Page 61 of Loco

But then I really looked at him. His shoulders were tight, his jaw locked. He wasn’t just asking—he was bracing like he expected me to say no and wasn’t sure what he’d do if I did.

So I exhaled and nodded. “Okay. If it helps you sleep a little easier, I’ll do it.”

His eyes met mine, and I could see some of the weight lift from his chest.

I leaned back against the couch again and let my eyes wander—and for the first time, I reallysawthe space. I noticed the small cameras in the corners, the blinking light above the shelf, the front door with multiple locks, and two separate panels on the wall nearby.

I frowned. “Roque… what is all this?”

He followed my gaze and gave a quiet sigh. “Just keeping the kids safe from the ugly world outside.”

The way he said it made my chest ache.

I turned back to him, watching the tension still in his body, even as he tried to relax. “Areyouokay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, his eyes softened, and he gave a small, tired smile. “Now that you’re here? Yeah. I think I am.”

I curled into him, letting his warmth settle over me like a blanket I hadn’t realized I needed. Just being close to him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his arm wrapped around me instinctively made everything else fade into the background. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel like I had to be on guard.

His fingers brushed along my arm, slow and thoughtful, and when I tilted my head up to look at him, his eyes were already on me—dark, steady, and full of that familiar intensity that always made my breath catch.

The kiss was inevitable.

Soft at first, just a whisper of mouths meeting like a question. But it deepened quickly, his hand sliding into my hair again as I leaned into him, hungry for more. The way he kissed me made it impossible to think—like he needed me just as badly as I needed him.

I wanted him. God, I wanted him so much it made my skin feel too tight like I didn’t quite fit in my body anymore. Every cell in me pulled toward him.

But reality, cruel and ever-present, whispered between us.

The soft creak of the baby monitor, the half-heard shuffle from one of the bedrooms. The unmistakable knowledge that two little people were sleeping just down the hall—and that we weren’t alone in this house.

He pulled back with a quiet groan, breathing hard, and rested his forehead against mine.

“This is torture.”

I laughed softly, breathless, my heart thudding so hard I was surprised he couldn’t hear it. “Tell me about it.”

His fingers stayed tangled in my hair as our foreheads touched, neither of us quite ready to move. Neither of us quite able to let go.

I didn’t say what I was thinking—that I wanted him so badly it hurt, that it wasn’t just about need, it was abouteverything. Safety. Comfort. Want. Love.

But I didn’t have to, he already knew.

I’d just gottenhome from Roque’s and was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a soft smile on my face. The night had been something special. Dinner, the kids, the quiet comfort of justbeingwith him. It felt like something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing until I had it.

I shifted under the covers, hugging one of the pillows a little closer. God, I wanted him here in this bed, wrapped around me.But with the kids at his place, it wasn’t the right time. And as much as I craved that connection, I knew we had to be careful.

It didn’t make the ache go away, though.

I closed my eyes, breathing in slowly, trying to hold onto the feeling of his hands in my hair, the sound of his laugh low in his throat, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the world.

Then a cat screamed outside—sharp and sudden, a violent sound that snapped through the night air—and a second later, something shattered.

I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart thudding so hard it echoed in my ears as I held my breath and strained to listen. There were no footsteps, creaking floorboards, or voices.

Still, I reached across the bed to Roque’s side, where the baseball bat sat leaning against the nightstand. He’d insisted I keep one close, and right now, I was grateful I hadn’t argued.

Bat in hand, I crept out of bed, my bare feet cold against the hardwood as I moved down the hall. My house was quiet, the shadows familiar as I checked the alarm panel was still armed. That little green light stared back at me, steady and reassuring there’d been no break-in.

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