Page 88 of Beautiful When He Breaks

“It could be,” I whisper.

“It’s not, though,” he replies. “Is it?”

I don’t know who moves first. Maybe both of us do; at this point it doesn’t matter. One second, we’re looking at each other in the low light with all this heat and tenderness and exhaustion braided together between us, and the next, his mouth is on mine, and the rest of the room falls away.

The kiss hits harder than it should, probably because I’m still raw from everything downstairs or perhaps because comfort is a gateway drug where Eli is concerned. Whatever the reason, the first press of his mouth to mine is enough to pull a sound out of me that I do not have time to be embarrassed by before he kisses me again.

This isn’t the sweet, tentative morning kiss from a few days ago. This is heat with nowhere else to go. This is my body still keyed up from confession and fear and the relief of not being hated, and his body wrapping around that and turning it into something else entirely.

One of his hands slides back to my neck, fingers in my hair now, and the pressure of it sends a sharp pulse of want straight through me.

I drag my hand under the hem of his shirt and feel the hard warmth of his stomach under my palm. Eli goes still for half a beat, then exhales into my mouth like I’ve just hit some live wire under his skin.

Right. Good. Not just me then.

The kiss deepens again, slow enough to savor and heated enough to make the whole room feel smaller around us. His body is strong and solid against mine, but nothing in it feels looming or dangerous. I let myself have that fully for one suspended, impossible stretch of time—the taste of him, the warmth of his hand at my neck, the way my own nerves finally stop buzzing from the confession downstairs and reorganize themselves around something I actually want.

Then Mila lets out one sleepy, escalating whine from the bassinet.

We both stop instantly.

Eli drops his forehead against mine and laughs under his breath, the sound rough and helpless and so warm it almost makes me kiss him again just to hear it a second time.

“She has the timing of a tiny mob boss,” I mutter.

He lets out another breath of laughter and turns his head toward the bassinet. “That’s my girl.”

The fondness in his voice warms my fucking heart. I look past him just enough to see Mila wriggling in her sleeper, one little fist waving free of the blanket.

Eli glances back at me, still too close, his mouth pink from kissing. “You good?”

The question makes me smile this time without even trying. “Yeah,” I say honestly, because for the first time all evening, I am. “I’m good.”

He studies me for one more second just to be sure, then kisses me once before stepping back toward the bassinet.

I lean against the door and watch him scoop Mila up with practiced arms, his whole face changing the second she settles against his chest. The keyed-up, brittle feeling I dragged upstairs with me is gone. Not solved or fixed forever. But gone for now, burned off by truth and anger, Eli’s arms and his mouth, and the simple, impossible fact that I am not alone in any of this anymore.

Mila makes one happy little sound against his shoulder, and Eli looks over at me with that half smile that’s already going to ruin me for the rest of my life.

“Stay with us?” he asks.

I push off the door and cross back toward the bed, feeling oddly light in my own body for the first time since the living room. “Always, Liefling.”

28

Julian

When we get downstairs the next morning, Mila is awake and glaring at the world in that deeply judgmental way she’s got down already. Eli’s got her tucked over one shoulder while I carry the diaper bag.

The kitchen is quieter than usual when we come in, which tells me the other guys aren’t up yet, because if Ryan and Thorn were conscious, the room would already sound like a sports bar.

Killian is leaning against the island in sweats and a black T-shirt, with a mug of coffee in one hand and that expression on his face that means he’s already had three conversations, solved two problems, and maybe threatened somebody before the rest of us were even awake.

He glances up when we come in, eyes landing on Mila first, then Eli, then me. He notices too much, as always. Usually that’s inconvenient. This morning, I’m mostly just grateful he’s using that power for good instead of evil.

“Sit,” he says to Eli, jerking his chin toward one of the stools at the island. “Before the house wakes up and Ryan starts asking if babies can metabolize pre-workout.”

Eli snorts softly and shifts Mila to a more secure hold before sitting. I stay standing for a second out of habit, then decide I’m too damn tired to pretend I’m not part of this and set the diaper bag down by the island before leaning one hip against the counter beside him.