning his shirt, while Y/N stood at the mirror near the window, twisting her hair up in a clip with that familiar grace that always stole his breath a little.

She was quiet, humming something under her breath—absent, peaceful.

CJ watched her reflection for a second too long before turning back to his shirt. His hands moved with practiced ease, but his thoughts lingered somewhere else entirely.

Last night.

Dinner.

His parents.

He had said everything he’d meant to say. He had kept his voice even, his spine straight, his boundaries clear. No more pretending. No more swallowing the ache just to keep things polite. He hadn’t needed them to understand. He hadn’t even wanted reconciliation.

He’d just needed them to know.

That he had survived them.

That he had built a life without them.

That he was okay.

Better than okay—because he had Y/N. He had The Stand. He had purpose. Love. Home.

Still, he hadn’t expected the kind of weight that pressed against his chest this morning. Not regret—he didn’t regret the confrontation. But a strange hollowness. Like laying something to rest. Like closing a book he had stopped reading years ago, only now bothering to turn the final page.

He drew in a slow breath, fastening the last button at his cuff.

Across the room, Y/N clipped her hair back and glanced at him in the mirror. Their eyes met. She gave him a soft smile—faint, but warm—and something in his chest eased.

He didn’t need his mother to say she was sorry.

He didn’t need his father to finally step into the role he'd never played.

What he needed… what he had—was right here, brushing moisturizer into her cheek, yawning a little as she blinked at her reflection, the curve of her bare shoulder catching the morning light.

She wasn’t his parent. She wasn’t responsible for the hurt they left behind.

But loving her made it easier to believe in the kind of unconditional love he once thought didn’t exist.

And if that ache lingered sometimes?

Well, it only reminded him how far he’d come.

CJ crossed the room and came up behind her, resting his hands gently on her hips. Y/N stilled, smiling a little wider at his touch.

“You okay?” she asked, not turning around.

He leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Just… glad I have you.”

She turned, just enough to look over her shoulder at him, her eyes searching his.

“I’m glad I have you too.”

He smiled then, quiet and real, and pressed another kiss to her skin—then reached for the watch on the dresser and said nothing else.

He didn’t need to.

Not anymore.

They arrived at The Stand just after eight, the morning sun already climbing steadily across the sky. The building cast a long shadow over the sidewalk as CJ pulled into his usual spot. Y/N sat quietly beside him, hands resting on her thighs, her head tilted just enough to catch the breeze from the A/C vent. The car engine ticked as it cooled.

Neither of them moved to get out right away.

CJ turned the key in the ignition, silencing the low hum of the car, and turned to her. “You good?”

Y/N gave a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah,” she said. “Just… gathering myself.”

He nodded, reaching across the console to squeeze her hand. “I’ve got you,” he said simply.

“I know,” she murmured, then kissed his knuckles.

They exited the car, their steps in sync as they approached the building. CJ’s hand hovered near hers without touching it. They didn’t need to hold hands right now. The connection was there in the quiet between them.

Inside, the air was cool, humming with the low sounds of early work chatter and the distant ringing of phones. A few staffers looked up and offered quick hellos. CJ returned them with nods, his professional mask slipping into place as he shifted into work mode.

Y/N headed toward her desk, pausing only to glance back at him once.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

Then they parted for the day, just as they always did—carrying the weight of the world a little more lightly than the day before.

Gabby popped a piece of gum into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she stared at the screen in front of her. The tech system was loading slow this morning, which gave her more time than she needed to overanalyze the blinking cursor and the cold coffee beside her.

But she wasn’t freaking out.

Not like she had been a few days ago.

She glanced up just as Miles walked by, holding two mugs. He didn’t say anything—just set the one with the rainbow cat sticker down beside her without meeting her eyes. The smell hit her first: chamomile and cinnamon, her favorite. No fanfare. No smirk. Just that quiet kind of gesture he was becoming known for with her.

When he walked away, she watched him go.

Yeah. They were doing okay.

She picked up the mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. Her body still felt off—her stomach didn’t exactly know how to behave lately, and she had another appointment coming up—but the sheer panic of I’m pregnant had softened.

It helped that Miles hadn’t run.

He hadn’t even blinked hard.

He’d sat with her. Held her. Whispered, okay, then that’s what we’ll do.

And he hadn’t backed down since.

She still hadn’t told anyone else. Not yet. Just Priya, CJ, and Y/N. But there was something comforting in that small circle—how they’d rallied around her quietly, the way she had for them so many times without even realizing it.

Gabby sipped her tea, watching the cursor blink back to life on the monitor. Her stomach fluttered—not nerves this time, but something unfamiliar.

Hope.

Then she felt it—that unmistakable presence—before she even saw him. Miles had circled back, hovering just at the corner of her cubicle. He cleared his throat.

“Need anything?”

Gabby looked up, brow arching. “Besides a full-body massage, a foot rub, a ten-hour nap, and someone else’s bladder? Nah. I’m good.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “I can manage one of those.”

She smirked, her hand drifting protectively across her stomach. “Don’t tempt me.”

Miles lingered for a second longer, then gave a little nod. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And just like that, he was gone again—off to whatever backend system needed debugging or data log needed untangling.

Gabby leaned back in her chair.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe there were a million hard conversations and sleepless nights ahead.

But damn if she didn’t already love that weird, grumpy tech guy more than she knew what to do with.

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like she was drowning.

She felt… solid.

And maybe, just maybe, a little excited.

From her small office window, tucked just off the main hallway, Priya could see most of the floor. She didn’t need to linger long to notice the shifts—she was good at reading people. Always had been. It wasn’t about expressions or tone, not really. It was the energy they moved with. The silences they let stretch. The pauses between sentences.

Her gaze moved first to CJ, just stepping out of his office with a folder in hand, his mouth set in that familiar line of focused calm. But there was a softness to him this morning. The kind that only showed when he was around Y/N.

Priya followed the natural turn of his head—how his eyes tracked toward the far side of the room, toward the desk where Y/N was laughing quietly at something on her screen. He didn’t interrupt her. Just stood there for a moment, as if gathering strength, then moved on.

They were steady, those two. Solid in a way that wasn’t flashy or dramatic. It had taken them a long time to find that rhythm, and it showed. Priya had seen the storm Y/N had been weathering these past few weeks—how the letter from her father had scraped open old wounds, how she carried grief in the curve of her shoulders some days—but CJ had become a constant.

He didn’t hover. He anchored.

Priya respected that.

Her gaze drifted next to Gabby, who was bouncing one leg furiously under her desk while attempting to fill out a requisition form. The moment Miles passed her with a glance and a soft smile, the bounce slowed. Gabby rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but her lips tugged into a grin all the same.

They were different, wildly so. Chaotic color and measured code. But somehow it worked.

Priya saw the way Miles looked at Gabby when he thought no one was watching—like she was gravity and sunlight and maybe a little dangerous. He’d been softer lately. Still guarded, still a little surly, but there was less armor. More warmth.

She turned from the window and sat back in her chair, letting the distant murmur of voices and footsteps rise and fall around her like waves.

It was strange, sometimes, to be the still point in the middle of so much motion. But she didn’t mind. Watching them—all of them—felt a little like witnessing a garden finally bloom after a long winter.

There was healing here.

And even if no one said it aloud, she could feel the quiet threads of love being spun tighter by the day—between CJ and Y/N, between Gabby and Miles, between all of them.

It made her think of Raja.

Her lips curved, slow and thoughtful.

She reached for her tea.

Let them grow.

Let them bloom.

She would be here.

Always watching. Always steady.

And ready to catch them, if they fell.

Priya’s tea had gone lukewarm, but she didn’t mind. The ceramic cup was warm enough between her palms, grounding.

She leaned back in her chair, the gentle hum of The Stand’s rhythm moving just beyond her door. Out there, people bustled—CJ with his quiet intensity, Gabby and Miles finding their footing, Y/N slowly rising from the emotional ash of her father’s letter.

And here she was. Still. Steady. Quietly content.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Raja.

They’d been together for years now. Not flashy years. Not whirlwind or fairytale. Just real, lived-in time. Soft Sunday mornings with mismatched socks and slow breakfasts. Quiet phone calls after long days. Check-ins that didn’t feel like obligations, just rhythms. Rituals.

They hadn’t moved in together. There was no ring. No pressure.

And that, to Priya, was perfect.

Not because she didn’t want those things someday—marriage, a home, a life built side by side—but because there was no rush. No ticking clock. No manufactured milestones.

Raja understood that about her.

He never pushed. Never hinted. Never made her feel like she was delaying something that needed to happen on anyone else’s timeline.

He respected her rhythm.

He respected her.

That was the thing about love, she thought. It didn’t always have to blaze like fire or sweep you off your feet. Sometimes it could be the quiet warmth of knowing someone would wait as long as you needed. Would walk beside you at your pace, not drag you toward theirs.

Raja made her feel seen, understood in the small, specific ways that mattered most. He remembered how she liked her tea—strong, unsweetened. Knew that when she got quiet, it wasn’t always sadness—it was thinking. Processing.

He asked questions, not to fix, but to know her better.

He’d told her once, years ago, “There’s no deadline for forever.”

She hadn’t needed poetry. She’d needed that.

Priya smiled faintly at the memory, thumb brushing along the edge of her mug. Their relationship wasn’t defined by grand declarations. It was woven in the silences. The choices. The patience.

And it made her heart ache, in the gentlest way, that she was so deeply loved.

She glanced again toward the window, where the rest of The Stand lived and breathed in motion.

Everyone was learning what love looked like in their own language.

CJ, learning to speak with presence instead of perfection.

Y/N, learning that trust didn’t require certainty.

Gabby, learning that fear didn’t mean she wasn’t brave.

And Miles… learning that he was worthy of love at all.

Priya set her tea down and straightened her posture, heart light.

Whatever storms came—and she knew they would—she trusted them to weather it.

After all, love didn’t have to be loud to be unshakable.

Sometimes, it just had to be true.

The sun was dipping low by the time CJ pulled the car out of The Stand’s parking lot. The golden hour light stretched long across the windshield, washing everything in soft amber. The radio played quietly—instrumental, low, just enough to fill the silence.

Y/N sat with her legs crossed at the ankle, hands curled in her lap. She hadn't spoken much since they'd left the building. CJ didn’t press. He knew her silences well enough by now. Some were tired. Some were thoughtful. This one… was something else.

They were halfway home when she finally spoke, her voice soft, so quiet it nearly got lost under the hum of tires on pavement.

“I envy you.”

CJ’s hand twitched slightly on the steering wheel, his eyes flicking toward her. “What?”

She didn’t look at him. Just kept her gaze out the window, watching the way the last of the light spilled over rooftops.

“I envy how strong you were… with your parents,” she said. “The way you held those boundaries. The way you didn’t let them pull you back in. I wish I could be like that.”

He was quiet for a moment, the weight of her words settling between them.

“You think it was strength?” he asked gently, his voice a little rough.

Y/N turned to look at him. “It looked like strength to me.”

CJ’s jaw tensed, then relaxed. “It didn’t feel like strength. It felt like survival. Like if I didn’t draw that line… I was going to lose myself again.”

The car slowed as he turned onto a quieter street. Trees blurred past, their leaves fluttering in the warm evening breeze.

“I tried for a long time to get them to see me,” he continued. “To love me in a way that made sense. To show up. But they never did. And eventually… I just stopped hoping they would.”

He glanced at her, catching her eyes briefly before looking back at the road.

“It wasn’t brave. It was necessary.”

Y/N exhaled, a shaky breath that betrayed the emotion she’d been holding.

“I’m still hoping,” she whispered. “Even after everything. After the letter. After the pain. There’s still some part of me that… wants it to be different.”

CJ reached over and took her hand in his, warm and sure.

“That doesn’t make you weak,” he said quietly. “It makes you human.”

They drove in silence for a few more blocks, the air between them heavy but safe. Then, softly, Y/N spoke again.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let it go. Not like you did.”

CJ brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Then don’t,” he said simply. “Not until you’re ready. And if you never are—that’s okay too. You don’t owe him forgiveness. Or closure. You only owe yourself peace.”

She looked at him then, eyes shimmering—not with tears, but with something deeper. Something like gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For loving me exactly as I am.”

He smiled, eyes soft.

“Always.”

And with her hand still in his, they drove the rest of the way home together—no longer in silence, but in the kind of quiet that holds more than words ever could.

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]

Second Chances: Forever - Part Thirty-Two 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: 4,952

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, medical drama, pregnancy drama

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: Please see THIS LINK for updates on the posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Believing In Hope

The house had long gone quiet.

The drizzle had turned into a steady rhythm on the roof, soft and lulling. Somewhere down the hall, Caleb murmured in his sleep, the occasional thump of his foot against the crib rails echoing faintly. Eliza was deep in a dream kingdom, no doubt presiding over another alliance between wolves and ducks.

And in the master bedroom, Beau lay curled behind Y/N, one arm draped protectively around her growing belly, his palm flat and warm over the gentle rise.

Neither of them had spoken in a while. Just breathing together. Letting the quiet settle.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice low and tired, but clear. “Today felt like a breath I didn’t know I was holding.”

Beau’s voice was gravel-deep against her shoulder. “You’re still carryin’ so much, darlin’. Even if the numbers look good.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But it helps. Having good days. Hearing the baby’s heart. Knowing we’ve made it this far.”

He pressed a kiss just behind her ear. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

She turned a little toward him—not all the way, but enough that they could meet each other’s gaze in the soft lamp light.

“You’ve held everything together,” she said quietly. “The kids. This house. Me.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” he murmured.

Y/N reached for his hand over her stomach, interlacing their fingers. “What if this is our last time?”

Beau blinked. “Pregnancy?”

She nodded slowly. “I think about it a lot. Whether I could ever go through this again. Whether I should.”

Beau didn’t rush his answer. He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it once. “I think about it too.”

She studied him. “Do you still think about… the vasectomy?”

His gaze softened, but stayed steady. “I do. Not ‘cause I don’t want more kids. But ‘cause I don’t wanna risk you. This pregnancy scared me more than I’ve let on.”

“I know,” she said gently.

“But I also want you to be the one who decides. Not outta fear. Not just for me. But when you’re ready.”

Y/N breathed in deep, eyes flicking down to where their hands rested on her belly. “We’ll wait. Let the dust settle. But it means a lot, knowing you’d give up more babies for me.”

“I didn’t give up a thing,” he said, kissing her again. “I already got everything I need.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she let them come.

Because this—this kind of love—was rare. Soft and hard-earned. The kind that weathered storms and made a home of silence.

She pulled him close, and he held her tighter, their hands never breaking apart, their hearts beating slow and steady through the hush of the rain.

The next few days unfolded with a gentleness Y/N hadn’t dared hope for.

There were no contractions. No sudden spikes in blood pressure. No alarming twinges or hospital bags being flung into the truck at midnight. Just the steady rhythm of a home in motion—guided by love, laughter, and the slightly chaotic soundtrack of a family hanging on together.

Y/N spent most of her days on the couch, still under strict bedrest, surrounded by a mountain of pillows and a carefully arranged snack tray Margaret refreshed without fail. She was often found with one of Eliza’s storybooks open on her lap, Caleb nestled at her side, chattering softly in toddler-speak, or with Emily stretched out in the armchair reading aloud from a book they’d both pretended not to enjoy.

On this particular afternoon, she was half-reclined with a mug of lukewarm tea in hand, watching the swirl of life unfold around her.

Beau had the back door propped open, the screen keeping the bugs out as he hosed off Eliza’s muddy boots from her most recent “expedition to the forbidden marshlands” (which Y/N strongly suspected was just the back corner of the garden, currently overgrown with weeds). His sleeves were rolled up, forearms damp, shirt clinging just slightly to his chest and back as he worked.

Eliza was spinning around on the porch, barefoot and wearing one of Emily’s old scarves as a cape. “The wolves saved the ducks from the falling sky!” she yelled. “Now we are all sky-siblings!”

Caleb squealed and banged a spoon on a plastic bowl in rhythm, thrilled to be part of something he didn’t understand.

Emily stood at the counter drying dishes with Margaret, exchanging a quiet conversation Y/N couldn’t quite hear—though she saw the moment they both laughed, heads tipping slightly toward each other like a secret had just passed between generations.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N felt time slow down.

Her body still ached—her joints swollen, her belly stretching too tightly at times—but her heart was still. Peaceful.

Beau stepped inside a minute later, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he toed them off. He crossed the room and knelt beside the couch, his hand automatically finding hers.

“How you holdin’ up, darlin’?” he asked softly, his hazel-green eyes scanning hers.

Y/N smiled and brushed her fingers against his jaw, her thumb tracing the edge of his beard. “I was just thinking… this is it.”

He tilted his head. “This is what?”

“This is the life I never knew I wanted,” she said. “And now… I can’t imagine not having it.”

Beau leaned in, kissed her gently. “It’s yours, sweetheart. All of it. Every day.”

She blinked back tears, not from sadness—just the kind that came when something was too beautiful to name. “I want to remember this. Exactly as it is.”

Beau brushed his nose against hers. “Then let’s hold onto it tight.”

And across the room, Caleb shrieked with delight as Eliza announced a royal parade, Margaret tied a dish towel around his shoulders like a cape, and Emily began drumming a wooden spoon against a pot in mock ceremony.

Y/N leaned into Beau’s side, heart full, hand on her belly.

Home wasn’t just where they lived.

It was where they loved.

The house had finally quieted.

The storm of the day had passed—Eliza tucked in bed with her stuffed wolves, Caleb in his crib snoring softly like a tiny freight train, Margaret in her room with the door cracked open just enough to hear if anyone stirred. Emily had long since retreated with her headphones and a promise to handle breakfast duty in the morning.

In the master bedroom, the lights were low.

Y/N lay propped against the pillows, one hand resting over the firm swell of her belly, the other loosely tangled in the edge of the blanket. Beau stood at the dresser in nothing but flannel sleep pants, folding a soft old T-shirt he’d pulled from the dryer. The muscles in his back moved in slow, familiar rhythm—effortless strength, quiet grace.

She watched him for a long moment, her gaze drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the worn scar at the bend of his left elbow, then lower, where the waistband of his pants rested on the sharp cut of his hips.

“You know,” she said softly, voice low and even in the quiet, “you really are a beautiful man.”

Beau stilled mid-fold. Then turned.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers—surprised, a little amused, but soft all the same. “That right?”

Y/N nodded, a lazy smile curving her lips. “I was watchin’ you earlier. Out on the porch. With Eliza’s boots.”

His mouth quirked. “You mean when she tracked half the backyard in and swore it was for ‘training purposes’?”

“I mean,” she said, her voice slow, thoughtful, “the way the water clung to your arms. The way your shirt stuck to you. The way you moved—like you weren’t even thinking about how good you looked. But you did.”

He walked to the bed, slowly, setting the folded shirt on the nightstand. “You flirtin’ with me, darlin’?”

“Maybe I am,” she murmured. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Beau leaned over her carefully, bracing his hands on either side of her belly. He didn’t put any weight on her—just hovered close, his mouth barely an inch from hers, eyes searching her face.

“You know I can’t touch you the way I want to right now.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But I still want you to know how much I see you.”

Beau’s throat bobbed with a swallow. He brushed his lips against her forehead, then her temple, then finally—tenderly—her mouth. “I see you too, sweetheart. You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

She blinked slowly. “Even swollen and sweaty and emotionally unstable?”

“Especially then,” he said with a smile. “Because you’re real. You’re mine. And you’ve never looked more like home.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to his. “We’ve still got a few more weeks.”

“We’ll get through ’em,” he whispered. “One heartbeat at a time.”

He helped her shift lower in the bed, settled in beside her with a protective arm wrapped gently around her middle. One hand rested on her belly, thumb stroking slow circles as the baby shifted and turned inside her.

Y/N closed her eyes and felt the warmth of him all around her.

Beautiful, indeed.

The smell of cinnamon and toasted oats filled the kitchen, mingling with the soft sound of rain tapping the windows and Caleb’s squeals as he banged a wooden spoon on the edge of his high chair tray.

Y/N sat at the table, feet up on a second chair with a cushion tucked beneath her, a soft cardigan draped around her shoulders. She was bleary-eyed but smiling, one hand wrapped around a warm mug, the other bracing her belly as the baby gave a particularly sharp kick.

Across the table, Eliza wore a crown made of cardboard and pipe cleaners, still sticky with glue. “The ducks have chosen oatmeal for their victory breakfast,” she announced grandly. “With sprinkles.”

Emily, by the stove, turned just enough to shoot her a flat look. “The sprinkles are chia seeds, Your Majesty.”

Eliza considered that, then nodded. “Acceptable.”

Beau stood behind Y/N, his hand drifting down to her shoulder as he leaned to kiss the top of her head. He smelled like soap and fresh coffee, his flannel shirt rumpled and sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“You good, darlin’?” he murmured low into her hair.

She hummed. “Getting there. Baby’s doin’ gymnastics, though.”

Beau glanced at her belly and chuckled. “Little one’s probably learnin’ somersaults from their big sister.”

“I taught them,” Eliza chimed in from across the table, spooning oatmeal into her mouth with dramatic flair. “Wolves are very limber.”

Margaret walked in carrying a small tray—extra toast, more tea, a folded cloth napkin embroidered with a daisy. She set it gently beside Y/N and gave her a once-over. “Feet still up?”

“Yes, Mom,” Y/N said with a faint grin.

Margaret raised a brow. “Doctor’s orders. I’ll keep checking.”

Caleb made a delighted sound as Beau placed a handful of blueberries on his tray. “Boo-buh!” he shouted triumphantly, grabbing one with his chubby fingers and smashing it gleefully against his cheek.

Y/N laughed. “We’ll work on his delivery.”

“Hey, he got it to his face. That’s a win,” Beau said, grinning as he wiped blueberry juice from Caleb’s chin with a dish towel.

Emily brought over two bowls of oatmeal, setting one in front of Eliza and the other in front of Y/N. “Extra cinnamon. And yes, a tiny bit of honey.”

“You’re an angel,” Y/N murmured.

Emily gave her a soft, pleased shrug and returned to her own coffee at the counter.

Beau sat beside Y/N, long legs stretched out, his hand finding hers under the table. They didn’t say anything at first—just sat with the sounds of family all around them.

The clink of spoons. Caleb’s delighted chatter. Eliza explaining to her stuffed wolf the tenets of forest diplomacy. Margaret refilling coffee without being asked. Emily softly humming under her breath while she read the back of the cereal box.

It wasn’t extraordinary.

But it was theirs.

And it was everything.

Y/N leaned her head on Beau’s shoulder for a moment, the weight of it making his posture straighten a little more. She felt his lips press against her hair and stay there.

Thirty-six weeks was right around the corner.

But for now, breakfast and baby kicks, chia seed treaties, and blueberry-stained toddlers would do just fine.

It was already warm by the time they stepped out the door.

Not quite the thick, breath-stealing heat of peak July afternoons, but enough that the sunlight pressed gently against their skin, promising another sweltering Montana day. The air smelled faintly of dry grass and pine, and somewhere nearby, cicadas sang their sharp, steady rhythm like a pulse in the background of everything.

Beau opened the truck door with his usual care—guiding Y/N in with one hand at her back and a murmured, “Easy, darlin’.” He passed her a cold water bottle from the cup holder and waited until she was buckled in before shutting the door gently and walking around to his side.

The drive to the clinic was quiet, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze in, warm and dry and alive with the sound of summer.

Y/N sat with her hand curved over the top of her belly, thumb tracing slow arcs just beneath her ribcage. The baby had been more active that morning, almost like they knew the milestone they were approaching.

Thirty-six weeks.

The appointment room felt cooler than the world outside—sterile but familiar now. The hum of the AC, the faint scent of antiseptic, the worn posters on the wall listing signs of labor they already knew by heart. Beau helped her onto the table, settled beside her, and didn’t let go of her hand.

Dr. Harrell came in with his usual calm presence and a pleasant smile. “Morning, you two. Thirty-six weeks today—look at you go.”

Y/N managed a smile. “Somehow.”

“You’ve been doing more than ‘somehow,’” he said kindly, pulling up the ultrasound machine. “Let’s check on this little one.”

The gel was cool, but Y/N barely noticed. Because the second the wand touched her belly, the screen lit up—strong heartbeat, tiny curled limbs, spine like a string of pearls.

Harrell tilted the screen toward them. “Heartbeat’s steady. Movement’s solid. Still head down. And… look at that.”

Beau leaned closer, eyes wide. “What am I lookin’ at?”

“Hair,” Harrell said with a chuckle. “Not much, but it’s there.”

Y/N gave a soft, teary laugh. “Oh, this kid’s gonna come out ready to sweat.”

“Like their daddy,” Beau murmured.

Harrell wiped away the gel and leaned back with a pleased nod. “Everything’s looking excellent. No signs of labor yet, and your blood pressure is still holding. I’d like to see you again in three or four days. If we make it to thirty-seven without a flare-up, we’ll talk about birth plans.”

Y/N’s voice came out softer than she intended. “So we’re still in the clear?”

Harrell’s gaze was steady. “For now? Yes. You’re doing beautifully. Keep up the bedrest, drink water like it’s your job, and avoid the heat as much as possible. This baby is in no rush, and that’s what we want.”

Beau squeezed her hand. “Hear that? You’re doin’ everything right, darlin’.”

Dr. Harrell gave them both a final smile. “You’re almost there.”

Outside, the heat had risen, the pavement shimmering with that summer mirage glow. Cicadas still sang, and the truck was already warming up under the sun as they climbed back in.

Beau turned on the AC full blast before reaching for her hand again. “Told you we’d get here.”

Y/N leaned her head against the seat and let out a slow, hopeful breath.

“I believe you now.”

The sun was high overhead by the time they pulled into the drive, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as Beau eased the truck to a stop. A shimmer of heat danced just above the earth, and the scent of warm pine and sunbaked soil drifted in through the vents.

Margaret must’ve heard them coming—she opened the front door before Beau had even shifted into park. Her eyes immediately swept toward Y/N on the passenger side, and when she saw the relaxed smile on her daughter’s face, some of the tension around her shoulders slipped free.

Y/N waved gently through the glass. “All good, Mom. Still cookin’.”

Beau came around to help her out, one hand shielding her from the truck’s sun-hot metal, the other steady beneath her arm as she eased onto her feet. Her steps were slower now, heavier, but no longer burdened by fear. Not today.

“Feet up soon as we get inside,” he murmured.

“Bossy,” she teased, even as she leaned into him gratefully.

Inside, the air was cooler. The fans hummed gently in the background, and somewhere deeper in the house, Caleb babbled in that soft, musical language of his. The smell of sliced peaches and something yeasty and warm filled the air.

Emily was at the kitchen counter, flour-dusted and ponytailed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “We’ve got fresh rolls and peach iced tea,” she said. “You’re about to be very spoiled.”

“Wasn’t I already?” Y/N asked, smiling as she sank onto the couch with Beau’s help.

Caleb came toddling in from the hallway like he’d been summoned, squealing when he saw her. “Mama! Mama!”

He crashed gently into her legs, patting her knee with both hands, then resting his cheek against her shin with a long sigh like he’d just completed a grand journey.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered, stroking his soft curls.

Eliza followed a moment later, her arms full of construction paper and crayons. “We were working on the welcome home party!” she announced. “But I also had to stop a war between the frogs and the butterflies, so it’s not done yet.”

Beau raised his brows. “Frogs and butterflies, huh?”

“Frogs are tired of bein’ sat on. It’s a whole thing,” Eliza explained seriously as she set her papers down beside Y/N. “But we’re declaring a birthday truce.”

“A what?”

“Because the baby’s gonna have a birthday,” she said simply. “So everyone’s gotta behave.”

Beau nodded, glancing over at Y/N with a grin. “Queen Eliza’s law.”

Y/N reached for her daughter’s hand. “I’m honored, my little wolf.”

Margaret brought over a tray with two glasses of tea, a cold compress wrapped in a towel, and one of Y/N’s favorite snacks—salted crackers and peach slices. She set it down without a word, just smoothed her daughter’s hair once and kissed the top of her head.

Beau lowered himself onto the couch beside her, letting Y/N lean into his side, one arm draped gently over her shoulders. He took her tea in one hand, held it out to her.

“Cheers to thirty-six weeks, darlin’.”

She clinked her glass gently against his. “And the wild little tribe that got us here.”

Eliza, Caleb, and Emily piled onto the rug at their feet with crayons, blocks, and a fierce debate about which animal should get to name the baby first.

And all around them, the summer light poured through the windows in quiet golden sheets—hot, bright, and full of life.

The porch creaked softly beneath the weight of summer.

It was late—well past the hour most of the house had surrendered to sleep—but Y/N couldn’t make herself go to bed just yet. Not while the night was this still, this warm. The air smelled of dry earth and distant pine, and the stars above spilled across the sky in a quiet kind of majesty.

She sat in the rocking chair with her legs curled under her, wearing one of Beau’s soft old T-shirts and a light throw across her lap. The hum of cicadas carried faintly on the breeze, and the screen door clicked once behind her.

Beau stepped out, barefoot, with two mugs in hand.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked gently.

Y/N shook her head as he handed her one. “Didn’t want to. Not yet.”

He settled into the chair beside her, exhaling as he leaned back and stretched out his legs. “Fair enough. Kinda peaceful out here tonight.”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping the tea and letting the night hold them. There was no need to fill it. No need to explain.

Y/N glanced over at him.

His flannel pajama pants were slightly wrinkled, the buttons of his henley undone at the top. His hair was tousled, still damp from his shower, and in the soft golden porch light, she could see the curve of his cheekbone, the shadow of his jaw, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

And just like that—without warning—her heart squeezed.

“You’re a beautiful man,” she said quietly, almost more to herself than to him.

Beau looked over, startled by the softness in her voice. “What?”

She smiled, shy but sure. “You are. I don’t say it enough, but… I think it all the time. The way you carry yourself. The way you love us. The way you look at me—even now.”

He turned toward her more fully, brows knitting gently. “Darlin’…”

“I’m just—” She paused, blinking slowly. “I’m overwhelmed sometimes. Not by the baby or the aches or the waiting. But by you. That you’re mine. That I get to do this life with you.”

Beau didn’t speak at first. Just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands wrapped around the mug. Then, in that low, gravelly drawl of his, he said, “I’m the one who’s blessed.”

Y/N tilted her head, smiling.

“I get to wake up beside you,” he went on. “I get to raise our kids with you. Watch you carry life and still be the strongest damn woman I’ve ever known. If that ain’t beauty, I don’t know what is.”

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

Beau stood slowly and crossed the space between them. He knelt by her chair, set both mugs aside, and cupped her face in his hands.

“No matter what tomorrow brings,” he said, “you remember this: I wouldn’t trade this life with you for anything. Not even for peace and ease. Not even for simple.”

She nodded, brushing her fingers over his knuckles. “You’re everything, Beau.”

“And you’re my heart,” he murmured.

He kissed her then—soft, slow, long. The kind of kiss that didn’t lead anywhere but here.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N let out a trembling breath. “Okay. Now I can sleep.”

Beau helped her up, holding her steady as they stepped inside, hand-in-hand. The door clicked shut behind them, and the porch light stayed on just a little longer—like the house itself was watching over them.

The sunlight had barely crested the hill beyond the pasture when the household began to stir.

Well—most of the household.

From the living room sofa, Y/N watched with quiet amusement as Emily half-crouched, half-crawled across the rug in an effort to wrangle a shirtless, giggling Caleb, who was all legs and flailing joy, squealing as he darted behind the armchair with a wild cackle.

“Caleb Arlen!” Emily hollered, her tone dramatic but laughing. “Put those pajamas on!”

He shrieked in reply—something between a cackle and a war cry—and launched a stuffed dinosaur into the air like a victory salute.

Y/N, tucked beneath a soft knit throw and propped up by an arrangement of pillows the size of a small mountain, chuckled into her tea. “You might as well try to bathe lightning,” she offered helpfully.

Emily popped her head over the back of the chair. “He’s a feral creature!”

“A wild wolverine-child,” Y/N agreed with a grin, rubbing her belly. “He gets it from his daddy.”

“Hey now,” Beau’s voice called from the kitchen. “That boy’s got your stubborn streak.”

“And your escape artistry,” Emily added, reaching behind the chair and plucking Caleb up like a wiggly sack of potatoes. He kicked and giggled, trying to squirm away, but Emily managed to tug his pajama top over his head in one smooth, practiced motion.

Y/N watched with that soft, slow smile that came from deep inside—tired but content. Her body ached in every direction, her feet were swollen, and the baby was pressing hard against her ribs, but this—this scene—was everything.

Across the room, Eliza sat on the floor in her little plastic chair, working on what appeared to be a royal treaty between the Sky Wolves and the River Ducks. Crayon lines stretched across the page like ancient runes, punctuated by stars and arrows and looping swirls.

“Once the wolves agree to stop howling during duck naps,” she explained solemnly, “then we’ll finally have peace.”

Beau crossed behind her, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, and bent to kiss the top of her head. “You workin’ on international diplomacy again, little wolf?”

She nodded, pushing her curls out of her eyes. “It’s important work, Dad.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly. “She’s building a better world one treaty at a time.”

“And I’m over here negotiating pajamas with a future outlaw,” Emily muttered, finally managing to wrestle Caleb into the rest of his pajamas before he wriggled out of her lap and toddled off in search of new chaos.

Beau wandered into the living room with a plate in hand—toast with almond butter and a few slices of apple arranged carefully around the edge. He set it on the table next to Y/N with a wink. “For the queen of the wolves and mother of the wolverine.”

Y/N reached for his hand. “You’re too good to me.”

“I could say the same,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

Across the room, Eliza groaned. “Ew. Again?”

Caleb threw his dinosaur into the air and yelled, “Mama kiss!”

Emily flopped back onto the rug with a dramatic sigh. “This house is unhinged.”

“And I wouldn’t change a thing,” Y/N said, eyes full of love, hands resting over the steady movement of their unborn baby.

Because chaos or not, this was home. And every giggle, every tumble, every scribbled treaty and barefoot sprint across the hardwood was another moment stitched into the tapestry of the life they’d built.

The sun was already high when they arrived at the clinic, a dry heat clinging to the breeze like static. The fields beyond the town shimmered under the weight of the July sky, and even the birds moved slower—wings dragging just a little heavier through the heat.

Y/N sat in the passenger seat with one hand braced beneath her belly and the other wrapped around Beau’s fingers. The AC hummed faintly in the truck cab, doing its best to fend off the press of warmth. Caleb and Eliza had stayed home with Margaret and Emily—no chaos today, no glitter treaties or wolverine chases. Just the two of them, moving quietly toward another milestone.

Thirty-seven weeks.

Not full term. Not yet. But closer.

So close.

Inside the clinic, the air was crisp and sterile and too familiar by now. Dr. Harrell met them with that same calm steadiness he’d carried through every twist and turn, clipboard in hand, soft blue scrubs pressed clean.

“You made it,” he said with a smile, already scanning her chart. “How’re we feeling?”

“Like I’m fifty months pregnant,” Y/N muttered. “But still standing.”

Beau chuckled quietly, brushing his thumb along the side of her hand. “She’s been a champ.”

Y/N shot him a look. “Your child’s been doing somersaults at 3 a.m.”

Dr. Harrell laughed. “That’s a good sign—movement is still strong. Let’s check that blood pressure, do a quick scan, and we’ll talk next steps.”

The routine moved fast now—familiar, almost muscle memory. Pressure cuff. Gentle pulse. The gel and wand. Beau seated at her side, leaning in, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

The baby filled the screen. Big now. Tightly curled. Heart beating steady. A hiccup. A shift. A tiny hand brushing past its face.

Dr. Harrell nodded, adjusting the view. “Fluid levels are holding. Baby’s in a good position. And we’re still looking stable. Which means…”

Y/N held her breath.

“…you get to keep cooking a little longer.”

Beau let out a slow breath, almost a laugh. “We’ll take it.”

Dr. Harrell turned back to them. “We’re not quite ready to schedule anything, and I want to avoid induction as long as we’re still healthy. But from this point on, you’re technically considered early term. If you go into labor naturally, we won’t try to stop it.”

Y/N blinked. “So… this could happen any day now?”

“Could,” he agreed. “Or in another week or two. There’s no telling with babies. They tend to show up when they want.”

She nodded slowly. “So we wait.”

“You wait. You rest. You stay cool. You keep checking your pressure. And you call if anything feels off. But for now? You’ve made it to thirty-seven weeks. That’s no small thing.”

Dr. Harrell gave them a few more notes, a smile, and then left them in the room together, silence rushing in like water.

Beau was the first to speak. “You okay, darlin’?”

Y/N exhaled and nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

She looked down at her belly and then up at him, her eyes bright and tired and full of awe.

“I think… we’re really gonna meet this baby soon.”

Beau took her hand, kissed her knuckles. “I can’t wait to see you hold ’em.”

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]

🥰 She's finding ways to comfort and entertain her mother. Our sweet Eliza!

Second Chances: Forever - Part Thirty-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: 4,087

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, medical drama, pregnancy drama

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: Please see THIS LINK for updates on the posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

❗Note❗: I'm so sorry this is late! Thank you all for being patient!

Chapter Thirty-One: Holding Pattern

Y/N had counted the ceiling planks in the living room at least a dozen times that morning. She knew which one had the faint swirl like a sideways heart and which one had the hairline crack Beau kept saying he’d patch when the baby came.

She knew the way the sun hit the windows just after 10 a.m., streaking through the curtains and warming her feet. She knew the exact squeak the couch made when Eliza climbed onto it with too much dramatic flair. And she knew—deep in her bones—that she was starting to lose her mind.

Bedrest was not for the faint of heart.

“Mom,” she said with a sigh as her mother passed by with a laundry basket, “if I don’t do something other than rest soon, I’m going to sprout roots in this couch.”

Margaret gave her a dry smile over the rim of her glasses. “Sprout away. I’ll water you on the hour.”

Y/N groaned and flopped back into the pillows, one hand resting over her belly. Thirty-five weeks. They were so close now. So damn close. And yet, every hour felt like a small eternity.

Across the room, Eliza burst through the hallway arch with a paper crown and her wolf plushie under one arm. “The Wolf Queen has entered the duck realm!” she declared. “A peace treaty must be signed or war will begin at dawn!”

Margaret looked over her shoulder. “Well, then, you better make sure the ducks are fed before negotiations.”

“I am the diplomat!” Eliza shouted as she raced toward the back door.

Y/N chuckled softly. “She gets wilder every day.”

“She’s been storing up creative energy like a little hurricane,” Margaret said fondly. “Just like someone else I know.”

Caleb, toddling along behind Eliza with a fistful of Goldfish crackers, stopped at the side of the couch and reached up with both arms. “Mama,” he said sweetly. “Hug.”

Y/N smiled and reached for him as far as she could. “Come up here, baby. Easy.”

Margaret swooped in. “I’ve got him,” she said gently, lifting him to snuggle in beside Y/N.

Caleb pressed his forehead to her belly, kissing it with a soft “Mwah!” before curling up against her side like he always had—familiar, warm, and impossibly sweet.

“He’s been extra snuggly,” Y/N murmured, stroking his curls.

“He knows something’s coming,” Margaret said with a knowing smile. “They always do.”

The rest of the day passed in a slow rhythm—Eliza choreographing duck-and-wolf dances in the backyard, Margaret and Emily rotating kitchen duty and diaper patrol. Y/N stayed on the couch, watching her family orbit gently around her, and even though she itched to do something, she knew—deep down—how precious this waiting was.

That night, after the last bedtime story and a quiet check on Caleb’s sleepy babble, Beau helped her into bed.

The lights were low. The fan spun overhead. He crawled in beside her and propped himself on one elbow, eyes soft in the dim light.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead.

She sighed. “I feel like a beached whale. And a useless one at that.”

Beau didn’t laugh. He leaned down, kissed her shoulder, and murmured against her skin, “You’re not useless. You’re carryin’ our child. Bein’ strong every minute. And you’re mine. Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Y/N blinked slowly, the weight of exhaustion settling beneath the quiet heat of his words. “You say that like you mean it.”

He smiled, the kind that pulled deep from his chest. “That’s ‘cause I do.”

His hand rested low on her belly, thumb sweeping in a slow arc. “We’re almost there.”

She covered his hand with hers. “It still scares me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But you’re not in it alone.”

She turned her face into his neck, breathing him in—warm, safe, familiar. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he said.

And as the world hushed outside their window, Y/N let herself be held—by the man who never let go, the life growing steady inside her, and the home they’d built with the chaos, joy, and heartbreak of second chances.

Y/N shifted slightly beneath the blankets, her hand still resting over Beau’s where it lay on her belly. The house was quiet now—really quiet. No rustle of little feet, no creaking floorboards, no Eliza serenading the wolves from her pillow fort.

Just them. Just this.

She could hear the cadence of Beau’s breathing starting to slow, but she knew he wasn’t asleep yet.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice soft in the dark, “I used to think I could handle anything if I just kept moving.”

Beau made a quiet sound—almost a hum, almost a question.

“Like, if I kept doing, kept planning, kept showing up, I could survive anything.” Her thumb rubbed gently along his. “But this… bedrest, the fear, the stillness… it’s cracked something open in me.”

Beau didn’t interrupt. He just shifted a little closer, resting his chin against the top of her head. “What’s it opened, darlin’?”

“I think…” Her breath caught for a second. “I think I’m still learning how to be loved when I can’t do anything to earn it.”

That brought silence between them. Not empty. Heavy. Full of knowing.

Beau’s voice was low, steady. “You never had to earn a damn thing with me.”

She closed her eyes. “I know. But sometimes… I still feel like I do.”

Beau pressed a kiss to her hairline. “You’re not here to earn love, Y/N. You are loved. Every piece of you. Especially the parts that are tired. And scared. And still showin’ up, even when it’s just by breathin’.”

Her throat tightened.

“I see you,” he whispered. “Even when you feel like you’re fading into the pillows and the monitors and the ‘just rest.’ I see my wife. The woman who makes this house a home. Who raised a hell of a little girl before I even came along. Who let me step into her life and loved me anyway.”

Y/N blinked, tears sliding down into her hair.

“And I see the way you carry this baby,” Beau continued, voice gruff with feeling. “Even when it hurts. Even when it scares you. You’ve never stopped. Not once. And I don’t take that for granted.”

She let out a quiet breath, shaky but sure. “You say things like that and I feel like I can breathe again.”

“You can breathe,” he said. “You’re not alone in this. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

They stayed like that for a long while—hands joined, foreheads close, the thrum of the baby’s movement a soft flutter between them.

Finally, Y/N whispered, “Thank you for seeing me. Even when I feel invisible.”

Beau’s answer was simple. Honest. “I’d never stop seein’ you, darlin’. Not even if the whole damn world went dark.”

And in that hush, between contractions that never came, and fear that had finally softened at the edges, Y/N let herself rest.

Not just her body.

Her heart.

Because sometimes the bravest thing in the world was letting someone love you exactly as you are.

Late morning sunlight streamed through the windows, soft and golden, the kind that made everything feel a little less heavy.

Y/N was propped on the couch with fresh pillows, a cup of warm herbal tea beside her, and Caleb nestled against her thigh, scribbling with a crayon on a coloring book he had no intention of keeping inside the lines. She rubbed gentle circles over his back, her fingers moving in time with his sleepy hums.

Across the room, Eliza stood atop a small ottoman, wearing a felt cape Emily had helped her stitch together from craft scraps and an old scarf. The wolf plushie—Sir Growls-a-Lot—was balanced on one shoulder like a furry parrot. In her right hand, she held a wooden spoon, brandished like a royal scepter.

Emily sat cross-legged nearby, dutifully scribbling down proclamations on a clipboard labeled OFFICIAL ANIMAL TREATY NOTES.

“This is important,” Eliza said gravely. “We are currently between peace and disaster.”

Emily nodded solemnly. “Go on, your majesty.”

“The ducks,” Eliza said, pacing now, “are still mad about the pond incident. But the wolves offered a branch. A real branch. I saw it.”

Y/N smiled from the couch. “Was it a peace offering?”

“No,” Eliza said, wrinkling her nose. “It was more like a stick. But they meant peace, so it counts.”

Caleb lifted his crayon, smeared a giant green streak across the arm of the couch, and looked up proudly. “Duhhhk!”

“Exactly,” Eliza said with a nod. “The ducks need to know we’re serious.”

Beau wandered in from the hallway just in time to hear that. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, raising one brow. “Are these the same ducks that were threatening to steal the wolf queen’s jewels last week?”

“Different faction,” Emily deadpanned, eyes still on her clipboard.

Beau’s drawl came thick with amusement. “Of course.”

“The point is,” Eliza continued, “we’re planning the ceremony for the treaty tonight. There will be a feast. Of toast and strawberries. And maybe three chocolate chips. Maybe.”

Beau stepped forward and ruffled her hair. “Sounds like high-stakes diplomacy. You need a security escort?”

“I am security,” she declared. “The wolves trained me. In the dark woods. With shadows and riddles.”

Beau grinned. “Well, can’t argue with that.”

Y/N was laughing now, soft and full, her hand still stroking Caleb’s back as he drooled on her knee and hummed along to some private toddler soundtrack. “Did the wolves give you a title yet?”

Eliza turned dramatically. “I am Queen Eliza, Keeper of the Forest, Protector of the Flock, and Bringer of Peace Between Feather and Fang.”

Beau gave a low whistle. “That’s a mouthful.”

“I earned it.”

Y/N leaned her head back with a sleepy smile. “Of course you did, little wolf.”

Eliza looked over and softened for a moment, hopping off her ottoman and padding to the couch. She climbed up carefully, mindful of Y/N’s belly, and nestled close.

“I saved you a crown,” she whispered. “But it’s not ready yet. It’s gotta have feathers and wolf fur. Real-looking, not itchy.”

Y/N kissed the top of her head. “You’re doing very important work.”

“I know,” Eliza said with a little sigh. “But I also missed you a lot. So it’s hard to be queen and daughter at the same time.”

Y/N blinked back sudden tears and pulled her close. “I missed you, too. And you’re doing an amazing job at both.”

Across the room, Emily pretended to adjust her clipboard like it was official business, but she smiled quietly to herself.

Beau slipped into the kitchen to prep the feast—one slice of toast, already cut into triangles.

And in that moment, between a queen’s mission and a mother’s stillness, the world held together in the most magical way.

That evening, the dining room had been transformed.

The lights were dimmed, twinkle lights strung along the curtain rods and the fireplace mantle. Eliza had insisted on “ambient forest glow,” and Margaret—ever the good sport—had rummaged through the seasonal bin in the attic to make it happen. Emily had helped create a paper banner, stretched across the room and scrawled in glitter glue: TREATY NIGHT: PEACE BETWEEN THE DUCKS AND THE WOLVES!

Y/N reclined in her usual spot on the couch, watching it all unfold with a full heart. Her legs were up, her belly high and heavy, and she had a front-row seat to the chaos of royal negotiations. Caleb sat beside her gnawing on a crust of toast, content to be her designated royal taste tester.

Eliza entered the room in full regalia—her felt cape now adorned with cotton balls (“snow fluff,” she’d explained), her face painted with faint streaks of black eyeliner to represent “wolf stripes.” Her crown—now completed—featured two craft feathers, a cardboard jewel, and what looked suspiciously like a tuft of fur from one of Emily’s old throw blankets.

Emily, dressed in a plain black hoodie and holding a wooden ladle, stood beside her as “Royal Steward and Keeper of Ceremonial Toasts.”

Beau emerged from the kitchen with the tray—triangles of toast topped with tiny slivers of strawberries, three chocolate chips placed in the center like sacred offerings. He raised a brow. “This ceremony got snacks. I’m all in.”

“Place them at the treaty table,” Eliza ordered solemnly, motioning toward the coffee table, now draped in a floral dishtowel and covered with her hand-drawn peace accord: two animals shaking paws beneath a glittering sun.

Beau bowed with mock dignity. “Yes, your majesty.”

Y/N bit back laughter, watching her husband—rugged, tired, so full of love—kneel beside their daughter’s makeshift throne without hesitation. He winked at her across the room, and her heart ached in the best way.

Eliza took her place at the head of the table. “We are gathered here today to honor the agreement between the Great Forest Wolves and the Proud Sky Ducks.”

Emily read from the clipboard. “Let it be known that both sides agree not to chase or splash each other… unless it’s fun and everyone says yes.”

Beau tried very hard not to laugh out loud.

Eliza nodded gravely. “And also, that Queen Eliza shall always be allowed to pet the ducklings and climb the rock wall, even if it’s muddy.”

Y/N raised her glass of water in salute. “A wise clause.”

Eliza held out her hand. “Let the feast begin!”

Emily passed out toast. Caleb made a delighted squeal as he shoved a triangle into his mouth, crumbs instantly gathering around his cheeks.

Beau brought Y/N her plate and sat beside her on the arm of the couch, gently rubbing her back. “You doin’ alright, darlin’?”

“I’m watching a diplomatic ceremony unfold between predator and prey while eating toast with my kids. I’m perfect.”

He smiled and kissed her temple. “That’s my girl.”

Margaret joined them with her own plate and a twinkle in her eye. “I’ve seen a lot of dinner tables in my life, but this one takes the cake.”

“Technically toast,” Emily said, biting into hers.

Eliza stood again after the first round of bites, raised her cup of sparkling juice, and declared: “May the wolves and ducks live in peace forever and ever. And may Mama never have to go back to the hospital!”

Y/N blinked back tears and raised her glass.

“Amen,” Beau said softly beside her.

Caleb clapped his sticky hands, unaware of the weight of the moment, but adding the perfect note to end the ceremony.

In that room full of light and toast crumbs, between make-believe and real magic, a treaty was signed—one made of laughter, love, and the kind of peace only found in homes where everyone is seen.

The house had finally gone still.

The glitter had been swept (mostly). The toast plates were rinsed and stacked. Caleb had gone down without protest, a crumb still clinging to his cheek. Eliza, after one final bedtime speech as “Queen Eliza, Keeper of the Accord,” had fallen asleep mid-sentence, her wolf plush clutched to her chest and a gold sticker stuck to her eyebrow.

The couch had been reclaimed by pillows and folded blankets.

And now, Y/N lay in bed, freshly showered, belly heavy and tight with the strain of a long day, eyes half-lidded as Beau emerged from the bathroom in a plain black tee and soft flannel pants. He rubbed a towel over his damp hair and looked at her with that expression—quiet, affectionate, familiar.

“Guess we survived international diplomacy,” he murmured as he climbed in beside her.

Y/N smiled. “I think you’re the first man to broker peace between ducks and wolves.”

“I aim to impress.”

She shifted closer, her hands instinctively cradling her belly, her body aching in that deep, end-of-day kind of way. “You okay?”

Beau blinked. “Me?”

She nodded. “You’ve been holding us all up.”

He stretched out beside her and brushed a hand down her arm. “That’s my job, darlin’.”

She studied him for a beat longer. “It’s not just a job. It’s a choice.”

Beau smiled faintly. “Well. I choose you. Every day. And the kids. Even when Eliza declares war in the backyard.”

Y/N reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You made me laugh today.”

“That’s always my goal.”

“You make me feel safe.”

“That’s always my prayer.”

She blinked slowly. “We’re close, Beau. So close to the end.”

He reached over, his palm pressing over the curve of her belly. “Five weeks or less, and this little one’s gonna be in our arms.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You don’t have to be. We’ll figure it out one minute at a time.”

She smiled tiredly. “Do you ever think about how different life used to be?”

Beau’s eyes flicked to hers—soft, distant. “All the time.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he said quietly, “I’ve got toast crumbs in my boots, a crown on my nightstand, a toddler who calls me ‘da,’ a daughter who thinks I’m invincible, and a woman who trusts me with her whole heart. I don’t need anything else.”

Y/N blinked fast, but the tears came anyway.

Beau leaned in and kissed them from her cheeks, slow and sure.

Then he whispered, “Rest, darlin’. I got you.”

And in the darkness—held by his hands, warmed by the memory of laughter, and steady in the rhythm of his love—she finally closed her eyes.

Morning came soft and overcast.

The clouds rolled low and pale across the Montana sky, the air carrying a slight chill that hinted at early autumn just beyond the hills. Inside the house, everything moved a little slower—Caleb still rubbing sleep from his eyes in Margaret’s arms, Eliza deep in an animated breakfast debate with Emily about whether ducks could wear cloaks.

Y/N was dressed carefully, slowly—leggings that stretched kindly, a long cardigan draped over her, her hair loosely pulled back. She looked at herself in the mirror before they left, hand settling on the side of her belly.

“Alright, little one,” she whispered. “Let’s check on you.”

Beau stood waiting at the door, keys in one hand, the other holding a bottle of water and the worn canvas bag that had become their de facto “hospital kit.” He looked up as she approached, eyes scanning her from head to toe.

“You ready, darlin’?”

She gave a slow nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

Margaret stepped in from the kitchen, Caleb babbling on her hip. “We’ll hold down the fort. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Emily reached over to pluck a Cheerio from Caleb’s hair. “We’ve got this. Go see your doctor.”

Eliza popped up beside them in her pajamas, clutching Sir Growls-a-Lot. “Tell the baby I said we’re still in a ceasefire and they don’t have to worry.”

Beau gave her a solemn nod. “I’ll make sure the message is delivered.”

The drive was quiet, scenic. The kind of stillness that didn’t need to be filled. Y/N watched the hills pass in a blur of green and gold, her hand resting over her belly, fingers tracing slow circles over the curve.

“You all right?” Beau asked, glancing over.

She nodded, then after a beat, said, “I’m nervous. But hopeful.”

“That’s a good mix,” he said.

When they arrived at the clinic, it all moved in careful rhythm—check-in at the front desk, waiting room chairs with slightly worn cushions, the nurse who greeted them by name.

They were led to a room with a familiar monitor setup. Y/N settled back on the exam bed with Beau close beside her, fingers threaded tight through hers.

Dr. Harrell knocked once before stepping in. “Good morning, you two.”

He offered a warm, confident smile as he moved to the monitor. “Thirty-five weeks and six days. We’re right on the cusp.”

Y/N took a breath. “Still high risk?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “But the longer we go without major symptoms, the better your odds get. Let’s check the baby and then we’ll talk next steps.”

The ultrasound gel was cool, but Y/N barely noticed.

Because the screen lit up with a perfect, grainy image—arms tucked, back curled, heart fluttering.

“Heartbeat is strong,” Harrell murmured, nodding. “Good fluid levels. Movement’s a little tight, but that’s normal this far along.”

Beau leaned in, eyes fixed to the screen, his thumb stroking over Y/N’s knuckles.

“Estimated weight’s about five and a half pounds,” the doctor continued. “That’s healthy. Nothing alarming. Honestly? This is as ideal as it gets for a high-risk case at thirty-five plus.”

Y/N blinked. “So… we keep going?”

Dr. Harrell smiled. “We keep going. I’d like to see you again in four days. Same routine—bedrest, hydration, low stress. If we get to thirty-seven weeks, we’ll discuss gentle induction options. But for now?”

He turned the monitor off and looked her square in the eye. “You’re doing incredibly well. Both of you.”

Y/N felt Beau press a kiss to her hair as her shoulders sagged in visible relief.

Dr. Harrell stood. “Go home. Put your feet up. Let the wolves and ducks negotiate peace without you.”

Y/N chuckled. “Eliza will appreciate the endorsement.”

Beau helped her up with gentle hands, and they left the clinic together—closer than ever. Almost there.

By the time they got home, the sky had opened into a light drizzle—just enough to mist the windows and darken the porch steps. The scent of rain lingered faintly in the air, earthy and clean.

Margaret was waiting with the door open before they’d even reached the front steps, a folded blanket in her hands and a knowing smile on her face.

“How’d it go?” she asked, her voice low so as not to wake Caleb, who was napping on the couch.

Beau helped Y/N inside, steady and sure. “Good,” he said, stepping aside so Y/N could move in slowly. “Doctor said everything’s holdin’ steady. Baby’s lookin’ healthy.”

Margaret exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders visibly. “Thank God.”

“Thirty-seven’s in sight,” Y/N added as she lowered herself carefully onto the couch, where Eliza had clearly been “preparing the royal nest”—blankets in mismatched colors, a few stuffed animals standing guard, and a framed drawing of a very fat duck wearing a crown.

“I see Eliza’s been decorating,” Y/N murmured, easing into the pillows.

Margaret chuckled. “She said the couch needed more ‘ceremonial flair.’”

From the kitchen, Emily called out, “There’s soup on the stove. I added the good rolls this time.”

Beau helped Y/N get her legs up, tucking the blanket in around her. Then he leaned down and brushed a kiss against her temple. “You need anything?”

“Just you near,” she said softly, already sinking into the warmth of the cushions.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “You got it.”

A moment later, Eliza came padding into the room in wool socks and a too-big hoodie—Beau’s, if the hem dragging across the floor was any indication.

She climbed up gently onto the couch beside Y/N, hugging a book to her chest. “Can I stay here?”

Y/N opened her arm. “Always.”

Eliza snuggled in close, careful and quiet, the crown of her head just under Y/N’s chin. “The ducks are preparing a lullaby for the baby,” she whispered. “But I need to test it on you first.”

“Let’s hear it,” Y/N said, her voice already warm with laughter.

Eliza cleared her throat and launched into a soft, high-pitched hum that somehow blended a nursery rhyme, a bird call, and the faint warble of “Twinkle, Twinkle” all at once.

From the kitchen, Beau muttered to Margaret, “I think the ducks are tone-deaf.”

Margaret snorted into her tea. “Don’t say that in front of the queen.”

Emily leaned in from the doorway, grinning. “She’ll exile you to the squirrel kingdom.”

Back on the couch, Y/N smiled, eyes fluttering shut as Eliza’s lullaby faded into a rhythmic hum against her side.

She was warm. Safe. Full of love.

Her family moved around her in quiet rhythm—Margaret tending to soup, Emily cleaning up paintbrushes from Eliza’s earlier art attack, and Beau leaning in the archway watching it all with a heart so full he could hardly breathe.

They weren’t at the finish line yet.

But they were so close.

And for now, this was everything.

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]

🤣 Okay I have to ask! Why are you surprised that Y/N is surprised?

And you're impressed by CJ?! 🤣

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Thirty-Seven 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: 9,134

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, tease of smut, minor medical drama

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: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Dividers: credit to @saradika-graphics

Chapter Thirty-Seven: UTI And Chaos

The next morning at The Stand was alive with its usual current—phones ringing steadily, staff exchanging greetings, and the hum of people doing the quiet work of holding others up.

Y/N was just settling in at her desk, setting down her bag and smoothing the hem of her cardigan when she sensed the sudden gust of movement behind her.

“Morning sunshine!”

Y/N barely had time to turn before Gabby dropped into the empty chair beside her, a coffee in one hand and a suspiciously cheerful smile in the other.

“Let me guess,” Y/N said dryly, “you’ve had too much caffeine and not enough supervision.”

Gabby gasped. “How dare you accuse me of being this energetic without cause. I am, as always, powered by purpose and vibes.”

Y/N gave her a look. “Gabby…”

Gabby’s smile softened. “Okay, okay,” she said, voice dipping into something more real. “I’m checking in on you.”

Y/N blinked. “Unprompted?” she teased lightly.

Gabby tilted her head, shrugging. “What can I say? I have a sixth sense for emotional unrest in my people.”

Y/N’s teasing faded, just a little, her eyes warming with something deeper. “I’m okay,” she said after a moment. “Better than yesterday.”

Gabby studied her for a second. “You look better. Still a little cloudy around the edges, but brighter.”

Y/N smirked. “Did you just read my aura?”

“I might be evolving,” Gabby said seriously. “Don’t limit me.”

She reached into her tote and placed a small muffin on Y/N’s desk. “Anyway. This is for you. It’s banana walnut. I figured your soul could use something cozy.”

Y/N looked at the muffin, then at Gabby. “You’re surprisingly gentle today.”

Gabby tapped her heart. “Chaos on the outside, softie on the inside. I contain multitudes.”

There was a pause—long enough for Y/N to hear what wasn’t being said. “You were there for me yesterday,” Y/N said softly. “You didn’t have to be. But you were. You and CJ both.”

Gabby’s voice softened. “That’s what we do. You hold space for everyone here. It’s our turn to hold it for you.”

Y/N smiled then, wide and warm. “Thank you.”

Gabby returned it, her hand reaching out to squeeze Y/N’s once before she stood.

“And if you need anything today—company, distraction, irrational amounts of sugar—you know where to find me.”

“I do.”

Gabby winked. “Good. I have glitter hidden in three locations and a playlist called ‘Soft Girl September’ if things go sideways.”

And with that, she sashayed away, her presence still loud—but her heart, as always, profoundly steady.

Y/N looked at the muffin, then out across the room where CJ was deep in conversation with a volunteer, and Gabby was already tossing a granola bar at Miles from across the room.

She exhaled slowly, then smiled to herself.

She was still healing.

But she was surrounded by love.

And that made all the difference.

Lunch hour crept up like it always did—quietly, subtly—until Y/N looked up from her notepad and realized most of the staff had already trickled out for their breaks. She glanced at the time, then toward CJ’s office.

Still closed.

Still in that emergency meeting with the board over budget forecasting and system grant compliance—one of those tedious, high-stakes things only CJ could navigate without flipping a desk.

He’d sent her a text earlier: [12:01 PM] CJ: Stuck. Go eat. I’ll make it up to you tonight.

So, with a quiet sigh and a determined tug of her sweater, Y/N grabbed her lunch from the break room fridge and carried it out to one of the smaller tables tucked near the windows. She didn’t mind solitude—usually even liked it—but today, with everything still quietly stirring inside her, she missed him.

She sat, opened her container, and began to eat.

And then—

“Minding if I sit?”

The voice wasn’t CJ’s.

Y/N looked up, blinking.

Miles stood there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, expression neutral in that typical Miles way—but there was something quieter in his eyes. Softer.

Y/N blinked again. “Uh… sure.”

He sat across from her, setting down his own lunch bag. Simple. Efficient. Of course.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They both began eating, the ambient sounds of The Stand wrapping around them.

Then, unexpectedly, Miles cleared his throat. “Gabby said you had a rough week.”

Y/N looked up, surprised. “She did?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t… give details. But when she’s quieter than usual around you, I notice.”

Y/N smiled a little at that. “She’s been amazing.”

Miles nodded. “She is.”

Another pause. Then: “I get it,” he said. “When stuff with parents sneaks up on you. It’s like it opens this trap door in your chest you didn’t know was still there.”

Y/N’s fork paused midair.

Miles didn’t look up from his food. He just kept talking, voice casual, steady. “I didn’t really grow up with mine. Just me and my mom. But even the absence of someone leaves marks, you know?”

“I do,” she said softly.

“I’m not the advice type,” Miles added quickly. “But… you’re not alone. Even when it feels like it.”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment, warmth blooming slowly in her chest. “You know, you surprise me sometimes,” she said.

“I’m full of secrets,” he deadpanned.

She smiled. “Thank you. Really. For sitting with me.”

He gave a small shrug. “CJ’s stuck in a meeting. Didn’t seem right for you to eat alone.”

She softened. “You’re kind, Miles. Even if you try very hard not to look like it.”

His ears turned a little pink. “Don’t spread that around.”

“Your secret’s safe.”

And just like that, they sat in companionable quiet, sharing a simple meal by the window—two people who had both known silence, and now found peace in each other’s presence.

It wasn’t CJ. It wasn’t Gabby.

But it was exactly what she needed in that moment.

And for that, Y/N was grateful.

Gabby had bounced into the break room five minutes earlier, intending to track down Y/N with two cinnamon muffins, a highly questionable canned matcha, and a story about a volunteer who accidentally answered the phones with “Thank you for calling Gabby” instead of The Stand.

She was riding high on caffeine, sass, and well-meaning chaos.

But when she turned the corner and caught sight of the small table by the window—her usual table with Y/N—she stopped short.

There, in the soft glow of the midday light, sat Y/N and Miles.

Eating.

Quietly.

No sarcasm. No snide remarks. No visible eye-rolling.

Y/N leaned slightly forward as Miles spoke, her expression open, soft, listening with the kind of focus she usually reserved for clients on the line. And Miles—stoic, often allergic to small talk—was speaking. Not distracted. Not uncomfortable. Just… there. Present.

Gabby’s lips parted slightly, and her footstep faltered.

They weren’t talking with the ease of old friends or the flirtation of something romantic. No, this was something else.

Something sacred.

Two people who knew grief in different forms. Who knew silence. Who knew what it was to feel unseen and had, for a moment, found understanding in each other.

She could’ve burst in—made a joke, dropped off the muffins, kissed Miles on the head and plopped down like she always did.

But she didn’t.

She stood in the threshold for a second longer, clutching her cinnamon muffin bag, and slowly stepped back without a sound.

She didn’t need to be in that moment.

Not this time.

Instead, she turned and headed back toward the staff hallway, humming quietly to herself. She’d catch Y/N later. Maybe offer the muffins as tribute. Maybe poke fun at Miles for being a secret softie.

But for now… she let them have it.

Because Gabby Summers was many things.

And one of them—perhaps her best-kept secret—was knowing when not to take up space.

And in that moment, Y/N and Miles didn’t need glitter or muffins.

They just needed each other.

The post-lunch lull had settled over The Stand like a blanket—soft and slow. Volunteers returned to their desks, the phones resumed their steady rhythm, and the quiet buzz of work filled the space like a familiar hum.

Miles, ever the creature of habit, had retreated to his usual corner of the tech station. He was mid-keyboard calibration—headphones in, focus narrowed—when he sensed her.

He always did.

Gabby didn’t announce herself with fanfare this time. No glitter. No dramatic declarations. She simply walked up to him, leaned over the back of his chair, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek—warm, unhurried, full of something so simple it felt sacred.

Miles froze. Not from discomfort—but because that kind of tenderness still startled him, even now.

He turned his head slightly, eyes searching hers. “Why?” he asked, voice low.

Gabby just smiled. No teasing in it. No deflection. “Just because,” she said softly.

Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she reached up and brushed a curl from his forehead before turning and walking away, her footsteps light as if she hadn’t just left his heart thrumming in his chest.

Miles sat there a moment longer, one hand resting on the desk, the other still frozen above his keyboard.

He blinked once.

Then again.

And then—almost imperceptibly—he smiled.

Just because.

The sun had dipped low by the time CJ finally emerged from his last meeting of the day. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, tie slightly loosened, and his hair looked like he’d run his hand through it at least a dozen times. The faint crease between his brows hadn’t faded, a telltale sign of a long day spent juggling decisions, data, and deadlines.

He scanned the bullpen, searching for one person—his person.

And there she was.

Y/N was just finishing up at her desk, tidying her notes and logging out of her computer, her movements slower than usual but steady. She looked like she’d settled some things—internally, emotionally—and CJ couldn’t help the rush of affection (and guilt) that flooded his chest at the sight of her.

He crossed the room in quick strides, dodging a volunteer with a phone tucked to one ear and a clipboard in the other, until he was finally standing beside her desk.

“Hey,” he breathed, voice rough.

Y/N turned, and the moment she saw him—tousled, slightly undone, and clearly rattled—her face softened.

“I’m so sorry,” CJ said immediately. “I got pulled into that board call, and then everything snowballed—budget talks, system outages, the grant rep called early and—God, I didn’t mean to leave you alone for lunch—”

Y/N reached up and placed her hand gently on his chest, just over his heart. “Hey,” she said softly. “I’m okay.”

He blinked, the apology still halfway out of him. “But I told you I’d be there.”

“And I know you meant it.” Her thumb brushed against his shirt. “CJ, it’s alright. It was just one lunch. And you’ve been doing your job—which, last I checked, is what makes this whole place run.”

CJ exhaled a little shakily, his hand covering hers, anchoring to her. “Still… I hated missing it.”

“I know,” she murmured. “But I wasn’t alone. Miles actually kept me company.”

That pulled his brows together, surprised. “Miles?”

Y/N smiled. “He was sweet. Quiet. Exactly what I needed.”

CJ chuckled, though his surprise lingered. “Maybe he’s been spending too much time around Gabby.”

Y/N grinned, finally standing to face him fully. “Gabby would probably call that a compliment.”

CJ cupped her face gently, his fingers brushing her jaw. “Can I still take you to dinner? Make up for it?”

“You don’t have to,” she said, voice quiet but affectionate.

“I want to,” he countered. “Let me take care of you today. Even if I fumbled the first half.”

She leaned into his touch. “Then yes. Dinner sounds perfect.”

CJ dipped forward and kissed her—slow, intentional, like he was reclaiming a moment that had almost slipped by. When they pulled apart, the exhaustion still lingered in his shoulders, but the look in his eyes had changed.

It wasn’t frazzled anymore.

It was home.

And for Y/N, that was more than enough.

The hallway lights glowed warm and low as CJ guided Y/N toward the exit, one hand resting lightly at the small of her back, the other carrying her bag as if it were second nature. Their voices were quiet—soft chuckles, murmured plans for dinner, the intimacy of people who had found their rhythm again.

Gabby watched from across the room, perched half-on, half-off a desk, a granola bar halfway to her mouth. Her smile stretched wide as she took them in—especially CJ, who just an hour ago had looked like the poster child for executive burnout.

“Look at them,” she whispered to no one in particular. “Domestic royalty.”

She started to turn, ready to pack her bag, when movement in her peripheral caught her attention. Miles.

Trying to make a clean getaway down the back hallway, hoodie pulled up, bag slung over one shoulder.

“Oh no you don’t,” she muttered.

She bolted after him with all the flair of a woman on a mission.

“Miles Jensen!”

He flinched slightly but didn’t stop walking.

She caught up easily, falling into step beside him with all the energy of someone who was absolutely not done talking.

“You were just gonna leave? No goodbye? No hug? Not even a sarcastic quip about my glitter collection? After all we’ve shared?”

Miles glanced at her, unimpressed. “You’re the one who said ‘see you tomorrow’ an hour ago.”

“Yeah, not emotionally,” she retorted. “I am a woman of farewell rituals, Jensen.”

“I wasn’t trying to leave without saying goodbye,” he said flatly, pushing the door open to the parking lot.

Gabby stopped short. “Wait, what?”

Miles turned to her, pausing just beside his car. The last rays of sun caught the edge of his profile, painting him in that deep orange light that always seemed to soften his edges.

“I was putting my stuff in the car,” he said, voice quieter now. “I was going to come back inside. To find you.”

Gabby blinked.

Miles reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys, fidgeting with them as he looked at her. “I was… gonna ask if you wanted to come over. For dinner. Nothing fancy. Just… me. You. Maybe food that didn’t come from a vending machine.”

Her breath caught—not because of the words themselves, but the way he said them. Like an offering. Like something that mattered.

“You were gonna come back and ask me out,” she said, stunned.

“I was gonna invite you over,” he said, ever the literalist. “But… yes.”

Gabby stood there for a second, for once quiet, processing.

Then a grin broke across her face, bright and uncontainable.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re awkward.”

Miles rolled his eyes, but the smallest smirk tugged at his lips.

She stepped closer, looped her arms around his neck, and kissed him—not rushed, not teasing. Just warm. Real.

When she pulled back, she whispered, “I’d love to.”

And in the fading light of evening, with the world finally quiet around them, they stood together.

Not loud.

Not chaotic.

Just right.

The next morning, as Y/N pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and double-checked her bag for her notes, something felt... off.

Gabby wasn’t there.

Not sprawled on the couch with a protein bar in her mouth, not blasting her chaotic playlist from the bathroom, not even half-dancing while applying mascara in the kitchen mirror.

Frowning, Y/N sent a quick text: Y/N: You good? Running late or kidnapped by glittery aliens?

A beat later, her phone buzzed.

Gabby: Doctor run. Thought I had food poisoning. Turns out it’s a UTI. Apparently, while Miles may have rocked my world, my bladder is not a fan.

Y/N choked on her tea, nearly dropping her phone.

Y/N: A UTI?? From MILES??

Gabby: Tell your man to tell his bro to cool it. I did not need to spend my morning explaining my bathroom schedule to a nurse.

Gabby (again): But also... worth it.

Y/N burst out laughing, the sound echoing through her empty apartment.

CJ, from the hallway, poked his head in, lifting an eyebrow. “You okay?”

Still giggling, Y/N grinned. “Gabby got a UTI.”

CJ blinked. “Should I be concerned or...?”

Y/N shook her head, smiling wickedly. “Let’s just say Miles owes her an ice pack. And maybe a fruit basket.”

CJ groaned, covering his face with a hand. “I don’t need to know this.”

Y/N just snorted, already texting Gabby back.

Y/N: Bringing cranberry juice to work. You animal.

By late morning, the front door to The Stand creaked open and in walked Gabby, oversized sunglasses covering half her face and a hot water bottle tucked under one arm like a designer purse. She moved slowly, dramatically, like a wounded heroine in a period drama.

Y/N spotted her first and couldn’t hide the grin. “Hey, look who survived.”

Gabby sighed, removing her sunglasses with flair. “Barely.”

Priya glanced up from her desk. “Rough morning?”

Gabby held up a hand. “Let the record show that I’m not mad. Just… slightly traumatized by my own choices.”

Miles, seated at his station with his headset half-on, turned just enough to catch her approach. “You didn’t have to come in. CJ said he could cover—”

“Oh, don’t you start,” Gabby cut in, dropping her bag with a theatrical thud. She marched right over to Miles and poked him in the shoulder. “You! Do you know what it’s like explaining to a nurse that you’re pretty sure your UTI is from playing Bedroom Rodeo with your emotionally-repressed tech boyfriend?”

Miles flushed crimson, eyes wide. “Gabby—”

“No,” she said, holding up a finger. “You don’t get to ‘Gabby’ me. I had to say ‘increased friction’ out loud. To a stranger. While wearing a paper gown.”

The room had gone still. Y/N was doubled over at her desk, shaking with silent laughter. Even CJ, from his office door, looked torn between mortification and awe.

“I mean,” Gabby continued, voice softening a bit, “I’m not saying it wasn’t worth it.”

Miles groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Gabby leaned in closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “But next time, Miles? Maybe we pace ourselves. Or invest in ice packs. Possibly a full pelvic recovery team.”

Miles peeked through his fingers, still red, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward in spite of himself. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Gabby said brightly, giving him a wink, “you still let me stay over.”

He exhaled, shoulders sagging as he shook his head. “Yeah. I really did.”

CJ, now fully leaning in the doorway, muttered under his breath, “I’m going to start handing out HR packets.”

Gabby spun toward him. “Please. You let me yell at him while sitting on a hot water bottle. You love this.”

CJ turned and disappeared back into his office without a word.

Y/N turned to Gabby, grinning. “So, cranberry juice at lunch?”

Gabby sighed dramatically and tossed her sunglasses back on. “Cranberry juice, heating pads, and if I don’t get at least three compliments today, I’m telling every caller I’m working through post-coital trauma.”

Miles let out a strangled cough.

Gabby just blew him a kiss.

Later that afternoon, things had quieted down at The Stand. The phone lines were mellow, and most of the team had drifted into their routines. Gabby was now curled sideways in her chair, typing lazily on her laptop.

Miles approached, carrying two drinks. He set a bottle of cranberry juice on her desk without a word.

Gabby blinked at it, then up at him. “Is this a peace offering?”

Miles shrugged, feigning indifference. “Figured I owed you something. Thought about flowers, but the last time I bought you anything with petals, you accused me of being manipulated by capitalism.”

She gasped. “That was Valentine’s Day, and the bouquet came from a gas station.”

“Still cost me $12.99,” he muttered.

Gabby grinned, unscrewing the juice cap. “Well, look at you. A man who listens. You’re learning.”

Miles gave her a dry look. “I’m being blackmailed by your kidneys, Gabriella. That’s not the same as learning.”

She took a sip and leaned back smugly. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

He watched her for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “So… are we going to talk about how you basically announced our sex life to the entire office?”

Gabby snorted. “I did not! I implied it aggressively with dramatic flair.”

Miles shook his head. “You said bedroom rodeo in front of Priya. I may never recover.”

Gabby wiggled her brows. “She laughed, didn’t she?”

“She looked like she aged twenty years in five seconds.”

Gabby leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck, but a crooked smile tugged at his lips. “You think I’m cute all the time.”

“I do,” Gabby said without missing a beat, eyes twinkling. “Even when you get snippy with the printer like it personally wronged you.”

“It did personally wrong me,” Miles muttered. “It jammed on a blank sheet. That’s sabotage.”

Gabby chuckled, then reached over and looped her pinky around his. “You know you’re my favorite person to torment, right?”

Miles sighed dramatically. “Yeah. I’m painfully aware.”

But he didn’t pull away.

Gabby leaned closer, voice softening. “Thanks for taking care of me, Miles.”

He looked at her, a little surprised by the sincerity in her tone. Then he reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with quiet precision. “Always.”

Gabby blinked, cheeks pinking just slightly—then she broke the moment with a smirk. “Now kiss me, you sentimental fool.”

Miles looked around. “Here? Right now? You already gave CJ an existential crisis this morning.”

Gabby whispered, “Live a little, tech boy.”

And to no one’s surprise, he did.

CJ was passing through the main room with a stack of updated intake forms when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He paused just outside the break room doorway and tilted his head.

Gabby was perched on the edge of her desk, leaning in close, her pinky looped around Miles’s. Whatever she said was low and sweet—clearly meant just for him. A second later, she tugged him in for a kiss, right there in the open.

CJ stopped walking. Just stopped. Like a program short-circuited mid-function.

“Is this... is this my life now?” he muttered, blinking.

Priya, seated nearby with a mug of chamomile and the perfect view of the scene, didn’t even look up from her notes. “You let them banter unsupervised. This is the natural consequence.”

CJ turned slightly to her, baffled. “They’re kissing in the middle of a mental health helpline.”

Priya raised an eyebrow. “You kissed Y/N in the hallway last Tuesday. I remember because Gabby said it gave her ‘hope for emotionally repressed men everywhere.’”

CJ groaned. “That was subtle. This is—this is a soap opera.”

Priya finally looked up at him, calm and composed. “You’re just mad because they’re cuter than you and Y/N now.”

CJ scoffed, scandalized. “Take that back.”

“Prove me wrong,” she said, sipping her tea like a woman with infinite time and receipts.

Inside the break room, Gabby let out a soft giggle as Miles tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, clearly smitten and trying very hard not to show it.

CJ turned away from the sight, shoulders slumped, muttering under his breath.

“I need a new job.”

Priya hummed. “No you don’t. You just need to accept that your workplace is now ninety percent emotional chaos, ten percent actual calls.”

He looked skyward like he was praying for strength.

Priya just smirked and went back to her tea.

Y/N rounded the corner into the main room with a freshly printed intake sheet in hand, her eyes scanning it absently—until she caught sight of CJ standing in the middle of the walkway, absolutely motionless, staring into space like he was calculating how much therapy he might need.

She stopped beside him, squinting. “Um... did the copier break again or are you just having an existential crisis?”

CJ didn’t look at her. Just pointed.

Y/N followed his gaze into the break room where Gabby and Miles were still tucked into their little bubble of fond, touchy affection—Miles looking like he was trying not to smile too hard, and Gabby clearly very pleased with herself.

Y/N blinked. “Oh.”

CJ finally turned to her, eyes wide in that calm-but-panicking way he’d perfected. “They’re kissing. In the break room. During business hours.”

Y/N nodded, pretending to be thoughtful. “Mm. So like... us on Monday?”

“That was different,” CJ said immediately. “That was a forehead kiss.”

“Okay,” she said sweetly. “And this is mouth.”

CJ gave her a withering look.

Y/N grinned, nudging him with her elbow. “You’re spiraling because they’re cuter than us, huh?”

“I am not spiraling,” CJ said, even though he very obviously was. “I am simply acknowledging that my workplace has become a rom-com and I’m apparently the supporting dad character now.”

From her desk nearby, Priya let out a low, unbothered hum. “He’s not wrong.”

Y/N turned to CJ, eyes twinkling. “Do you want me to make out with you in the break room so we can reclaim our title?”

CJ paused. Considered it.

Y/N watched the shift in his expression. “Oh my god, you’re actually thinking about it.”

“I have to protect our legacy,” he muttered.

Priya sighed, reaching for her notepad. “Should I start a bracket for this or just call it what it is—mutually assured flirtation?”

Y/N gave CJ a slow, amused smile. “Careful, Braxton. You go toe-to-toe with Gabby in a PDA-off, and you will lose.”

CJ exhaled through his nose. “God help me, I think I respect that.”

Y/N looped her arm through his and started guiding him away. “Come on. Let’s go act like responsible adults before someone brings in popcorn.”

CJ followed reluctantly. “Do you think if I file a formal break room ban they’ll respect it?”

“No.”

“Can I at least steal you for a forehead kiss behind the supply closet?”

Y/N smirked. “Now that’s the spirit.”

And with that, they disappeared down the hallway—leaving Priya smirking behind her tea, and Gabby and Miles still blissfully unaware that they had just triggered a romantic arms race.

It was nearing the end of the shift when Gabby strolled out of the break room, humming and visibly pleased with life. Miles followed a few paces behind her, doing his best to look casual, despite the lingering flush on his cheeks and the fact that his shirt was slightly rumpled at the collar.

CJ, passing by with a stack of newly printed call reports, slowed as he saw them. His jaw twitched. His eyes narrowed.

Gabby caught the look immediately.

She stopped. “Oh-ho. What’s this?”

CJ tried to play it cool. “What’s what?”

Gabby grinned, stepping directly into his path like a lion scenting weakness. “That face. That’s your I’m being replaced as the workplace’s favorite romantic subplot face.”

CJ blinked. “I do not have a face for that.”

“CJ, sweetheart,” Gabby said, absolutely delighted. “You are threatened.”

CJ huffed. “I am not threatened. I am... observant.”

“Uh-huh,” Gabby said, spinning dramatically to point at Miles. “You hear this? He thinks we’re competition.”

Miles raised both hands. “Leave me out of it.”

But Gabby was already full steam ahead.

She turned back to CJ, eyes sparkling. “Are you saying you and Y/N feel eclipsed by us? Oh my God. Is this your villain origin story?”

CJ opened his mouth to retort—and then Y/N walked in, sipping her tea with a raised eyebrow. “Why does it sound like someone’s trying to summon a deity of chaos?”

Gabby spun toward her. “CJ is jealous.”

Y/N blinked. “Of what?”

Gabby gestured between herself and Miles. “Of us. Apparently our PDA is too powerful. We’ve shifted the romantic hierarchy.”

Y/N blinked again… then slowly turned to CJ. “Oh my God. You are jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” CJ muttered, now visibly regretting every life choice that led him to this moment. “I just think there should be a basic level of decorum in the workplace.”

“You kissed me behind the file cabinets,” Y/N said, deadpan.

“That was discreet.”

“It was noon,” she reminded him. “And Miles dropped his coffee because you startled him.”

Gabby clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is better than I dreamed. CJ, darling—are you officially declaring a romance rivalry?”

CJ glared. “There is no rivalry.”

Gabby leaned in, voice low and devious. “Because you’d lose?”

CJ opened his mouth.

Y/N put a hand gently on his arm. “Don’t take the bait. That’s how she wins.”

But it was too late. Gabby was already circling them like a shark.

“Admit it,” she teased. “You saw Miles kissing me in the break room and said, ‘That should be us.’”

CJ gave her a tight smile. “I said, ‘This is a helpline, not an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.’”

“You love it,” Gabby beamed. “You love us.”

CJ groaned and walked off without another word.

Gabby called after him: “You better step it up, Braxton! Tomorrow I’m bringing a mixtape and coordinated outfits!”

Y/N covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “You’re going to break him.”

Miles rubbed his face. “She already has.”

Gabby turned to them both and whispered with mock-seriousness, “Tell him I accept his challenge.”

Y/N smirked. “There wasn’t a challenge.”

Gabby winked. “There is now.”

The sun had dipped low by the time CJ and Y/N stepped outside The Stand, the sidewalk washed in soft amber light and the distant murmur of campus life humming like background music. They walked in comfortable silence for a stretch, the buzz of the day slowly melting off their shoulders.

Then CJ exhaled, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other brushing against hers.

“She’s really going to bring matching outfits tomorrow,” he muttered.

Y/N laughed, leaning just enough to bump her shoulder against his. “You shouldn’t have looked so constipated while they were kissing. You fed her soul with that reaction.”

CJ rolled his eyes, but a wry smile tugged at his lips. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Y/N said, grinning. “You glared like someone had interrupted your monologue.”

He chuckled softly, the sound fading into a quieter breath. “You know... she’s not wrong. We used to be like that.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Obsessively handsy,” CJ said, glancing sideways at her. “Remember? Sneaking off during lunch breaks, making out behind the supply closet, finding excuses to ‘check the back room’ even though we both knew exactly what we were doing.”

Y/N bit her lip, amused. “Mmm. We were a little shameless.”

CJ looked down at his shoes for a moment, then up at the dusky sky. “It just… feels like we cooled. Like maybe I let it slip. I didn’t mean to. But sometimes I wonder if I did.”

Y/N slowed to a stop, turning to face him fully. “CJ.”

He looked at her, eyes steady but uncertain.

She reached up, cupping his cheek gently with her gloved hand. “You didn’t let anything slip. We didn’t cool. We… settled.”

CJ’s brows furrowed slightly. “That’s not exactly romantic.”

Y/N smiled, soft and sure. “Yes, it is. We’re not in the honeymoon phase anymore, where everything’s dizzy and new and filled with stolen glances and breathless kisses. We’re past that now. You and me? We’re cemented. We’re steady. And that doesn’t make us any less in love—it just means we’ve built something that lasts.”

He blinked, her words sinking in like warmth into tired bones. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t try to out-cute Gabby and Miles with a spontaneous ballad and fireworks display?”

She laughed, stepping closer, hands on his chest now. “Please don’t. You’d cry from embarrassment halfway through and blame it on smoke from the sparklers.”

CJ huffed. “One time.”

Y/N leaned in, brushing a kiss against his jaw, then his lips—slow, deliberate, full of all the quiet certainty they’d built together.

“I love you,” she said, forehead resting against his. “Even if we’re boring now.”

“We are not boring,” CJ said, smug again. “We are classic.”

She giggled. “Exactly. Timeless.”

They stood like that for a moment, the evening curling around them like a soft blanket. Then CJ finally smiled—really smiled—and slid his hand into hers as they kept walking.

“Still,” he murmured, squeezing her fingers. “Tomorrow I’m kissing you in the middle of the office. Just to remind everyone.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “Fine. But if you dip me, you better not drop me.”

“I make no promises.”

The next morning at The Stand started with its usual rhythm—early shift log-ins, half-awake greetings, and the aroma of burnt coffee wafting through the lounge. CJ had already been in his office, going over call rotation updates, but the second he saw Y/N walk through the door, something shifted.

She hadn’t even taken off her coat when he crossed the room with purpose, zero hesitation, like a man on a mission.

Y/N blinked at the intensity in his eyes. “Good morning—”

Before she could say more, CJ stopped in front of her, slid one hand around her waist, the other gently cradling the back of her neck, and kissed her.

Right there. In full view of the break room, the front desk, and half the staff.

It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t subtle either.

It was the kind of kiss that said: I know who you are to me. I know what we’ve built. And I’m not shy about it anymore.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N blinked up at him, breathless but smiling. “Wow. You really meant it.”

CJ smirked. “Told you I would.”

A loud gasp shattered the silence.

Gabby.

Standing in the break room, halfway through peeling a banana, her eyes wide like she’d just witnessed a historical event. “HOLY. PUBLIC. DECLARATION.”

Miles looked up from the printer, visibly resigned.

Gabby stormed into the main room, banana completely forgotten. “Excuse me, was that an office-wide smackdown of romance supremacy?!”

CJ arched an eyebrow. “You did say we’d cooled.”

Gabby clutched her chest. “And you came back swinging. Y/N, girl, are you okay? Blink twice if you’re overwhelmed by his redemption arc.”

Y/N laughed, cheeks flushed. “I’m okay. Just... very publicly kissed.”

CJ, utterly pleased with himself, reached for her hand. “Worth it.”

Miles muttered from the corner, “You’ve created a monster, Gabby.”

Gabby twirled. “Reignited a monster. There’s a difference.”

Priya, sipping her morning tea at her desk, didn’t even look up. “Do I need to get the spray bottle again?”

“Nope!” Gabby chirped, pointing dramatically. “This is glorious and we should encourage it.”

CJ tugged Y/N closer, smug. “Let them talk.”

Y/N grinned, leaning in. “They will.”

They walked off hand in hand toward their desks as Gabby shouted after them, “Next week: synchronized love sonnets!”

CJ called back without missing a beat, “We’re saving those for the staff meeting.”

Priya sighed. “God help us all.”

Later that afternoon, after the whirlwind of calls, counseling, and Gabby declaring herself “Head of the Romance Appreciation Committee,” CJ retreated to his office. The door was half-closed, just enough to signal he wasn’t hiding, but not exactly inviting traffic either.

A soft knock tapped once before Y/N pushed it open.

“Hey,” she said gently, slipping inside and easing the door shut behind her. “You okay?”

CJ looked up from where he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Just... needed a breather.”

Y/N crossed the room and perched on the edge of his desk, facing him. “So, was that whole kiss-in-the-middle-of-the-room thing your version of reclaiming the crown?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Honestly? I think I just missed kissing you without a clipboard in one hand and a deadline in the other.”

Y/N smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair gently. “You didn’t need to prove anything, you know.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I just... realized how easy it is to start going through the motions. Work, home, crash, repeat. And I didn’t want you to ever feel like I was taking you for granted. Or that we were fading.”

Y/N tilted her head, voice soft and sure. “We’re not fading, CJ. We’re just... settled. We’re steady. You don’t need to kiss me in front of everyone to remind me how you feel.”

He looked up at her, something tender behind his eyes. “But I wanted to.”

Y/N leaned in slowly, pressing a quiet kiss to his lips—less show, more soul. The kind of kiss you don’t need an audience for. The kind that says I’m here. Still.

When they pulled apart, CJ let out a long breath and reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Do you think I’m ridiculous?”

“Absolutely,” she said, eyes dancing. “But in a really lovable way.”

He smiled, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Good. Because I plan to keep being ridiculous about you for a very long time.”

Y/N leaned her forehead against his. “You’re allowed to be. But next time you try to one-up Gabby, just remember—she keeps glitter in her car and has no shame.”

CJ groaned. “I’m terrified.”

Y/N grinned. “Good. That means you’re learning.”

They stayed like that for a moment—quiet, steady, perfectly settled. And utterly in love.

Just as Y/N was about to slip out of CJ’s office, the door creaked open a few inches—without a knock.

“Not to interrupt the domestic bliss,” Gabby sing-songed from the crack, “but I am collecting votes for ‘Best Workplace Kiss of the Year,’ and so far you two are winning by sheer dramatic flair.”

CJ didn’t move. “There are no other nominees.”

Gabby gasped. “You don’t know that. Miles and I have at least one solid contender involving a granola bar and a swivel chair.”

Y/N groaned, hand over her face. “Gabby—”

“Don’t worry,” Gabby continued, pushing the door open fully now, grinning like she owned the place, “your prize is a small trophy, eternal bragging rights, and—drumroll—co-chair status in the newly formed PDA Elite Club.”

“I’m resigning,” CJ muttered, deadpan.

Gabby pointed at him triumphantly. “Too late. You kissed your way into office.”

Y/N laughed, tugging CJ up from his chair as Gabby dramatically bowed out of the doorway.

As they followed her back out into the main room, CJ leaned toward Y/N and murmured just loud enough for her to hear, “We’re never getting rid of her, are we?”

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. “Not a chance.”

Gabby, ten feet ahead, spun around. “I heard that! You’re welcome for keeping your relationship spicy!”

CJ sighed.

Y/N just grinned and said, “She’s not wrong.”

And with that, the day carried on—ridiculous, chaotic, and full of heart.

Just the way they liked it.

That evening, Y/N was curled up on the couch with CJ, her legs draped over his lap while he absentmindedly traced circles on her shin. They were half-watching some true crime docuseries—well, Y/N was. CJ was clearly more interested in her than the cold case currently unfolding on screen.

Her phone buzzed with a text.

Gabby: Kill me.

Y/N raised an eyebrow and typed back.

Y/N: What now? Did Miles say something actually sincere?

Gabby’s reply came fast.

Gabby: Antibiotics. Gabby: THE STRONG KIND. The kind that make your stomach hate you and your kidneys file a formal complaint. Gabby: I had to go pick them up wearing a hoodie I’m 90% sure belongs to Miles and pajama pants that say “Queen of Chaos.”

Y/N smirked, biting back a laugh.

Y/N: So what I’m hearing is: even your pharmacy trip was on brand.

Gabby: I’m suffering. Tell your man his bro is officially banned from “world-rocking” for a minimum of 7-10 days.

Y/N: Consider him notified.

Gabby: And yet... Gabby: He is absolutely worth it.

Y/N paused, her smile softening as she read that last line. Then:

Y/N: That bad, huh?

Gabby: Horrible pain. Constant bathroom trips. Two days of heating pads, cranberry pills, and the nurse saying “maybe... slow down?” ... But he makes me laugh even when I want to scream, and he looks at me like I invented the moon. So yeah. Worth it.

Y/N stared at the screen for a long moment, heart swelling with affection.

Then she sent:

Y/N: I’m so happy for you. For real. And also—you’re definitely keeping the hoodie.

Gabby: Oh I already “forgot” to give it back. That thing’s mine now.

Gabby (again): Also, Miles brought me soup today and tried to call it “nutrient optimization.”

Gabby (again): Marry him.

Y/N snorted, nearly choking on her tea.

CJ glanced down at her from where he was still lazily trailing his fingers across her knee. “Dare I ask?”

Y/N locked her phone and leaned back against him with a dreamy sigh. “Gabby’s on antibiotics, in pain, mildly feral, and 100% in love.”

CJ arched an eyebrow. “So... a normal Tuesday?”

Y/N grinned. “Basically.”

CJ reached for the remote. “Tell her if she gives Miles a rash from wearing her hoodie too long, I’m not covering his sick days.”

The next morning at The Stand started with its usual chorus of login chimes, printer groans, and the gurgling coffee pot that always sounded like it needed therapy.

CJ was leaning casually against the front desk, sipping from his mug while Y/N stood beside him, flipping through the day’s intake schedule. It was a quiet moment—until the front door swung open with a thud.

Miles walked in.

And he looked... off.

Not bad. Just rumpled. A little too rumpled.

His shirt was misbuttoned by one notch, his tie hung loose like it had been knotted in a rush, and his hair—usually tousled in an intentional, “I don’t care but I actually care a lot” way—was full-on disheveled. As if he’d either been through a wind tunnel… or an enthusiastic round two.

CJ blinked. “Huh.”

Y/N looked up from the clipboard. “What?”

CJ sipped his coffee. “Miles is wearing yesterday’s stress and this morning’s regret.”

Y/N tilted her head. “No… that’s not regret.” Her eyes narrowed, tracking the slight limp in his step and the faint scuff on the collar of his shirt. “That’s... triumph.”

Just then, Gabby breezed in through the door right behind Miles, sunglasses perched on her head, ponytail bouncing like she was fresh from an herbal commercial. She was glowing.

No, she was smirking.

Y/N’s jaw dropped slightly.

CJ glanced between the two of them, then at Y/N. “You’re doing the math, aren’t you?”

Y/N stared at Miles, who was now trying very hard to act like he wasn’t walking like his lower back hurt.

Then she looked at Gabby.

Who winked.

Y/N choked on air.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “They did it this morning.”

CJ nodded, unbothered. “Probably in the car.”

“In the car?!”

CJ shrugged. “She drives a Subaru. Those back seats fold flat.”

Y/N looked scandalized and impressed. “That’s... disturbingly specific.”

Gabby passed by them, giving CJ a casual pat on the shoulder. “Good morning, sunshine.”

CJ just sipped his coffee. “You’re late.”

Gabby smiled, unrepentant. “We took the scenic route.”

Miles, from across the room, dropped his phone.

Y/N buried her face in her clipboard to hide the laugh that was threatening to burst free. “This place is unhinged,” she muttered.

CJ leaned toward her with a crooked smile. “And yet, here we are. Steady amidst the chaos.”

Y/N grinned back, cheeks flushed. “Speak for yourself. I’ll never recover from this visual.”

Gabby called over her shoulder as she made her way to the break room, “Recover fast! Staff meeting in fifteen! Also—you’re welcome for the serotonin!”

Miles groaned audibly. CJ clapped him on the shoulder in passing.

“You need electrolytes and a chiropractor, man.”

Y/N followed with a grin, whispering, “And maybe a reminder that fogged-up windows are a dead giveaway.”

A little later, during the lull before the morning calls ramped up, Y/N caught Gabby alone in the break room, leaning casually against the counter while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

Y/N slipped in and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

Gabby looked over, entirely too pleased with herself. “If you’re here to give me a standing ovation, I’ll allow it.”

Y/N snorted. “You had morning sex, didn’t you?”

Gabby blinked. “I decline to confirm or deny—”

“—in a car, Gabby.”

Gabby shrugged one shoulder, utterly unapologetic. “It’s not a crime to carpe diem before clocking in.”

Y/N laughed, walking over to grab a mug. “You literally just started antibiotics yesterday.”

Gabby waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Doctor said take it easy, drink water, avoid trauma to the area—”

“Gabby.”

“But Miles made me tea. And he wore that one hoodie that makes him look like a soft boy with dangerous hands. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Y/N burst out laughing, setting her mug down and covering her face. “You are unbelievable. You texted me kill me last night.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m going to die, I want it to be in his arms after round two,” Gabby said without missing a beat.

Y/N groaned. “I can’t keep having this conversation in the workplace.”

Gabby smirked, sipping her coffee. “Fine, but I’ll have you know I was hydrated, took my meds, and stretched beforehand. I came prepared.”

“Prepared?” Y/N choked. “Gabby, this is a helpline, not a training montage.”

Gabby wiggled her eyebrows. “Every hero has their origin story.”

Y/N leaned against the counter beside her, shaking her head, laughter still bubbling up. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Gabby smiled softer now, setting her mug down. “Yeah, well… I’m lucky Miles does too.”

Y/N gave her a look—half affection, half amused exasperation. “Even if you give yourself a second UTI, huh?”

Gabby groaned dramatically. “Okay, that would be tragic.”

Y/N raised her mug in mock toast. “To questionable choices and the men who are weirdly worth them.”

Gabby clinked her cup against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

Meanwhile, outside the break room, CJ leaned against the edge of the front desk, flipping through the morning rotation sheets as Miles approached, coffee in hand and the quiet, lingering air of a man who had made choices.

CJ didn’t look up as Miles drew near. “You alright?”

Miles took a sip, winced a little—either from the heat or from something else entirely. “Define ‘alright.’”

CJ glanced over at him, eyebrow raised. “Well, you walked in looking like someone who lost a bet, then survived a passionate crime scene in a hatchback.”

Miles sighed. “It was her idea.”

CJ gave him a knowing look. “It’s always her idea.”

There was a beat of silence. Then CJ smirked, lowering his voice just enough. “But you didn’t say no.”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… I could’ve. But then she smiled at me like I invented gravity and next thing I know, we’re fogging up the car windows and I’m trying to remember if my spine always makes that sound.”

CJ chuckled, the low kind that only came from experience. “You do know she’s still on antibiotics, right?”

“She brought them with her,” Miles muttered. “Took them in the car like a goddamn road trip snack.”

CJ blinked. “That’s... actually impressive.”

Miles blew out a breath. “It’s chaos. But I can’t lie… I like the chaos.”

CJ looked at him for a moment, something softer beneath the smirk. “Yeah. I get that.”

Miles gave him a sidelong glance. “You miss it?”

CJ shrugged. “Sometimes. But then I look at Y/N sitting in our living room, curled up with a mug of tea and a stack of her notes, humming off-key to some old playlist she refuses to update… and I think, I don’t need chaos.”

Miles nodded slowly, quiet for a beat. “You’ve got gravity.”

CJ smiled. “Exactly.”

Just then, Gabby’s laughter rang out from the break room—sharp, bright, and unmistakably Gabby. Miles flinched like it physically hit him.

CJ patted his shoulder. “Good luck surviving the debrief.”

Miles sighed. “I’d say wish me luck, but it’s not gonna help.”

CJ grinned. “Nope.”

The late-morning lull had settled in. The calls were steady but manageable, and most of the team was tucked into their usual rhythms. CJ was back at his desk in his office, reviewing schedules, making notes on shift gaps—typical end-of-week cleanup.

The door eased open without a knock, and Priya slipped in with a mug in one hand and her trademark neutral expression.

CJ glanced up. “Did Gabby send you to lecture me about workplace affection guidelines?”

Priya shut the door behind her with a soft click. “No. She asked if I could get you to sponsor themed Thursdays and fund a karaoke night.”

CJ blinked. “Absolutely not.”

“Thought you’d say that,” she said mildly, setting her tea on the edge of his desk. “This is just me checking in.”

CJ leaned back, stretching his shoulder. “I’m good.”

Priya tilted her head slightly, watching him. “You’re steady.”

He gave a dry smirk. “Was that a compliment or a warning?”

“A compliment,” she said simply. “You and Y/N—you’re exactly what I think most of these kids need to see. Proof that love doesn’t have to be messy to be real.”

CJ let out a slow breath, nodding. “It’s not as loud as it used to be. But it’s solid.”

Priya smiled faintly. “Loud burns out fast. Solid lasts.”

He looked at her for a moment. “You always do this—wander in with a cup of tea and casually drop something philosophical.”

Priya shrugged. “Comes with the therapist license. That and a bookshelf full of plants and trauma recovery workbooks.”

CJ chuckled. “And?”

She hesitated. “And... Miles and Gabby.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What about them?”

Priya sipped her tea, thoughtful. “You know I used to think they’d cancel each other out. Too much heat, too much stubbornness. But lately... I don’t know. It’s like they’re both settling in without losing their spark.”

CJ leaned forward, arms on the desk. “You think it’s real?”

Priya nodded slowly. “I think they’ve figured out how to make chaos feel safe. That’s not easy.”

CJ let that sit for a moment, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “You’re rooting for them.”

Priya sipped. “Of course. I’m not heartless.”

“You just hide it under steel and sarcasm.”

“I learned from the best,” she said, raising a brow at him before turning to leave. “Oh, and CJ?”

“Yeah?”

She looked over her shoulder, calm and even. “You still win the PDA award. But don’t get comfortable. Gabby’s already planning a choreographed duet for the staff talent night.”

The door shut behind her before CJ could respond.

He stared at it for a beat, then sighed.

Laughed once.

And texted Y/N:

Remind me to fake a scheduling conflict the week of the talent show.

The Stand had grown still as late afternoon rolled in, soft golden light casting long shadows across the floor. The hum of ringing phones had quieted, replaced by the low, comforting rhythm of a day winding down.

CJ found Y/N alone in the lounge, curled into the corner of the old loveseat. Her legs were tucked beneath her, her arms loose at her sides, and the letter—that letter—rested in her lap, unfolded with quiet care.

CJ said nothing at first. He just walked in slowly and sat beside her, his presence a gentle question.

Y/N leaned into him almost immediately, her head resting against his shoulder, the weight of the letter still fresh on her.

“I read it again,” she murmured, voice hoarse from emotion, not fatigue.

CJ’s hand settled against her back, slow and steady. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “It still hurts. But it’s… different now. Softer.”

She didn’t need to explain. CJ had been there when she read it the first time—had sat beside her, grounding her as her fingers unfolded the aged paper. He’d held her while the words unraveled everything she’d buried so tightly inside herself.

Her father’s letter hadn’t been performative. It hadn’t been neat. It was raw and apologetic. Unflinching in its recognition of the damage he’d done—and of the man he hadn’t been.

And most of all, it had named what she had survived.

It hadn’t erased anything. But it had acknowledged everything.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” she admitted now, fingers brushing the edge of the page. “I’m still angry. Still aching. But I believe him. For the first time... I believe he sees me.”

CJ said nothing, just kissed the side of her head.

“I’m not ready to talk to him,” she continued. “Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I’m not holding my breath anymore, waiting for words that might never come. Because they did come. And I still get to choose what happens next.”

CJ pulled her closer. “That’s all that matters.”

She closed her eyes. “It cracked something open. That’s the only way I can describe it. Like the pain shifted into something else. Not gone… but finally moving.”

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” he said quietly. “We take this one breath at a time. Together.”

Y/N was silent for a while. Then, she spoke—soft, certain. “I don’t know what kind of relationship I’ll have with my dad, if any. But I know what kind of life I have now.”

CJ glanced at her, his expression gentle.

She met his eyes. “This. You. The Stand. Gabby. Priya. Even Miles and his chaos. This is my life. My family.”

CJ’s gaze softened further, fingers brushing hers. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she said, leaning back into him. “And that’s what’s saving me. Not the apology. Not the letter. You. All of you. This place. It’s what caught me when I didn’t even know I was still falling.”

CJ rested his chin on her head. “And it always will.”

They sat like that, the letter still resting quietly in her lap, its weight now a little easier to carry.

And for the first time, Y/N didn’t feel like she was bracing herself for impact.

She felt like she was breathing again.

Maybe not healed.

But beginning.

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]

So soon! I’m excited too! 🤩

And haha! Thank you! Little Eliza is a joy to write! I get absolute freedom to be silly with her and Caleb alternates between being an absolute sweetheart and a wild child. 🥰

Second Chances: Forever - Part Thirty-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: 4,087

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, medical drama, pregnancy drama

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: Please see THIS LINK for updates on the posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

❗Note❗: I'm so sorry this is late! Thank you all for being patient!

Chapter Thirty-One: Holding Pattern

Y/N had counted the ceiling planks in the living room at least a dozen times that morning. She knew which one had the faint swirl like a sideways heart and which one had the hairline crack Beau kept saying he’d patch when the baby came.

She knew the way the sun hit the windows just after 10 a.m., streaking through the curtains and warming her feet. She knew the exact squeak the couch made when Eliza climbed onto it with too much dramatic flair. And she knew—deep in her bones—that she was starting to lose her mind.

Bedrest was not for the faint of heart.

“Mom,” she said with a sigh as her mother passed by with a laundry basket, “if I don’t do something other than rest soon, I’m going to sprout roots in this couch.”

Margaret gave her a dry smile over the rim of her glasses. “Sprout away. I’ll water you on the hour.”

Y/N groaned and flopped back into the pillows, one hand resting over her belly. Thirty-five weeks. They were so close now. So damn close. And yet, every hour felt like a small eternity.

Across the room, Eliza burst through the hallway arch with a paper crown and her wolf plushie under one arm. “The Wolf Queen has entered the duck realm!” she declared. “A peace treaty must be signed or war will begin at dawn!”

Margaret looked over her shoulder. “Well, then, you better make sure the ducks are fed before negotiations.”

“I am the diplomat!” Eliza shouted as she raced toward the back door.

Y/N chuckled softly. “She gets wilder every day.”

“She’s been storing up creative energy like a little hurricane,” Margaret said fondly. “Just like someone else I know.”

Caleb, toddling along behind Eliza with a fistful of Goldfish crackers, stopped at the side of the couch and reached up with both arms. “Mama,” he said sweetly. “Hug.”

Y/N smiled and reached for him as far as she could. “Come up here, baby. Easy.”

Margaret swooped in. “I’ve got him,” she said gently, lifting him to snuggle in beside Y/N.

Caleb pressed his forehead to her belly, kissing it with a soft “Mwah!” before curling up against her side like he always had—familiar, warm, and impossibly sweet.

“He’s been extra snuggly,” Y/N murmured, stroking his curls.

“He knows something’s coming,” Margaret said with a knowing smile. “They always do.”

The rest of the day passed in a slow rhythm—Eliza choreographing duck-and-wolf dances in the backyard, Margaret and Emily rotating kitchen duty and diaper patrol. Y/N stayed on the couch, watching her family orbit gently around her, and even though she itched to do something, she knew—deep down—how precious this waiting was.

That night, after the last bedtime story and a quiet check on Caleb’s sleepy babble, Beau helped her into bed.

The lights were low. The fan spun overhead. He crawled in beside her and propped himself on one elbow, eyes soft in the dim light.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead.

She sighed. “I feel like a beached whale. And a useless one at that.”

Beau didn’t laugh. He leaned down, kissed her shoulder, and murmured against her skin, “You’re not useless. You’re carryin’ our child. Bein’ strong every minute. And you’re mine. Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Y/N blinked slowly, the weight of exhaustion settling beneath the quiet heat of his words. “You say that like you mean it.”

He smiled, the kind that pulled deep from his chest. “That’s ‘cause I do.”

His hand rested low on her belly, thumb sweeping in a slow arc. “We’re almost there.”

She covered his hand with hers. “It still scares me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But you’re not in it alone.”

She turned her face into his neck, breathing him in—warm, safe, familiar. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he said.

And as the world hushed outside their window, Y/N let herself be held—by the man who never let go, the life growing steady inside her, and the home they’d built with the chaos, joy, and heartbreak of second chances.

Y/N shifted slightly beneath the blankets, her hand still resting over Beau’s where it lay on her belly. The house was quiet now—really quiet. No rustle of little feet, no creaking floorboards, no Eliza serenading the wolves from her pillow fort.

Just them. Just this.

She could hear the cadence of Beau’s breathing starting to slow, but she knew he wasn’t asleep yet.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice soft in the dark, “I used to think I could handle anything if I just kept moving.”

Beau made a quiet sound—almost a hum, almost a question.

“Like, if I kept doing, kept planning, kept showing up, I could survive anything.” Her thumb rubbed gently along his. “But this… bedrest, the fear, the stillness… it’s cracked something open in me.”

Beau didn’t interrupt. He just shifted a little closer, resting his chin against the top of her head. “What’s it opened, darlin’?”

“I think…” Her breath caught for a second. “I think I’m still learning how to be loved when I can’t do anything to earn it.”

That brought silence between them. Not empty. Heavy. Full of knowing.

Beau’s voice was low, steady. “You never had to earn a damn thing with me.”

She closed her eyes. “I know. But sometimes… I still feel like I do.”

Beau pressed a kiss to her hairline. “You’re not here to earn love, Y/N. You are loved. Every piece of you. Especially the parts that are tired. And scared. And still showin’ up, even when it’s just by breathin’.”

Her throat tightened.

“I see you,” he whispered. “Even when you feel like you’re fading into the pillows and the monitors and the ‘just rest.’ I see my wife. The woman who makes this house a home. Who raised a hell of a little girl before I even came along. Who let me step into her life and loved me anyway.”

Y/N blinked, tears sliding down into her hair.

“And I see the way you carry this baby,” Beau continued, voice gruff with feeling. “Even when it hurts. Even when it scares you. You’ve never stopped. Not once. And I don’t take that for granted.”

She let out a quiet breath, shaky but sure. “You say things like that and I feel like I can breathe again.”

“You can breathe,” he said. “You’re not alone in this. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

They stayed like that for a long while—hands joined, foreheads close, the thrum of the baby’s movement a soft flutter between them.

Finally, Y/N whispered, “Thank you for seeing me. Even when I feel invisible.”

Beau’s answer was simple. Honest. “I’d never stop seein’ you, darlin’. Not even if the whole damn world went dark.”

And in that hush, between contractions that never came, and fear that had finally softened at the edges, Y/N let herself rest.

Not just her body.

Her heart.

Because sometimes the bravest thing in the world was letting someone love you exactly as you are.

Late morning sunlight streamed through the windows, soft and golden, the kind that made everything feel a little less heavy.

Y/N was propped on the couch with fresh pillows, a cup of warm herbal tea beside her, and Caleb nestled against her thigh, scribbling with a crayon on a coloring book he had no intention of keeping inside the lines. She rubbed gentle circles over his back, her fingers moving in time with his sleepy hums.

Across the room, Eliza stood atop a small ottoman, wearing a felt cape Emily had helped her stitch together from craft scraps and an old scarf. The wolf plushie—Sir Growls-a-Lot—was balanced on one shoulder like a furry parrot. In her right hand, she held a wooden spoon, brandished like a royal scepter.

Emily sat cross-legged nearby, dutifully scribbling down proclamations on a clipboard labeled OFFICIAL ANIMAL TREATY NOTES.

“This is important,” Eliza said gravely. “We are currently between peace and disaster.”

Emily nodded solemnly. “Go on, your majesty.”

“The ducks,” Eliza said, pacing now, “are still mad about the pond incident. But the wolves offered a branch. A real branch. I saw it.”

Y/N smiled from the couch. “Was it a peace offering?”

“No,” Eliza said, wrinkling her nose. “It was more like a stick. But they meant peace, so it counts.”

Caleb lifted his crayon, smeared a giant green streak across the arm of the couch, and looked up proudly. “Duhhhk!”

“Exactly,” Eliza said with a nod. “The ducks need to know we’re serious.”

Beau wandered in from the hallway just in time to hear that. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, raising one brow. “Are these the same ducks that were threatening to steal the wolf queen’s jewels last week?”

“Different faction,” Emily deadpanned, eyes still on her clipboard.

Beau’s drawl came thick with amusement. “Of course.”

“The point is,” Eliza continued, “we’re planning the ceremony for the treaty tonight. There will be a feast. Of toast and strawberries. And maybe three chocolate chips. Maybe.”

Beau stepped forward and ruffled her hair. “Sounds like high-stakes diplomacy. You need a security escort?”

“I am security,” she declared. “The wolves trained me. In the dark woods. With shadows and riddles.”

Beau grinned. “Well, can’t argue with that.”

Y/N was laughing now, soft and full, her hand still stroking Caleb’s back as he drooled on her knee and hummed along to some private toddler soundtrack. “Did the wolves give you a title yet?”

Eliza turned dramatically. “I am Queen Eliza, Keeper of the Forest, Protector of the Flock, and Bringer of Peace Between Feather and Fang.”

Beau gave a low whistle. “That’s a mouthful.”

“I earned it.”

Y/N leaned her head back with a sleepy smile. “Of course you did, little wolf.”

Eliza looked over and softened for a moment, hopping off her ottoman and padding to the couch. She climbed up carefully, mindful of Y/N’s belly, and nestled close.

“I saved you a crown,” she whispered. “But it’s not ready yet. It’s gotta have feathers and wolf fur. Real-looking, not itchy.”

Y/N kissed the top of her head. “You’re doing very important work.”

“I know,” Eliza said with a little sigh. “But I also missed you a lot. So it’s hard to be queen and daughter at the same time.”

Y/N blinked back sudden tears and pulled her close. “I missed you, too. And you’re doing an amazing job at both.”

Across the room, Emily pretended to adjust her clipboard like it was official business, but she smiled quietly to herself.

Beau slipped into the kitchen to prep the feast—one slice of toast, already cut into triangles.

And in that moment, between a queen’s mission and a mother’s stillness, the world held together in the most magical way.

That evening, the dining room had been transformed.

The lights were dimmed, twinkle lights strung along the curtain rods and the fireplace mantle. Eliza had insisted on “ambient forest glow,” and Margaret—ever the good sport—had rummaged through the seasonal bin in the attic to make it happen. Emily had helped create a paper banner, stretched across the room and scrawled in glitter glue: TREATY NIGHT: PEACE BETWEEN THE DUCKS AND THE WOLVES!

Y/N reclined in her usual spot on the couch, watching it all unfold with a full heart. Her legs were up, her belly high and heavy, and she had a front-row seat to the chaos of royal negotiations. Caleb sat beside her gnawing on a crust of toast, content to be her designated royal taste tester.

Eliza entered the room in full regalia—her felt cape now adorned with cotton balls (“snow fluff,” she’d explained), her face painted with faint streaks of black eyeliner to represent “wolf stripes.” Her crown—now completed—featured two craft feathers, a cardboard jewel, and what looked suspiciously like a tuft of fur from one of Emily’s old throw blankets.

Emily, dressed in a plain black hoodie and holding a wooden ladle, stood beside her as “Royal Steward and Keeper of Ceremonial Toasts.”

Beau emerged from the kitchen with the tray—triangles of toast topped with tiny slivers of strawberries, three chocolate chips placed in the center like sacred offerings. He raised a brow. “This ceremony got snacks. I’m all in.”

“Place them at the treaty table,” Eliza ordered solemnly, motioning toward the coffee table, now draped in a floral dishtowel and covered with her hand-drawn peace accord: two animals shaking paws beneath a glittering sun.

Beau bowed with mock dignity. “Yes, your majesty.”

Y/N bit back laughter, watching her husband—rugged, tired, so full of love—kneel beside their daughter’s makeshift throne without hesitation. He winked at her across the room, and her heart ached in the best way.

Eliza took her place at the head of the table. “We are gathered here today to honor the agreement between the Great Forest Wolves and the Proud Sky Ducks.”

Emily read from the clipboard. “Let it be known that both sides agree not to chase or splash each other… unless it’s fun and everyone says yes.”

Beau tried very hard not to laugh out loud.

Eliza nodded gravely. “And also, that Queen Eliza shall always be allowed to pet the ducklings and climb the rock wall, even if it’s muddy.”

Y/N raised her glass of water in salute. “A wise clause.”

Eliza held out her hand. “Let the feast begin!”

Emily passed out toast. Caleb made a delighted squeal as he shoved a triangle into his mouth, crumbs instantly gathering around his cheeks.

Beau brought Y/N her plate and sat beside her on the arm of the couch, gently rubbing her back. “You doin’ alright, darlin’?”

“I’m watching a diplomatic ceremony unfold between predator and prey while eating toast with my kids. I’m perfect.”

He smiled and kissed her temple. “That’s my girl.”

Margaret joined them with her own plate and a twinkle in her eye. “I’ve seen a lot of dinner tables in my life, but this one takes the cake.”

“Technically toast,” Emily said, biting into hers.

Eliza stood again after the first round of bites, raised her cup of sparkling juice, and declared: “May the wolves and ducks live in peace forever and ever. And may Mama never have to go back to the hospital!”

Y/N blinked back tears and raised her glass.

“Amen,” Beau said softly beside her.

Caleb clapped his sticky hands, unaware of the weight of the moment, but adding the perfect note to end the ceremony.

In that room full of light and toast crumbs, between make-believe and real magic, a treaty was signed—one made of laughter, love, and the kind of peace only found in homes where everyone is seen.

The house had finally gone still.

The glitter had been swept (mostly). The toast plates were rinsed and stacked. Caleb had gone down without protest, a crumb still clinging to his cheek. Eliza, after one final bedtime speech as “Queen Eliza, Keeper of the Accord,” had fallen asleep mid-sentence, her wolf plush clutched to her chest and a gold sticker stuck to her eyebrow.

The couch had been reclaimed by pillows and folded blankets.

And now, Y/N lay in bed, freshly showered, belly heavy and tight with the strain of a long day, eyes half-lidded as Beau emerged from the bathroom in a plain black tee and soft flannel pants. He rubbed a towel over his damp hair and looked at her with that expression—quiet, affectionate, familiar.

“Guess we survived international diplomacy,” he murmured as he climbed in beside her.

Y/N smiled. “I think you’re the first man to broker peace between ducks and wolves.”

“I aim to impress.”

She shifted closer, her hands instinctively cradling her belly, her body aching in that deep, end-of-day kind of way. “You okay?”

Beau blinked. “Me?”

She nodded. “You’ve been holding us all up.”

He stretched out beside her and brushed a hand down her arm. “That’s my job, darlin’.”

She studied him for a beat longer. “It’s not just a job. It’s a choice.”

Beau smiled faintly. “Well. I choose you. Every day. And the kids. Even when Eliza declares war in the backyard.”

Y/N reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You made me laugh today.”

“That’s always my goal.”

“You make me feel safe.”

“That’s always my prayer.”

She blinked slowly. “We’re close, Beau. So close to the end.”

He reached over, his palm pressing over the curve of her belly. “Five weeks or less, and this little one’s gonna be in our arms.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You don’t have to be. We’ll figure it out one minute at a time.”

She smiled tiredly. “Do you ever think about how different life used to be?”

Beau’s eyes flicked to hers—soft, distant. “All the time.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he said quietly, “I’ve got toast crumbs in my boots, a crown on my nightstand, a toddler who calls me ‘da,’ a daughter who thinks I’m invincible, and a woman who trusts me with her whole heart. I don’t need anything else.”

Y/N blinked fast, but the tears came anyway.

Beau leaned in and kissed them from her cheeks, slow and sure.

Then he whispered, “Rest, darlin’. I got you.”

And in the darkness—held by his hands, warmed by the memory of laughter, and steady in the rhythm of his love—she finally closed her eyes.

Morning came soft and overcast.

The clouds rolled low and pale across the Montana sky, the air carrying a slight chill that hinted at early autumn just beyond the hills. Inside the house, everything moved a little slower—Caleb still rubbing sleep from his eyes in Margaret’s arms, Eliza deep in an animated breakfast debate with Emily about whether ducks could wear cloaks.

Y/N was dressed carefully, slowly—leggings that stretched kindly, a long cardigan draped over her, her hair loosely pulled back. She looked at herself in the mirror before they left, hand settling on the side of her belly.

“Alright, little one,” she whispered. “Let’s check on you.”

Beau stood waiting at the door, keys in one hand, the other holding a bottle of water and the worn canvas bag that had become their de facto “hospital kit.” He looked up as she approached, eyes scanning her from head to toe.

“You ready, darlin’?”

She gave a slow nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

Margaret stepped in from the kitchen, Caleb babbling on her hip. “We’ll hold down the fort. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Emily reached over to pluck a Cheerio from Caleb’s hair. “We’ve got this. Go see your doctor.”

Eliza popped up beside them in her pajamas, clutching Sir Growls-a-Lot. “Tell the baby I said we’re still in a ceasefire and they don’t have to worry.”

Beau gave her a solemn nod. “I’ll make sure the message is delivered.”

The drive was quiet, scenic. The kind of stillness that didn’t need to be filled. Y/N watched the hills pass in a blur of green and gold, her hand resting over her belly, fingers tracing slow circles over the curve.

“You all right?” Beau asked, glancing over.

She nodded, then after a beat, said, “I’m nervous. But hopeful.”

“That’s a good mix,” he said.

When they arrived at the clinic, it all moved in careful rhythm—check-in at the front desk, waiting room chairs with slightly worn cushions, the nurse who greeted them by name.

They were led to a room with a familiar monitor setup. Y/N settled back on the exam bed with Beau close beside her, fingers threaded tight through hers.

Dr. Harrell knocked once before stepping in. “Good morning, you two.”

He offered a warm, confident smile as he moved to the monitor. “Thirty-five weeks and six days. We’re right on the cusp.”

Y/N took a breath. “Still high risk?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “But the longer we go without major symptoms, the better your odds get. Let’s check the baby and then we’ll talk next steps.”

The ultrasound gel was cool, but Y/N barely noticed.

Because the screen lit up with a perfect, grainy image—arms tucked, back curled, heart fluttering.

“Heartbeat is strong,” Harrell murmured, nodding. “Good fluid levels. Movement’s a little tight, but that’s normal this far along.”

Beau leaned in, eyes fixed to the screen, his thumb stroking over Y/N’s knuckles.

“Estimated weight’s about five and a half pounds,” the doctor continued. “That’s healthy. Nothing alarming. Honestly? This is as ideal as it gets for a high-risk case at thirty-five plus.”

Y/N blinked. “So… we keep going?”

Dr. Harrell smiled. “We keep going. I’d like to see you again in four days. Same routine—bedrest, hydration, low stress. If we get to thirty-seven weeks, we’ll discuss gentle induction options. But for now?”

He turned the monitor off and looked her square in the eye. “You’re doing incredibly well. Both of you.”

Y/N felt Beau press a kiss to her hair as her shoulders sagged in visible relief.

Dr. Harrell stood. “Go home. Put your feet up. Let the wolves and ducks negotiate peace without you.”

Y/N chuckled. “Eliza will appreciate the endorsement.”

Beau helped her up with gentle hands, and they left the clinic together—closer than ever. Almost there.

By the time they got home, the sky had opened into a light drizzle—just enough to mist the windows and darken the porch steps. The scent of rain lingered faintly in the air, earthy and clean.

Margaret was waiting with the door open before they’d even reached the front steps, a folded blanket in her hands and a knowing smile on her face.

“How’d it go?” she asked, her voice low so as not to wake Caleb, who was napping on the couch.

Beau helped Y/N inside, steady and sure. “Good,” he said, stepping aside so Y/N could move in slowly. “Doctor said everything’s holdin’ steady. Baby’s lookin’ healthy.”

Margaret exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders visibly. “Thank God.”

“Thirty-seven’s in sight,” Y/N added as she lowered herself carefully onto the couch, where Eliza had clearly been “preparing the royal nest”—blankets in mismatched colors, a few stuffed animals standing guard, and a framed drawing of a very fat duck wearing a crown.

“I see Eliza’s been decorating,” Y/N murmured, easing into the pillows.

Margaret chuckled. “She said the couch needed more ‘ceremonial flair.’”

From the kitchen, Emily called out, “There’s soup on the stove. I added the good rolls this time.”

Beau helped Y/N get her legs up, tucking the blanket in around her. Then he leaned down and brushed a kiss against her temple. “You need anything?”

“Just you near,” she said softly, already sinking into the warmth of the cushions.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “You got it.”

A moment later, Eliza came padding into the room in wool socks and a too-big hoodie—Beau’s, if the hem dragging across the floor was any indication.

She climbed up gently onto the couch beside Y/N, hugging a book to her chest. “Can I stay here?”

Y/N opened her arm. “Always.”

Eliza snuggled in close, careful and quiet, the crown of her head just under Y/N’s chin. “The ducks are preparing a lullaby for the baby,” she whispered. “But I need to test it on you first.”

“Let’s hear it,” Y/N said, her voice already warm with laughter.

Eliza cleared her throat and launched into a soft, high-pitched hum that somehow blended a nursery rhyme, a bird call, and the faint warble of “Twinkle, Twinkle” all at once.

From the kitchen, Beau muttered to Margaret, “I think the ducks are tone-deaf.”

Margaret snorted into her tea. “Don’t say that in front of the queen.”

Emily leaned in from the doorway, grinning. “She’ll exile you to the squirrel kingdom.”

Back on the couch, Y/N smiled, eyes fluttering shut as Eliza’s lullaby faded into a rhythmic hum against her side.

She was warm. Safe. Full of love.

Her family moved around her in quiet rhythm—Margaret tending to soup, Emily cleaning up paintbrushes from Eliza’s earlier art attack, and Beau leaning in the archway watching it all with a heart so full he could hardly breathe.

They weren’t at the finish line yet.

But they were so close.

And for now, this was everything.

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]

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Forty-Three 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: 3,494

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, parental estrangement

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: Please refer to THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

❗️Note:❗️My apologies for the lateness! Thank you for being patient!

Chapter Forty-Three: The Final Door

The weekend arrived faster than Y/N expected.

One minute she was elbow-deep in files, trying to keep her mind on anything but the impending dinner, and the next… she was standing in their bedroom, staring at the closet like it held the secret to surviving the evening.

CJ was behind her, fixing his collar in the mirror, watching her from the reflection. He hadn’t said much—he knew better. He could feel the nerves coming off her in waves, subtle but persistent, like the distant hum of static in a quiet room.

Y/N pulled out a dress, held it up, frowned, and hung it back again. Then another.

CJ turned, leaned against the dresser. “You could wear a paper bag and still be the most beautiful person in the room.”

She glanced at him, half amused, half strung tight. “That is not helpful.”

He smiled gently and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her from behind. His chin rested lightly on her shoulder, his voice low, calm. “You’re nervous.”

Y/N sighed, leaning slightly into his hold. “Of course I’m nervous. I’m meeting your parents. I want to make a good impression.”

CJ was quiet for a beat before he kissed her shoulder and said, “Their impression of you doesn’t matter to me.”

She turned slightly in his arms, brow furrowing. “CJ…”

He met her gaze, steady and soft. “I don’t mean that harshly. I just mean… you don’t have to earn your place. Not with them. You already have it—with me.”

Her eyes shimmered just a little at that.

He ran his hand slowly down her arm. “They’re going to see someone brilliant and kind and strong, whether they’re smart enough to know that or not. But none of it changes what I see. Who I love.”

Y/N exhaled, some of the pressure in her chest loosening.

“I just want them to like me.”

CJ nodded. “They probably will. But even if they don’t—I do. And I’m the one who asked you to marry me.”

She cracked a small smile, soft and grateful.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay,” he echoed, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Now pick the dress you feel best in. Not the one you think they’d like. We’re not auditioning for in-laws tonight—we’re showing them what happiness looks like.”

Y/N nodded slowly.

Then, finally, she reached for a dress. One that felt like her.

And CJ smiled—because that’s all he ever wanted.

CJ watched Y/N as she slipped the dress over her head—the one that hugged her curves just right and made her feel like herself. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched. There was a softness in his gaze, a quiet reverence, the kind of look he reserved only for her. Like he was memorizing this exact moment: her half-turned in the mirror, tucking a curl behind her ear, worrying her lower lip as she adjusted the hem.

He stepped closer, his hand sliding to the small of her back.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, and there was no performance in it—just truth.

Y/N let out a breath, smiling faintly at his reflection. “Thanks. I’m… okay now, I think.”

CJ nodded, fingers brushing a loose thread from her sleeve. Then, as gently as ever, he asked, “How’s Gabby doing?”

Y/N’s smile widened slightly, more real this time. “Still kind of freaking out,” she said, turning to face him fully. “But also? She sent me like fifteen screenshots of baby clothes last night. Little beanies with ears. A onesie that says ‘I Bite’ with a cartoon bat on it.”

CJ chuckled under his breath. “Sounds about right.”

“She keeps swinging between panic and look at this adorable hat, and I think that’s actually a pretty solid sign she’s finding her footing.”

CJ tilted his head. “Miles?”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “Trying. Quiet. Really there for her. I think they’re gonna be okay.”

He nodded slowly, fingers grazing hers. “That’s good.”

For a moment, they just stood there in the low light of their bedroom, the tension of the upcoming dinner hanging in the background—but not suffocating. Not anymore.

Because whatever the night brought, this part was solid. They were solid.

And that was enough to carry them through.

CJ watched Y/N as she reached for her earrings, the subtle shift in her expression betraying the steadiness she tried to wear. He saw the slight crease at her brow, the way her shoulders held a little too much tension even when she smiled.

He reached for her hand, stopping her gently. Their fingers linked easily, like muscle memory.

“You’ve been checking on everyone else lately,” he said softly. “Miles. Gabby. Me.”

Y/N blinked at him, caught off guard but not unsettled.

CJ studied her for a moment longer, then added, his voice barely above a murmur, “How are you doing… about the letter?”

Her breath caught.

She looked away for a second, swallowing hard, then back at him. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

CJ didn’t rush her. Just stood there, hand in hers, waiting.

Y/N’s eyes flicked down to the floor before meeting his again. “Some days I feel like I’ve made peace with it. Like it helped. Other days… it just sits in my chest like a stone. I keep rereading it. Trying to feel something other than grief. Or guilt.”

CJ nodded once. His thumb traced a slow, grounding circle on her hand. “You don’t have to know how to feel. Not yet.”

“I keep thinking I should do something. Say something. But I also don’t want to open a door I’m not sure I want open.”

He stepped closer, gently resting his forehead against hers. “You don’t owe him anything. You know that, right?”

“I do,” she whispered. “But it still doesn’t make it easier.”

CJ nodded again, his voice low and steady. “Whatever you decide… or if you don’t decide anything at all—you won’t go through it alone.”

Her eyes shimmered, not with fresh tears, but with quiet understanding. Gratitude.

And for a moment, they just stayed there—holding each other in the hush before the evening began, the outside world kept at bay by the strength of the bond between them.

She wasn’t okay. Not fully.

But CJ would hold space for her until she was.

And she would hold onto him until she could breathe again.

They didn’t rush.

But they didn’t hesitate either.

Once Y/N slipped on her shoes and CJ reached for his keys, there was a quiet understanding between them—this wasn’t a night either of them wanted, not really. But it was a step CJ had chosen to take, not out of longing for reconnection, but out of clarity. Closure. A final page turned, not reopened.

Y/N slipped her hand into his as they walked down the hall toward the front door. CJ laced their fingers tightly, that familiar grip a silent reassurance. His hand was warm. Steady. Hers was grounding, like always.

Outside, the sun had already dipped below the buildings, the sky streaked in muted hues of rose and steel-blue. They crossed to the car without speaking, not out of discomfort—but out of peace. Everything they needed to say had been said in the quiet moments before.

Inside the car, CJ turned the ignition, the low hum of the engine filling the space. Y/N reached for the music, opting for something instrumental and soft, just enough to ease the nerves humming beneath her skin.

He glanced at her once as he pulled onto the road. “We don’t have to stay long.”

She smiled faintly. “We’ll stay as long as you want to.”

CJ reached across the console and gave her hand another squeeze. “Just long enough to show them I’m okay.”

And with that, they drove on—toward the restaurant, toward his parents, toward a conversation that didn’t need to fix anything.

Only to mark the fact that he no longer needed anything fixed.

The restaurant was understated but elegant, with warm lighting and soft music humming beneath the low murmur of conversations. The kind of place chosen for its neutrality—nice enough to honor the formality, impersonal enough not to feel like home.

CJ parked the car and stepped out, his hand immediately finding Y/N’s as they approached the entrance. His expression was composed, calm, but she could feel the tension radiating quietly through his grip. He wasn’t dreading the meeting.

He had simply already let it go.

Inside, the hostess guided them to a table by the window where CJ’s parents were already seated. His mother was the first to rise.

Y/N saw it immediately—the resemblance.

CJ had her eyes: that distinct shade of green that held a quiet storm behind it. Her hair was dirty blonde, pulled back into a low twist, and she wore a soft, neutral smile that didn’t quite mask her nerves. There was grace to her, yes, but also hesitance—like she knew she was walking on thin, brittle ice.

His father stood next, taller, broader. The man had CJ’s frame, his jawline, his quiet intensity—but none of the warmth. His eyes were darker, more guarded. The resemblance between father and son was unmistakable, but CJ carried a softer version of it. Kinder. Earned.

CJ didn’t falter. He stood tall, posture relaxed but unreadable.

“Mom. Dad,” he said simply, his voice smooth and measured. “This is Y/N.”

Y/N smiled politely and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

His mother took it with both hands, clasping gently. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Y/N blinked once, glancing at CJ in surprise.

But CJ didn’t flinch. “Y/N is my fiancée.”

The word hung between them for a beat.

Then his mother recovered quickly, her smile widening. “Well, congratulations. That’s wonderful.”

CJ gave a slight nod and turned toward the table. “Shall we?”

They all sat, menus opening with practiced ease. His mother tried, softly, to draw conversation—asking how they met, what work was like, if they’d set a date yet.

CJ answered with civility. Cordial, polite.

But he didn’t pretend.

The distance remained in his tone—not cold, but unmistakable. A line that had long since been drawn.

His father spoke little, offering the occasional nod or curt word. But it was his silence that said more than anything: they were here because CJ had allowed it. Not because they had earned it.

And CJ?

He was calm. Steady. Not bitter, not resentful.

Just finished.

Y/N sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his thigh beneath the table, and CJ’s hand slid over hers once, briefly.

It was done. This wasn’t about mending. It wasn’t about rebuilding.

It was simply bearing witness.

They were here to show the truth.

That CJ had built a life without them.

And he was happy.

The moment Y/N excused herself from the table, CJ knew it was coming.

His mother straightened slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of her wine glass, voice softening like she was trying to slide into something more intimate. “CJ,” she said gently, “you know, I’ve always wanted—”

He held up a hand, not unkindly, but with precision. His eyes stayed steady. Calm.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low but unmistakably firm. “Please.”

His mother blinked, surprised. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” he said, sharper now. “And I’m asking you not to.”

His father shifted beside her, letting out a low scoff. “That’s enough. You don’t speak to your mother like that.”

CJ turned his gaze to him, still level. Still composed.

“You don’t get to pull that card,” he said evenly. “Not after everything.”

His father’s jaw tensed. “Watch it.”

“No,” CJ said, and his voice was harder now—quiet, but unflinching. “I spent years watching it. Watching myself spiral while you both pretended everything was fine. While I drank myself into oblivion just to feel something, anything, and you told yourselves it was teenage mood swings.”

His mother paled, but CJ didn’t look away.

“You didn’t ask. You didn’t notice. You didn’t help.” His jaw flexed, his voice thickening. “I scheduled the doctor’s appointment myself. I said the word depression out loud for the first time alone. I got help. I climbed out.”

He leaned forward, fingers steepled in front of him.

“And you stayed gone.”

Neither of them spoke. His mother looked like she wanted to cry, but CJ didn’t flinch. His father looked like he wanted to speak again, but didn’t.

“I’m not here to rebuild anything,” CJ said. “I’m not here to make peace or pretend we’re close. I’m here so you can see what I became without you. Not to spite you. Just so you know.”

His voice softened—not with forgiveness, but clarity.

“I’m okay. I built a life. I found someone who sees me, who loves me. And that’s enough.”

He leaned back slowly in his chair, the silence stretching thick between them. Neither parent said a word.

They had come expecting something.

And instead, they found the son they hadn’t known.

The man they had lost.

And the distance he had no intention of closing.

Y/N stepped quietly around the corner from the hallway that led to the restrooms, her steps slowing as she heard CJ’s voice—low, firm, and brimming with something deeper than frustration. She didn’t catch every word, but the tone was enough. And the fragments—you stayed gone… I climbed out…—hit like cold water.

She hadn’t known it was that bad.

She stood still for a moment, not wanting to interrupt. Her heart ached, not just for CJ, but for the younger version of him who had been left to fend for himself. Who had clawed his way out of a pit with no one reaching back.

But then she straightened her shoulders and quietly stepped back to the table.

CJ saw her first. His expression shifted the second their eyes met—his posture relaxed a fraction, the line in his jaw easing just enough to let her in. Y/N smiled, small but warm, and slid back into her seat.

“I’m back,” she said gently, her tone light, trying to smooth over the tension that still crackled in the air. “Hope I didn’t miss dessert.”

His mother startled slightly, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin as if just remembering where she was. His father said nothing.

CJ didn’t look back at either of them. He turned toward Y/N, and that same tenderness he always held for her returned to his face like a tide coming home.

“Nope,” he said with a soft smile. “Perfect timing.”

Then he turned his attention briefly to his parents, his voice calm again. “Thanks for dinner.”

Simple. Final.

His mother opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. She nodded.

CJ reached for Y/N’s hand beneath the table, and she threaded her fingers through his.

And just like that, the conversation closed.

No fireworks. No dramatic exit.

Just a quiet door shutting gently behind them—one CJ had already walked through long ago.

Outside the restaurant, the summer night was warm but not stifling, a light breeze moving through the street as patrons trickled in and out of nearby storefronts. CJ and Y/N stepped out first, followed by his parents a moment later.

The four of them stood together in a loose, awkward circle near the curb, the air thick with unspoken things. His mother offered a faint, strained smile as she reached out, touching CJ’s arm gently—just for a moment.

“It was good to see you,” she said, her voice thin with effort.

CJ nodded once, courteous but unmoved. “Take care.”

His father muttered a quiet, indistinct farewell, then looked away, clearly done with the evening.

Y/N gave a polite smile, soft but distant, and CJ’s arm shifted behind her, instinctively guiding her toward the car.

He paused just before they left, turning back, gaze firm but not hostile. “Please don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t try to follow up. I meant what I said.”

There was no bite in his voice. No need for it. Just truth.

Final and immovable.

His mother opened her mouth, but CJ had already turned, his hand resting lightly at the small of Y/N’s back as they continued toward the car.

Neither parent followed.

He opened the door for Y/N like he always did, waiting until she was settled before closing it gently behind her and moving around to the driver’s side.

Once inside, he took a quiet breath and started the engine.

They pulled away from the curb without looking back.

No waving. No second glances.

Just the hum of the tires on the road and the final, full stop of a chapter that never quite had a middle—just a distant beginning and a long, quiet end.

Y/N reached across the console and rested her hand over his. He didn’t say anything.

He just laced his fingers through hers and drove them home.

They drove in silence for a while, the city lights slipping past the windows like soft, golden ribbons. CJ’s grip on the wheel was relaxed now, his jaw no longer set in stone. The tension had drained from his shoulders, bit by bit, with every passing block.

Y/N sat quietly beside him, watching the gentle play of shadows across his face—the slight furrow still lingering between his brows, the calm behind his eyes. She didn’t rush her words. She let the quiet settle first, made sure it wasn’t still raw.

Then, softly, she said, “I heard.”

CJ’s eyes flicked toward her briefly before returning to the road. His expression didn’t shift much, but she could feel it—the way his breath caught, just slightly.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she added quickly. “I came back and… I caught the end of it. Enough to realize…” Her voice lowered. “I didn’t know, CJ. Not all of it.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept driving, one hand still laced with hers across the center console. But she felt the faint squeeze of his fingers.

“I didn’t want you to carry it,” he said finally. “It’s not your weight.”

“But it’s part of your story,” Y/N replied. “It shaped you. And I love all of you, not just the parts you hand over in daylight.”

That made him glance at her again—longer this time. His expression softened, something tender flickering behind his steady green eyes.

“I was so angry for so long,” he admitted. “And then I just… stopped expecting anything from them. I stopped needing it.”

Y/N nodded, quiet. “You still deserved better.”

He smiled faintly, a little sad, a little proud. “I got better.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles gently. “Yeah. You did.”

And he had.

No more pretending.

No more silence.

Just truth—and the woman beside him who loved him through every scar, seen or unseen.

They pulled into the driveway, the soft crunch of tires on gravel giving way to stillness as CJ turned off the ignition. The headlights faded, leaving the car in gentle shadow, lit only by the faint glow from the porch light ahead.

Neither of them moved at first.

Y/N was quiet beside him, her fingers still curled around his. But as CJ went to open the door, she reached across and stopped him with a hand on his arm.

He turned, brows drawing together slightly, surprised by the sudden pause.

Then he saw her face—open, tender, full of quiet intent—and the confusion faded from his features. His expression softened, something gentle blooming behind his eyes.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, almost reverent. “Come here.”

He didn’t hesitate. He unbuckled slowly and leaned in, and Y/N met him halfway. Her hands cupped his face with a kind of reverence that caught him off guard—not rushed, not fueled by desire, but something deeper. Something grounding.

She kissed him softly, fully, like she needed him to feel what she couldn’t quite say aloud.

When they pulled back, their foreheads touched.

“I love you,” she whispered. “All of you. The boy who suffered. The man who healed. The person who never stopped trying.”

CJ’s eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, he just breathed her in.

“I know tonight was for you,” she murmured. “But it mattered to me, too. To see you. To understand you better. And I just… I needed you to know.”

He opened his eyes slowly, searching hers, his voice barely audible. “You’re the only thing that ever made it make sense.”

Her lips trembled into a smile as she kissed him again—deeper now, not rushed but certain. A kiss that promised comfort and love and everything that had never been given to him before.

She was trying to show him—with her body, her heart, her soul—that he wasn’t alone anymore.

That he never would be again.

And when they stepped out of the car and walked to the apartment, it was with no lingering weight from the past—only the quiet strength of two people who had chosen each other, again and again.

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!