Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“I hate that it feels so real,” I whisper. “Like I wake up and I still feel the panic, the loss…”
Dean shifts closer, his forehead pressing against mine. “I know,” he murmurs. “But I won’t let anything happen to either of you. You hear me?”
I nod, and his thumb brushes over my cheek, gentle and reassuring. The last echoes of the nightmare slip away, leaving only him—his warmth, his presence, his promise. My body finally relaxes, and when he pulls me back into his arms, I go willingly, pressing against him until I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear.
His lips brush against my temple, lingering, soft and full of quiet reassurance. He trails slow, lazy kisses down to my jaw, his hand sliding to my waist, pulling me closer. I tilt my face up, searching for more, needing more. When our lips finally meet, it’s slow, deep, the kind of kiss that melts away everything else.
Dean moves over me, his body warm and solid against mine, his touch gentle but sure. Fingers trace the curve of my waist, slipping beneath the fabric of my shirt, spreading heat in their wake. I arch into him, sighing into his mouth as his hand slides up my spine, holding me like I’m something precious.
He takes his time, tasting, exploring, letting every movement tell me what words cannot. His lips move down my neck, lingering at the hollow of my throat. My breath hitches when he shifts, his weight pressing me into the mattress, surrounding me, consuming me.
“Jo,” he murmurs against my skin, voice rough with need, with emotion. “Let me take care of you.”
I nod, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him closer. He slips my shirt over my head, his eyes dark with something tender, something deep. He kisses me again, reverent and slow, like he has all the time in the world to worship me, to make me feel safe, cherished.
And in his arms, beneath his touch, I finally do.
One Month Later
I run my fingers along the smooth edges of Jonah’s urn, the cool metal grounding me as I take a steady breath. The house is quiet, Justice tucked into bed, and the weight in my chest isn’t as heavy as it used to be when I sit here. But it still lingers, a whisper of grief, a shadow of love lost too soon.
“Oh Jonah,” I whisper, my voice breaking the stillness of the room. “It’s been a while since I sat down and really talked to you.”
I trace the etched letters of his name, feeling the familiar sting of loss, but it’s different now. Lighter. Like I can breathe again without guilt, like the pain doesn’t drown me, just nudges at my heart as a reminder.
“I wanted to tell you… I’ve found love again.” My lips tremble before curving into a small, bittersweet smile. “Dean.” Saying his name fills me with warmth, a glow spreading through my chest, something steady, something real. “You’d like him. He’s rough around the edges, stubborn as hell, but he’s got the biggest heart. He makes me feel safe, Jonah. Like I can be whole again.”
I swallow hard, blinking rapidly as tears blur my vision. “He talks about you, you know? To Justice. Makes sure he knows who his father was, what kind of man you were. He never lets Justice forget you.” My voice wavers, thick with emotion. “He doesn’t try to take your place. Just… he makes sure your son knows where he comes from. And I love him for that.”
A deep breath in. A slow exhale out. The words sit in my chest, warm and solid.
“I love him.”
For the first time, saying those words doesn’t come with guilt. Just truth. Just peace.
A shift in the air behind me makes me turn. Dean stands in the doorway, his gaze locked on me, something unreadable in his eyes.
I sit up straighter, wiping at my cheek with trembling fingers. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” he murmurs, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements, like he’s afraid to break the moment.
He doesn’t stop until he’s kneeling in front of me, right in front of the urn. His large, calloused hand reaches out, and to my shock, he rests it gently against the cool metal, his thumb brushing over the name carved there.
“Thank you,” Dean says, voice rough but unwavering. “For your service. For the gift of your son. I’ll never try to replace you, but I want to be a father to Justice. A real father.”
My breath shudders out of me, a sob breaking free as fresh tears spill over my cheeks. “Dean…”
He reaches into his pocket, and my heart stops as he pulls out a small velvet box. My hands shake as I cover my mouth, my entire body trembling as he looks up at me, eyes filled with love, devotion, and a quiet strength that makes me want to fall into him forever.