Page 165 of Break Me

His hand on my back is firm. It leaves no space for doubt. I feel it all the way through me, that quiet certainty, the way he grounds me without trying.

His thumb shifts slightly against me as we move, a small, absent motion that feels too familiar to notice until I do, until I realize how easily I lean into it, how naturally I follow where he leads without ever feeling like I’m being pulled.

Like I’m choosing it.

Choosing him.

My hands rest against his shoulders, sliding just slightly as we turn, feeling the strength there, the warmth of him beneath my palms, the way he fits into every space.

I smile without meaning to, because with him, I’m already home.

And then I hear laughter.

I turn toward it without thinking, my hand slipping from his as something small runs past us, quick and bright. The sound of it pulling something loose in my chest before I understand why.

A little girl.

Barefoot.

Her deep honey blonde curls catch the light as she runs. Her laughter spills out behind her like she doesn’t know how to hold it in.

She glances back. And when she does, her eyes meet mine.

Amber.

The same as his.

“Hey,” I call, already moving after her, my hand reaching out as she darts just out of reach again.

I hear him behind me.

Close.

Always close.

“Slow down,” he calls, but there’s no real warning in it, just that same warmth, that same steadiness I can feel even without looking.

I don’t slow down.

I reach again.

This time, my fingers catch hers. They’re small.

Warm.

Real.

And I laugh, breathless, the sound of it filling my chest.

And then his hand is on my arm.

It’s different.

Still warm.

“Hey,” he says, closer now, his voice shifting, pulling at something I don’t want to let go of. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

My eyes open slowly, the room coming back in pieces instead of all at once. The dim glow from the small Christmas tree in the corner casts soft color across the walls, red and gold and green stretching gently through the space.