Page 60 of Ride Me Reckless
I glanced at him, surprised. “All the time.”
“This swing just started creaking, too,” he said, giving the swing a light nudge as we approached. “Had this one made to match the old one. Couldn’t bring myself to leave those memories behind.”
I smiled, running my fingers along the smooth armrest. “It’s almost identical.”
He looked over at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Some things are worth keeping. Even if you have to rebuild ’em.”
I sank down onto the swing beside him, letting the silence settle around us like a blanket. “Yep, maybe even us,” I said after a long moment.
The porch swing creaked beneath us, the sound familiar and oddly soothing, like a lullaby wrapped in wood and rusted chains. The evening air had cooled just enough to make me grateful for the warmth of Colt’s shoulder brushing mine.
We didn’t say much at first. Just let the rhythm of the swing carry us, the breeze tugging softly at my hair, the hush of dusk folding around us like a secret.
Then he turned slightly, just enough for our eyes to meet in the half-light. “You could stay,” he said, voice low and steady. “Just tonight. Don’t expect a rodeo, though. My back’s all bark and no buck.”
I laughed, the sound catching in my throat. “We can take it easy,” I said softly, brushing a finger along the side of his cheek. “Let me do the work.”
His breath hitched—just a little—and I leaned in. The first kiss was gentle, testing. The second one wasn’t. It was slow, full, and lingering, like we’d both been hungry for it and finally stopped pretending otherwise.
When he pulled back, his lips hovered near mine. “You’ve always been the naughty one.”
I snickered and answered with another kiss.
Inside, our steps were slow and sure as I helped him toward his bedroom. The lights were dim, the room smelling faintly of cedar and laundry soap. I eased off his shirt, then his jeans, folding them over the chair without a word. When I reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs, he caught my wrist gently.
“Not tonight,” he murmured. “I don’t want to push it. Not with my back—and not with us.”
Something tender and fierce bloomed in my chest. “Okay,” I said, nodding.
I pulled on one of his old T-shirts that hung loose over my hips and slid beneath the covers beside him. The fancy mattressdipped in just the right places to support Colt’s back, and I curled into him, one hand resting lightly over his chest.
We didn’t need more.
Not tonight.
We lay there in a tangle of quiet limbs, breaths synced, hearts open, the hush of the house folding around us like the swing had.
And in the silence, something new was beginning.
Something real.
His breathing slowed. I could tell he was drifting. The steady rise and fall of his chest had settled into that peaceful rhythm only sleep could bring.
But I stayed awake.
The words swelled behind my ribs, heavy with meaning and fear, but needing to be said. So I leaned in, close enough that my lips brushed the curve of his ear.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered, barely louder than my breath. “With our child.”
He stirred slightly but didn’t respond, already deep in sleep. Maybe that was for the best.
I rested my forehead against his shoulder, letting my eyes slip shut at last.
Tomorrow, I’d say it again.
But tonight, just saying it out loud—to the dark, to him, to myself—was enough.
It had to be.
