Chapter 57 - Daryl

I clutched the note Ella had written to me, fingers curled tight around the edges like it was the only thing tethering me to the world. A messenger from Hilltop had delivered it not an hour ago. Her handwriting was rushed, smudged in places like she'd tried not to cry while writing it.

One night without her was too damn long.

That thought rattled through my skull louder than the engine as Michonne, Rosita, Tara, and I sat crammed inside a massive dump truck—leftover from the trash people who'd once squatted in Alexandria. We were parked down the hill from the Sanctuary, staking it out, watching the walkers shuffle and snarl in their slow, relentless crawl.

I'd pulled the scope off an automatic, using it to scan the perimeter. No snipers. No movement in the windows. Looked like the herd was doing its job.

Time to finish the damn thing.

I jammed the truck into drive and rumbled forward, parking it right where we needed it. We climbed out and gathered behind the tailgate, the air thick with tension and the reek of rot wafting from the herd.

"Our people are going to be at the Sanctuary soon," Rosita said. "They'll ask for surrender. This could all be over today."

"So let me get this straight," Michonne said, arms crossed as she eyed me. "We're supposed to cover you from the upper windows, you drive this beast through the herd and into the side of the building?"

"Yep," Tara said without hesitation. "Crack that bitch open like a Savior buffet."

Michonne raised a brow. "And you're sure the workers are on the other side? That they'll make it up the stairs?"

"Dwight said they would," I muttered, checking the straps on my crossbow. "That's the best intel we've got."

Rosita leaned against the side of the truck, arms folded. "And you're sure about this?"

I sighed and ran a hand over my face. "You want me to write it in blood? It's the best damn shot we've got. After this, they either surrender, or they die."

Michonne let out a slow breath. "Still a lot of risk. They could see you coming. The workers could get caught up in it. If they turn on us..."

She didn't finish. She didn't have to.

I rubbed at the sore spot on my ribs—Rick had clipped me there yesterday when I knocked him on his ass. We'd fought like brothers, like family. Maybe I was still pissed off. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight. But that didn't mean I was wrong.

Tara cut in. "There weren't any more guns at the warehouse, right?"

We all shook our heads.

We'd found Michonne and Rosita just in time to stop a Savior escape plan—some big-ass truck loaded with speakers they planned to use to lure the herd away. We'd destroyed it. Barely. No more rockets for the RPGs. No more time.

"We work with what we've got," Tara said, her jaw tight. "And this? This is what we've got."

I nodded once, silent. My fingers drifted back to the note in my pocket, just for a second. Just enough to remind myself what I was doing this for.

Ella. Ian. Ruby. The baby we hadn't even met yet.

I was going to end this—for them.

"You got me."

I spun on my heel, crossbow halfway raised before I recognized the voice.

Morgan.

"We got the other snipers too," he said, stepping into view. "If the Saviors see you coming, we've got you covered. Whatever it takes. I want this done. Over with."

I nodded, breath tight in my chest, turning back to the others. "We doin' this or what?"

Michonne hesitated. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Her lips pressed into a tight line, like she was weighing every possible outcome behind them. I didn't let my nerves show. Kept my face flat. Indifferent.

"I'm sorry," Rosita said, stepping forward, arms tense. "But why aren't we just sticking to the plan? Why not wait them out like we agreed? Michonne's right—this could go sideways real fast."

"The truck with the speakers almost took the walkers away!" Tara snapped. "We almost lost the upper hand."

"Even if we don't," I cut in, voice low and gravelly, "we don't got the Kingdom no more. A lot of our people are dead. If the Saviors still wanna fight, we don't got the numbers to make 'em surrender."

"That's why Rick's talking to the Scavengers," Rosita said. "He's trying to build us back up."

I turned toward her, the bitterness rising. "Rosita, they shot you."

"They double-crossed us," Tara added, stepping up. "You really want to trust them again?"

Rosita's jaw tightened. "I believe in Rick."

Tara shook her head, something bitter behind her smile. "I could've helped sooner. I knew about the weapons at Oceanside. But what did I do? I waited. Like a coward. I told myself the timing had to be right, that I had to ask permission. But all that did was give Negan time to kill more of our people."

She stepped closer, eyes locked with Rosita's. "Whether you're with us or not doesn't matter. I'm not waiting again. I won't let things get worse while I try to grow a pair."

Rosita didn't flinch. "Then do it without me."

Morgan offered Rosita a car to take back to Alexandria, but she didn't answer him right away. Instead, she turned to Michonne.

"You staying?" she asked, voice quiet but firm.

Michonne looked out across the field of walkers, her jaw tight. "I helped get this started," she said. "I need to see it through."

Rosita crossed her arms, squinting into the afternoon sun. "You think it's easier to risk everything than to go back home and wait?"

Michonne didn't answer.

"I get it," Rosita continued. "I used to think like that too. That doing something—anything—was better than standing still. But sometimes you really do just have to wait. Sometimes we don't get to know. I just..." Her voice cracked slightly, but she powered through it. "I just wish it didn't take seeing Sasha walk out of that coffin to realize it."

She held Michonne's gaze for a moment longer. Then she turned and walked off without another word.

The silence that followed felt like a held breath. But I was done waiting.

I could feel the adrenaline starting to rise in my chest, hot and heavy. The ache of yesterday's bruises settled in my ribs like a warning—but I didn't care. I was ready. Ready to crash through that wall. Ready to drag the Saviors into hell. Ready to get home to Ella and my babies, and finally give them the freedom they deserved.

"Well," I grunted, hauling myself into the driver's seat of the garbage truck. "Let's get this shit goin', then."

I put the truck into drive and rolled it to the south side of the compound, easing to a stop once we were in position. I killed the engine. The silence that followed felt heavy, like the calm before a storm we'd summoned ourselves.

Michonne sat stiff beside me on the bench seat, posture perfect, her hands clenched in her lap. We both stared out at the Sanctuary, but I knew we weren't seeing the same thing.

I was picturing life after all this—Ella, Ian, Ruby, a world where we could breathe again. I bet Michonne was thinking about Rick. How he'd be showing up soon to follow through on his plan, only to find out I'd beat him to the punch.

I gave the complex another once-over through the scope, marking the weakest spot in the wall. "Here," I grunted, handing the scope across Michonne to Tara. Michonne didn't move, her expression hard, unreadable.

Tara lifted the scope to her eye just as Morgan's voice crackled over the walkie:"You take fire from the windows, and we'll fire back."

Tara glanced between us. "Let's hit it," she said. "We can take cover by the chutes."

She jumped down from the truck. I stayed where I was, my hand on the gearshift, eyes flicking to Michonne. "You sure you're up for this?"

She let out a breath, slow and tired. "I wanted to see this for myself. That's why I came. I needed to know this was going to work."

I gave a small nod. I understood that. We were all walking razor's edge, one misstep from bleeding out.

"But you know what?" she continued, her voice quieter now. "I don't get to know that. None of us do." She turned her head, met my gaze with those dark, sharp eyes that always saw too much. "What I do know is everything's worked so far. Maybe that means we keep trusting. Maybe we don't force it."

She looked back at the Sanctuary, her mouth tightening. "Because this? What we're about to do? If it goes wrong... it's not worth losing us."

"It is for me," I said, my voice low. I straightened in my seat, stared straight ahead. "Just is."

"I hope it works. I really do," she murmured. "But I can't be part of this."

There was a pause—long, quiet.

"Then don't," I said, finally meeting her eyes again.

She gave a small, sorrowful nod, like she already knew how this would end, then climbed out of the truck without another word.

I watched her go, something heavy turning in my chest. I hoped Ella would forgive me for what I was about to do. I wasn't the praying type, not really—but she was. She prayed when things got hard, when fear crept in. So I tried. I bowed my head and prayed in silence. Not for forgiveness. Just that this would work. That it would matter.

Tara reappeared at my window."We've got Morgan and the snipers in position," she said.

"Yeah," I muttered. "We're set."

I waited until I saw Tara moving into position, crouched low near the cover by the chutes. She gave a short nod, then her voice crackled over the walkie.

"Snipers are laying cover. Do it now, Daryl."

I barely heard her. My heart was thudding in my ears, a slow roar building in my chest. I took one last breath. I thought about Ella—her hands, her voice, her laugh. My babies. I reached for the cinder block sitting on the seat beside me and slammed it down on the gas pedal. The truck roared forward, picking up speed. I wrenched open the driver's side door.

Then I threw myself out.

I hit the concrete hard, rolled twice, and came to a bone-jarring stop against a pile of rubble. Pain radiated from my shoulder, my side, my hip. Every inch of me screamed, but I didn't stop. I forced myself up and turned in time to see the dump truck plow through the southern wall of the Sanctuary. Bricks shattered, metal crumpled, the engine howled, and the whole front end disappeared into the building.

I didn't stop to watch. I took off running, half-limping, chest heaving as I sprinted back toward cover. Gunfire erupted behind me—our snipers, Tara, Morgan. I hit the ground just as bullets started flying again. Tara grabbed me by the arm and yanked me behind a concrete slab.

"Clear on the south," Morgan's voice came through the walkie, calm and firm. "You and Tara should head home. Now."

Tara and I exchanged a look—exhausted, breathless, half-stunned from what we'd just pulled off—but I didn't need to be told twice.

We moved.

~

The sun was still high in the sky by the time Tara and I made it back to Alexandria. The heat was just barely starting to ebb, fall would be on it's way soon, and my whole body ached with exhaustion and bruises I hadn't started cataloguing yet. Every inch of me stung. But none of that mattered.

Because home was just over the hill.

We rolled through the gate in silence, and my stomach twisted. I hadn't stopped thinking about her since I climbed in the truck. Not since I'd read that note.

One night without Ella was too long. One night without my babies made me feel like a ghost in my own skin.

But when I cut the engine, and looked up toward our house—

There she was.

Ella was standing on the porch, arms crossed over her chest, hair pulled back in a loose braid. Ruby was perched on her hip, babbling little baby sounds, tugging on the collar of Ella's shirt. Ian stood at her side, all bright-eyed and bouncing on the balls of his feet, his whole face lighting up the second he saw me.

My heart stuttered.

Ian took off first. "Dad!" he yelled, all but tripping down the stairs.

I didn't even have time to brace myself before he slammed into my legs, wrapping his arms tight around my waist. I dropped to my knees, hugging him close, pressing my face into his messy hair. He smelled like soap and dirt and everything I loved.

"Missed you, buddy," I muttered, voice thick.

Ruby squealed when she saw me kneeling there. She squirmed in Ella's arms, reaching toward me with both chubby hands, squeaking and squealing in that high-pitched baby gibberish that made my chest ache with joy.

Ella walked toward me slowly, down the steps. But she wasn't smiling.

Not even a little bit.

Her mouth was tight. Her eyes were narrowed, scanning me like she was looking for injuries—then for answers.

"You weren't here," she said flatly.

"I know," I said, still kneeling.

"You were supposed to be here, Daryl."

I stood, slowly, Ian still clinging to my side. "I—"

"You weren't supposed to leave." Her voice was quiet, but sharp as a blade. "We got home and you were gone. No note. No nothing. You ruined the goddamn surprise."

I winced. "Y'all came back home early."

"Yes," she snapped. "I drove back from Hilltop by myself, thinking I'd see you at home. Thought you'd be here. Instead, I get back and the house is dark. Empty. Ian thought something happened to you."

Ian glanced up at me, then at his mom, sensing the storm brewing but still smiling, still attached to my leg.

Ella took another step closer, her arms adjusting Ruby. Her eyes locked on mine.

"And now you show up dirty and bruised," she said, tone clipped. "So what did you do?"

I knew better than to lie. Not to her. Not with those eyes burning through me.

"I drove the truck into the Sanctuary," I said, soft but steady. "Busted the wall open. Let the walkers in."

Her nostrils flared. "You did what?"

I nodded once. "Had to be done."

She stared at me for a long moment, like she wanted to stab me and kiss me in the same breath. Her jaw tightened, and Ruby cooed, reaching for me again.

"You're reckless," she muttered. "You're impulsive and goddamn impossible and I swear, Daryl, sometimes I want to throttle you."

I couldn't help the grin that tugged at my mouth. I stepped in closer, brushing a hand down her arm. "Yeah? You missed me though."

She swatted my hand away. "Don't."

"You sure?" I asked, dipping my head toward her, brushing my lips close to her ear. "You're cute when you're mad."

"I'm about two seconds from burying you in the backyard," she warned, but her breath hitched when I kissed the curve of her jaw.

Ian giggled. "Mama's mad."

"She sure is," I said against her cheek.

"Don't you dare smile at me," she said, her voice wobbling between fury and affection. "Don't you think for a second that I'm not still pissed off."

"I know," I murmured, pulling back to look at her face. "But I had to do it. I did what I had to do. For all of us."

She stared at me, and I could see the war behind her eyes. Still angry. Still worried. But underneath it—she trusted me.

"Goddammit," she whispered. Then she handed Ruby over.

The second Ruby was in my arms she squealed again, grabbing at my shirt with tiny fingers and burying her face in my chest. Her little hands patted my collarbone like she was scolding me, but her smile was wide, those two little pearly teeth poking out of her bottom gum.

Ian grabbed my hand next. "Come inside, Daddy. I saved you half a cookie. Mama said you'd be hungry."

I laughed, throat tight. "I'm starvin', buddy."

Ella sighed, running a hand down her face. "You're sleeping downstairs."

"Deserve that," I admitted, still grinning like an idiot.

"But you're staying in the house," she added, softer now. "You're staying with us."

"Always," I said, stepping forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

She let it happen. Didn't lean in. But didn't pull away either.

And that was enough for now.

We walked up the porch together—my family. My home.

Even if I'd earned myself a night in the doghouse.

~

By the time Ella had started dinner, the front door slammed open — and I already knew who it was.

"Ellie!" Carl barreled inside. He didn't care that she was cooking. Didn't care that she had Ruby on her hip. He just wrapped her in those gangly teenage arms and crushed her against him. "I missed you."

"You saw me not that long ago!" Ella laughed, twisting in his grip — careful to keep the food-covered spatula away from his clothes as she threw an arm around him.

"Too long if you ask me," he mumbled into her hair, his eye falling shut as he breathed her in.

"Good thing no one did," I muttered from the counter, moving to pluck Ruby from Ella's hip.

"Daryl," Ella snapped, still glaring at me.

Oh yeah. She was still mad.

I just smirked and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Can't stay mad at me forever, baby."

"Ooh," Carl perked up, eye glittering. "What'd he do this time? Can I start a picket line? Ban him from upstairs? Smack him around?"

I snorted. "You fuckin' wish."

"Language!" Ella barked, her glare sharp enough to cut. "And for the record? I can stay mad as long as I damn well please. Wife's prerogative. And you—" she pointed the spatula at Carl— "quit baiting him. Let me finish dinner."

Carl grinned, but let go of her all the same. "C'mon, Ellie. I haven't tussled with Old Man Dixon since the night we got here. I'm taller now, and he's slow as fu—"

He stopped dead when Ella raised the spatula higher, daring him to finish that sentence.

"Slow as fudge," he corrected quickly. "That's what I was gonna say."

Ella rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove. "I'm not stupid. I know what you were going to say, you little heathen. I don't know how many times I have to remind all of you, but we've got little ears in this house. And he loves to repeat the F-word. So knock it off before I knock you out."

"Can I get that in writing?" I asked, letting my tone drop just enough to make her blush.

Her cheeks went pink, and she didn't spare me so much as a glance.

"Ew," Carl groaned. "Stop it. Flirt on your own time."

"This is my own time, you asswipe," I grumbled, shifting Ruby higher in my arms. She was fussing, reaching for her feet — pissed about the tiny shoes Ella had forced onto her chubby little toes.

"Let's get these off you, princess."

I made my way to the living room, dropping onto the little blanket nest we'd made on the floor. I laid Ruby on her back and tugged off her shoes and socks. She squirmed and kicked, and I leaned in close.

"I'm gonna get 'em," I whispered, syrupy sweet. "These little toes are in danger."

I lifted her foot to my mouth and pretended to bite it.

Ruby shrieked with laughter, her giggles echoing off the walls. Drool dripped down her chin as she rolled onto her side, then shoved the other foot into my face. I did the only logical thing — grabbed that tiny foot and pretended to bite it too.

Another explosion of giggles. Another moment I'd never forget.

I let Ruby roll over onto her belly, her bare feet wiggling in the air as she chirped and cooed to herself, chewing on her fist.

Behind me, the wooden spoon hit the side of the pan with a sharp clack, and the smell of roasted vegetables and herbs filled the house. Ella didn't say anything, but I could still feel her eyes on me — not soft eyes either. Still mad.

"Need help with anything?" Carl asked, pulling a chair out and flopping into it, arms stretched wide like he owned the place.

"Yes," Ella said, too quickly. "You can help by keeping your elbows off my damn table."

Carl lifted his hands in surrender. "Sheesh. You sound just like Daryl."

"Wonder where I picked that up," she deadpanned, not looking back at me.

I grinned, unrepentant. "Might be 'cause I'm a good influence."

"You're something," Carl muttered under his breath.

"You wanna repeat that, Cyclops?" I said, leaning back on my elbows, shooting him a look.

Carl snorted. "Not my fault I make this eyepatch look good."

Ella's shoulders shook as she tried to hide a laugh. "Alright, alright, enough testosterone before someone throws a chair."

"You hear that, Daryl?" Carl grinned. "She's calling you out."

"Boy, I'll fold you like laundry."

"You'll try."

I reached over, picked up one of Ruby's tiny socks, and flung it at him. It hit his cheek and stuck there for a beat before falling into his lap.

"Gross," he hissed. "This thing's damp!"

"Damp with baby foot sweat," I said proudly. "She's vicious."

Carl gagged dramatically and pretended to faint against the back of the chair. "I'm dying. You've murdered me."

Ella didn't even turn around. "Don't be dramatic, you're just fine. Besides, I'll murder both of you if you don't wash your hands before dinner."

Carl dragged himself to his feet with a groan. "Yes, Mom."

"Don't tempt me," she shot back.

He went off to the bathroom, still mumbling under his breath about baby socks and foot sweat, while I scooped Ruby into my arms again and crossed into the kitchen.

Ella didn't look at me right away.

"You need help?" I asked, quieter this time.

"You gonna follow orders?" she replied, not turning.

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Only yours."

She sighed through her nose but leaned into me just the slightest bit.

"I'm still mad," she said.

"I know," I said, brushing my knuckles over her hip. "You're real cute when you're mad, you know that?"

"Daryl."

"Makes me wanna start more trouble. Make you throw that spatula at me."

Her head turned, slow as anything, and her eyes met mine — fire still burning low in them, banked and fierce.

"You scared me," she said, voice low. "You promised you'd stay."

"I know," I said again. My throat felt tight. "I'm sorry."

She paused for a moment, eyes scanning mine like she was trying to figure out if that apology was real. I knew it was. She did too.

"You ruin my surprises again," she murmured, "and you're sleeping outside. With the chickens."

"I'll build a damn coop next to 'em," I said. "Long as I get to sneak in and kiss you at night."

That earned me a little huff of a laugh. Not full forgiveness, not yet — but close.

She turned back to the stove and handed me a bowl to bring to the table.

"Set the table," she ordered. "And no more flirting while I've got a knife in my hand."

"Now that just sounds like a challenge."

"Daryl."

I grinned and leaned in, pressing one last kiss to her cheek before taking the bowl and heading for the table.

God, I'd missed this. The smell of food, the sound of laughter, her voice and the kids under one roof again. This? This was home.

And I'd do whatever it took to keep it safe.

The house was finally quiet.

The dishes were done, Carl had gone home with a full belly and a smirk on his face, Ruby was down in the crib, and Ian had fallen asleep with his little hand still curled around the hilt of his wooden dagger.

I shut their bedroom door gently behind me, turning the knob so it didn't click.

When I turned, Ella was already sitting on the blanket nest downstairs, one leg curled under her, wrapped in one of my shirts—the dark grey one she always stole outta the clean laundry. Her hair was down, damp from a quick rinse, skin glowing in the soft lamplight.

She looked tired.

But she also looked like sin.

And I couldn't help but stare.

Her eyes tracked me as I moved through the room. "You gonna keep staring or say something, Dixon?"

"I'm allowed to stare at my wife," I said, stepping into her space and bracing a hand on the wall behind her. "'Specially when she's wearin' nothin' but my shirt."

She arched a brow. "Don't think I've forgotten that I'm still mad at you."

"Oh, I know," I said, dropping my voice low as I leaned in. "You've been remindin' me all night."

"Good," she said, cool and unimpressed—but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Maybe next time you'll listen when I say 'don't do anything reckless.'"

I lowered myself beside her, close enough that our knees bumped. "I did what I had to. For all of us."

She sighed, looking away—but I caught her chin in my hand, real gentle-like, guiding her gaze back to mine.

"I ain't sorry for doin' what I did," I said quietly, "but I am sorry for not tellin' you. For makin' you worry. For not bein' here when you and the kids came home."

Her eyes softened just a bit.

"And for ruinin' your surprise," I added, brushing my thumb over her jaw. "I was lookin' forward to that part."

Her lips twitched again, and she shook her head, letting out a slow breath. "You're lucky you're cute when you're groveling."

"Not grovelin'. Just... makin' things right."

"Oh, is that what this is?" she asked, voice teasing now.

"Mmhmm," I said, leaning in, pressing a soft kiss just under her jaw. "That's what this is."

Another kiss, lower—just where her neck met her shoulder. She let out a quiet breath but didn't stop me.

"You gonna forgive me?" I murmured, my lips ghosting over her skin.

"I dunno," she said, breath hitching. "Depends how convincing your argument is."

"Oh, I can be real convincin'," I said, slipping a hand under her borrowed shirt to find the warm skin of her thigh.

Her eyes flicked up to mine—sharp, assessing, but no longer angry. Not really. Just glowing with that familiar fire I loved so much.

"You're such a menace," she whispered, but her fingers slid into my hair anyway, pulling me closer.

"And you love it."

She kissed me then—slow, deep, and full of heat that had been building all day. Her legs parted just enough for me to settle between them as the floors creaked beneath our weight. My hand moved up her thigh, slow and sure, while her fingers traced the back of my neck, pulling me deeper into the kiss.

When I finally pulled back, I was breathless and grinning.

"You still mad?" I asked, brushing my nose against hers.

"Maybe a little," she said, trailing her hand down my chest. "But I'm starting to feel a lot more forgiving."

"Yeah?" I rasped, lowering my mouth to hers again. "Then I'll just have to spend the whole damn night workin' my way back into your good graces."

"You better," she whispered, "because I'm not making it easy on you."

And god, if that wasn't exactly how I liked it.

Upstairs was dim, quiet—the only light came from the hallway and the soft glow of the moon through the cracked blinds. Our mattress was still gone—courtesy of the Saviors—but we'd made a nest of it. Blankets folded thick across the floor, soft and warm beneath bare feet, home in the way only something built with love could be.

Ella crossed the room without a word, hips swaying just enough to remind me she knew I was watching. Her hair was loose, wild from our earlier tangles on the couch, and the hem of her shirt rose just enough to flash a sliver of skin when she moved.

She knelt down into the blanket nest, her movements slow and lazy, like a cat stretching into familiar territory. I followed, tugging off my shirt as I dropped beside her.

"You still mad?" I murmured, my mouth finding the side of her neck. "Or just mad enough to make this fun?"

She hummed—a sound that rumbled low in her throat—as I brushed my lips along her pulse. "I should still be mad."

"You should," I agreed, letting my hand skim under her shirt, fingers tracing the warm curve of her waist. "But you ain't."

She twisted toward me, eyes sharp even in the dark. "Don't get cocky."

"Too late," I muttered, mouth already trailing lower, across her collarbone, tasting her skin. "You knew what you were marryin', baby."

"You're insufferable."

"And you love it."

She shoved at my chest playfully, but I caught her wrist and pulled her closer, rolling so she was beneath me, breath catching as my hands slid up under her shirt, palms greedy against her ribs.

"You're lucky I do love it," she whispered, voice going breathy as I dipped my head and bit gently at her jaw, just below her ear.

"You're lucky I worship you," I growled back, dragging my mouth across her throat. "Even when you wanna kill me."

"Oh, I still want to kill you," she gasped as I pressed kisses lower. "I'm just willing to let you make it up to me first."

I chuckled low against her skin, the sound rough with need. "That's my girl."

Clothes were discarded in the hush between breaths and low murmurs. Skin met skin, warm and familiar, but still electric every damn time. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I groaned as I settled against her, breath caught in my chest like it was the first time all over again.

Her hands fisted in my hair, pulling me down to kiss her—hot, messy, claiming—and I let her have it. All of me. Every wordless apology. Every heartbeat. Every inch.

The blankets shifted beneath us, muffling the sound of our bodies moving, tangled, lost in each other.

This was how we fought. This was how we made up.

And later—when we lay breathless, sweat cooling, her head tucked under my chin and my fingers tracing lazy circles along her spine—I knew I wasn't off the hook yet.

But damn if it wasn't worth it.

The air in the room was thick with warmth and leftover heat, the kind that clung to skin and made everything feel softer, slower.

Ella lay curled against me, her head tucked beneath my chin, one leg draped over mine, hand resting flat on my chest like she was staking her claim. My fingers drifted lazily along her spine, tracing the curve of it, the dip at her lower back, up again in a quiet rhythm that kept me grounded.

For a long time, neither of us said anything.

Her breathing was deep but not quite asleep, lashes fluttering just enough against my collarbone to give her away. I tilted my chin down, brushing my lips across her temple.

"You okay?" I murmured.

She nodded, slow and content. "Mhm. Just warm. Sore in the good way."

I smiled into her hair, hand trailing down to where the blanket had slipped low around her waist. I shifted just enough to rest my palm over the gentle swell of her belly, skin soft and warm beneath my hand.

And there it was.

Barely there, but real—just a little more curve beneath my touch than there had been before. Subtle. But different.

I felt my throat tighten as my fingers spread wider, like I could feel the life growing underneath.

Ella shifted, looking up at me through half-lidded eyes. "What?"

I swallowed, my hand stilling. "You're showin'."

She blinked, surprised for a second. Then her mouth curved, slow and secret, like the truth had just landed. "Yeah... I guess I am."

"Didn't notice before."

"Well, we've been kinda busy," she said, brushing her knuckles lightly against my jaw.

I huffed a quiet laugh, but it was swallowed by the warmth in my chest. "Caleb said it'd happen sooner, right? After the second one?"

She nodded. "Third baby, remember? Everything moves faster."

I rubbed my thumb in slow circles across her skin, reverent. "You sure you're okay? You ain't been pushin' yourself too hard?"

"I'm alright," she said softly. "Tired. But good."

I watched her, brushing a bit of hair off her cheek. She looked peaceful in the low light, flushed and a little smug, like she'd won something just by surviving the day.

"You're incredible, y'know that?" I said, voice low.

She snorted softly. "You're just sayin' that because I let you get lucky."

"Damn right," I muttered, grinning. "But I still mean it."

She leaned in to kiss me—slow, sweet, a little sleepy. Her hand curled around mine where it rested on her belly, guiding my palm down just a little more. "You'll feel it soon," she whispered. "In a couple weeks, maybe. The little flutters."

I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to hers. "Can't wait."

She tucked herself back into my side, one hand resting on top of mine. The weight of the day melted away with every soft breath between us. And as she drifted off—safe, warm, mine—I stayed awake a little longer, keeping my hand there like a promise.

Because this? This was everything I'd ever wanted.

And I'd protect it with everything I had.