Page 130 of Scrum Heat

“Jax?” her voice is low, rough from sleep.

I freeze, then clear my throat. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispers. Her hand lifts, rubbing her eye. “Come here.”

I glance at Finn, still dead asleep. He mumbles something unintelligible and buries himself deeper into her side like a content, snoring parasite.

My jaw tightens. “You’re with—”

“I’m always with you,” she says, cutting me off gently.

Her voice doesn’t waver as she lifts the blanket, then gestures with her chin toward it.

A space between them. Just enough for me.

The quiet stretches out between us, and I can’t help it: Istareat her. Her hair’s a mess, her mouth soft and pink, her shoulder bare above the sheet. And there’s no pressure in her voice; no pity, no reluctance. Just…room.

I close the door behind me, cross the room in two steps, and slip under the blanket before I lose my nerve. Frankie shifts to make space as I climb in beside her, and Finn stirs again, but only to reposition himself, his fingers twitching against her stomach before settling.

I lie still on my side, facing her; closer than I thought I’d be able to handle.

But it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’tburn.

She slides her hand across my bare chest.

“Hi,” she whispers. Her thumb traces a slow circle over my sternum, and my heart stutters. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I nod, then swallow. “Too much in my head.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.” Then, after a beat: “But I wanted…this.”

Her hand doesn’t stop. Just keeps moving, soft and steady. I press my nose against her temple and breathe her in, and the noise in me—the storm that never shuts up, the one made of fists and fire and history I don’t talk about—goes quiet.

“I never do this,” I murmur.

“I know.”

“I don’t even know how to…” I trail off, swallowing the rest.

She leans in, her mouth brushing the edge of my jaw. “You don’t have to know. You just have to be here.”

“Is this… weird?”

“No,” she says. “It’sus.”

We lie there, facing each other in the dark, the space between us narrowing with every breath. Her foot nudges mine, and my fingers trail along the curve of her hip, slow and careful.

“You’re good at this,” I say quietly.

She blinks. “At what?”

“This. Being someone people want to come home to.”

Her lips twitch. “You think this is home?”

I nod once. “Yeah. I think it is.”

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