Page 116 of Break Me

I nod before he finishes. “Maybe.”

“You okay to get up?”

“I think so.”

He shifts closer, bracing a hand under my elbow as he helps me stand.

I wobble just slightly, and his grip tightens.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

He keeps one hand at my back as I rinse my mouth at the sink. When I finally look up, our eyes meet in the mirror.

“You want to test tonight?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. “No. I think we should do it in the morning.”

He studies my face in the mirror now.

“Together,” he says.

“Together.”

He presses a kiss to my shoulder, slow and unhurried.

We make our way back to the bedroom, the urgency from earlier giving way to something quieter. He pulls back the blankets and waits until I'm settled before sliding in beside me.

His hand finds my waist, then drifts lower, coming to rest against my stomach. I lace my fingers through his, holding his hand there.

Tomorrow, there will be two lines.

Raven

Morning comes in soft and gray. Rain taps lightly against the windows, steady and unhurried. It’s not a storm—just a slow, persistent fall. The room carries the faint scent of damp earth drifting in through the cracked window.

For a few seconds, I don’t move. I lie there, suspended between sleep and knowing.

Sam’s hand is still resting low on my stomach. His palm spreads wide, like even in sleep he’s guarding something.

I can feel the weight of him everywhere. His thigh pressed along mine, his breath slow and warm against the back of my neck, the steady rise and fall of his chest behind me.

The rain keeps falling.

Soft.

Patient.

I press my hand over his, anchoring myself to the moment. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can almost see it months from now, looking back at this exact second and knowing this was when everything changed.

His thumb shifts beneath my palm. I swallow around the sudden tightness in my throat.

This is ours.

This quiet. This bed. This small house filled with so much love.