Chapter Twenty-Eight

TRINITY

I woke up the next day, still wrapped tightly in Stephen’s arms. His body was curled protectively around mine, his face tucked into the back of my neck, his breath soft and warm against my skin. I moved slowly, careful not to disturb him, though the tenderness in my muscles reminded me of just how tangled we’d been last night—emotionally and physically. There was something comforting about the heaviness of his arm across my waist, the weight of his body still grounding me to the present. He was here. Still here.

I carefully slipped my phone from the nightstand and blinked at the brightness of the screen.

11:46am.

I exhaled through my nose.

We hadn’t slept much after such an emotionally charged night—neither of us could, not really. Sleep came in waves. Shallow, fractured. We had clung to each other like lifelines, and now, even after a few hours of rest, I felt like I’d lived an entire lifetime in one night.

Not wanting to wake him, I slowly pulled free of his hold, guiding his arm back down gently to the mattress. He shifted, barely, a low sigh leaving his throat as his body adjusted. I stood and moved quietly to the wardrobe, pulling out one of his oversized sweaters—black, soft, worn just right—and tugged it over my frame, the scent of his cologne and skin enveloping me instantly.

It was like armor.

I padded softly into the ensuite, brushing my teeth and throwing my hair up into a messy bun. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—eyes still slightly swollen, the hint of last night’s tears dried at the corners—and yet, beneath it all, there was something steadier. A decision had been made, not just for Stephen, but for myself too.

We had work to do.

There was so much still to process, questions to ask, truths that needed breathing room. I didn’t know what the path ahead looked like … but I knew I owed it to myself—and to him—to walk it.

I made my way downstairs, the warm scent of coffee already winding its way through the house and into my bones. It grounded me, somehow. A promise of normalcy.

I followed the scent and rounded the kitchen corner to find Mia and Clint standing there. Clint’s arms were wrapped securely around his wife from behind, his face nuzzled into her neck as she poured coffee, their quiet intimacy a beautiful contrast to the storm of emotions still sitting in my chest. They looked so content. So ~full.~

It made me smile... and ache.

I stood quietly in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and let the moment wash over me.

A flicker of memory rose—Stephen’s voice last night, rough and broken, whispering that he loved me over and over again as he rocked into me, like each thrust was a prayer for absolution. The desperation in his grip, the tears on his cheeks, the way he held me after like he didn’t know if I’d still be there when he opened his eyes…

My cheeks flushed. My skin warmed.

“Trin, are you alright?”

Clint’s voice brought me out of my haze. His hand was soft on my shoulder, his eyes searching mine.

I blinked back to the present. “Sorry, I zoned out,” I said, managing a warm smile. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” he asked, the concern in his tone impossible to miss. His arm came around me, hugging me close.

“Yeah … I will be.” And I meant it.

“Coffee?” he offered, and I nodded gratefully.

“Please. Better chuck an extra shot in that today,” I joked, forcing a little levity into my voice. Clint chuckled, and I leaned into the comfort of his presence.

Once our drinks were ready, I motioned toward the back patio. “Let’s sit outside. We can talk there.”

The air was crisp but not cold, the early afternoon sun filtering gently through the trees. We settled into the outdoor chairs with our steaming cups, and it didn’t take long before Clint leaned forward, brows raised.

“So,” he said. “What’s the damage?”

I exhaled slowly, the heat of my mug warming my hands.

“Minimal … at the moment.” I watched them both nod, their expressions serious but hopeful. “We still need to talk about a lot, work through even more … but I wanted you both to know—I’m not going to walk away that easily. I love Stephen too much.”

Mia reached over without hesitation, squeezing my hand. “We know, babe. He loves you too.”

“You two need to go and have this time together,” I said, my voice steady. “This should be the best time of your lives—not worrying about us. You both deserve that.”

Clint started to interject, but I cut him off gently. “I’ll be here. While you’re gone. For Stephen. For myself.” I paused, the words catching in my throat. “And hopefully … still after.”

The tears threatened again. I didn’t fight them this time. A soft trail slipped down my cheek, and Mia moved beside me, pulling me into a tight hug. Clint joined on the other side, his arms warm and solid around us both.

“We love you just as much, you know,” Mia whispered, her cheek pressed to mine.

“You’re a big part of our lives, Trin,” Clint added. “You always will be.”

“I know,” I managed to say through the emotion tightening my throat. “And the best thing you can do for me right now … is go and enjoy your honeymoon. Please.”

There was a pause.

Then, finally, Clint nodded. “Alright, hun.”

Mia gave him a soft look before smiling at me. “We’ll go. But we’re only a call away. You know that, right?”

“I do,” I said, and meant it.

We sat like that for a while, letting the moment stretch between us. No rush. No pressure. Just people who loved each other, trying to navigate the hard parts of life together. We ended up scrolling through some of the wedding photos, laughing at the candid ones, lighting a joint and sharing more stories than I could count. I told them about last night—the emotions, the honesty—though I left out some of the more intimate details. Some things were just for Stephen and me.

About an hour later, I heard the sliding door creak open behind us. My heart tugged instinctively as I turned to see him there.

Hair mussed. Sweats low on his hips. Eyes … still a little haunted, but softer now. He looked at me like he still wasn’t sure I was real.

“Morning, bro,” Stephen said, his voice still rough with sleep.

I watched Stephen’s eyes flick to mine, and in that look, I saw everything he wasn’t yet ready to say.

And it was okay.

We had time.

“Morning,” Clint corrected Stephen with a playful smirk, glancing toward the sky that now bore no hint of morning. “It’s afternoon, asshole.”

“Same thing, prick.” Stephen threw the words right back with a crooked smile, and the two of them exchanged a look that said ~we’re good.~

“More coffee?” Stephen offered, his hand gesturing toward the kitchen even though he clearly hadn’t shaken off the fog of sleep yet.

“Sit, babe,” I told him softly. “Have a smoke with Clint and Mia, and I’ll make them.” I rose to my feet and crossed over to him, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against his lips. His hand caught mine mid-movement, holding it tightly as if letting go might shatter what we had rebuilt.

With his other hand, he reached up and brushed the edge of my cheek with the backs of his fingers, reverent and slow.

“I love you,” he mouthed—barely a whisper—but I felt it everywhere.

“And I love you,” I whispered back, my breath catching in my throat. I kissed him again, softer this time, and then turned toward the house, Mia falling into step beside me. The air between us buzzed with quiet understanding as we walked back inside.

From the kitchen counter, the view through the sliding doors was clear. Clint had stood up and now had Stephen pulled into a tight embrace—both of them holding on longer than a usual hug. There was no awkwardness. Just two men bound together by history, pain, and a fierce kind of love that only grew stronger when things threatened to tear them apart.

I wiped a stray tear from my cheek, but I’d been too slow to catch it. I felt Mia step beside me, her warmth pressing into my side, her arm slipping around my waist. She rested her head gently on my shoulder and let out a long breath.

“It’ll be okay, babe,” she said quietly, her voice like honey and reassurance. “We all have each other.”

I reached over and stroked her arm. “Always,” I promised, and we stayed like that for a moment—watching the men we loved, letting the stillness between us settle.

We took the coffees back out, the mugs warm against our palms, and I immediately nestled back down beside Stephen. His arm wrapped around me instinctively, pulling me close, anchoring me to him. My hand settled against his chest, and I looked up into his face.

There was still tension behind those green eyes—still that flicker of unease just beneath the surface.

“Are you alright, babe?” I asked softly.

Stephen leaned down and pressed his lips to the side of my neck, his breath warm against my skin as he spoke.

“I’m always okay … as long as I have you by my side.”

His voice was low, ragged at the edges, but real. It wasn’t bravado or sweet talk. It was a man holding on to the only peace he had left. I lifted my hand to his cheek, cradling it gently, my thumb sweeping over his skin as I held him there. Held us there.

We stayed like that for a while—just existing, breathing, being.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of shared stories and slow laughter. We sat together, the four of us, basking in the afterglow of yesterday’s celebration, letting time stretch. Every now and then, Stephen would glance at me, and I’d reach out—fingers brushing his arm, hand resting on his thigh, or my head gently on his shoulder. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to.

I could feel him slowly letting go of some of the weight. Not all of it, but enough. Enough for now.

He needed the reassurance that I was still here—and I gave it to him in the only way I knew how. By staying close. By staying soft. By staying.

And when the time came, when we were both ready, we’d talk. We’d walk through the wreckage and see what we could salvage.

But I wouldn’t break him while he was still bleeding.

Not long after, the others came out to say goodbye to Clint and Mia before they left. It was then that I noticed the tension spike again—sharp and sudden. This time, it wasn’t just Stephen. Clint’s shoulders tensed as well. There were unspoken words passing between them—subtle, sharp glances and tight-lipped nods.

Something still lingered.

A few times, I caught Stephen watching the other men with the kind of scrutiny I’d come to recognize—assessing, calculating. Clint mirrored it, a weight behind his eyes that didn’t belong to a man just returning from his wedding night. I tucked it away. I’d ask Stephen later.

Dave, Chad, and Mike said their goodbyes after about half an hour, promising to be gone for the rest of the day. Stephen simply nodded, offering no more than a few short words. The door closed behind them and a silence followed, thick and taut.

And then … it was time.

Clint and Mia gathered their things, and we helped them load the last of their bags into the car. It should’ve been a sad moment—watching your best friends drive off for three weeks—but there was too much love to feel anything but warmth.

I hugged Mia like I wasn’t ready to let her go, and she kissed the side of my head, whispering, “You’ve got this, babe.”

Clint hugged me, too, fiercely, his jaw tight. “You let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“I will,” I nodded, blinking fast to keep from tearing up again. “Now go and enjoy yourselves. You’ve earned it.”

Stephen stood beside me, arm draped around my shoulder as we waved them off, the car kicking up a soft puff of gravel as it disappeared down the drive.

I looked up at him just as he turned to me, his hand rising to brush the hair from my face. His fingers lingered, tender, reverent.

“And then there were two…”