Page 142 of Broken Breath
For arms around me,touchthat doesn’t come with pain, hands that aren’t checking injuries or pulling me out of wreckage, softness in all the places I’m used to being bruised, and the impossible fantasy of being held without needing to be fixed.
Being around Luc is a fucking fight. It’s a constant battle not to lean in orcrack openunder everything he keeps giving me—quiet affection, warmth, and the kind of safety I don’t know what to do with.
And lately, I’m losing that fight.So fucking fast.
Because he’s too much. Too steady. So disarming it feels like he’s pulling the pain straight out of me without even trying.
Fuck.
I take another deep breath and meet my eyes in the mirror.
Okay. France.Let’s do this.
When I step out of the bathroom, Luc is still there, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. He unfurls himself and reaches for my hand, and without a word, he laces our fingers together.
My fingers tighten around his instinctively before I can stop myself, and just like that, the part of me I’ve been trying to starve, the one that wants comfort, closeness,him, wins again.
We step into the hallway, and my gaze drifts automatically around the space. Warm sunlight spills through tall windows. The walls are lined with doors, and everything feels open, airy, and lived-in.
Luc watches me take it in. “Guest rooms,” he explains, nodding down the hall. “All of these.Maman’s room is upstairs.”
“This house is beautiful.”
A slow grin spreads across his face, pride flickering behind his eyes. “Merci.The money from my first three World Cup wins bought her this place.”
I blink, taken off guard. “You bought her this?”
Luc shrugs like it’s nothing, but warmth at the idea settles softly in my chest. He’s such a mama’s boy, and it’s kind of adorable.
“And with my next win…” He glances down, swinging our joined hands gently between us. “I’ll buy one for myself. I think.”
“You want a house?”
He hums. “I like theideaof it. Something to show for all this, you know? But…” He trails off and lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know if I’d like the quiet. I can’t handle too much space to get lost in my own head.” His smile crooks sideways. “Maybe I’ll just stay here. There’s always noise here, always people.”
I squeeze his hand, but before I can ask more, the hallway opens up into a sprawling kitchen and dining area.
Dane, Otis, and Piper sit at the dining table, a long piece of rustic wood with mismatched chairs pulled around it, heads bent together, laughing about something.
A woman stands at the stove in the kitchen. She’s beautiful, in her late forties or early fifties maybe, elegant, but with the same unruly brown hair and striking blue eyes as Luc.
When she spots us, her whole face lights up, and Luc tightens his grip on my hand when I instinctively try to pull away. I shoot him a look, but he just smirks, holding on.
“Bienvenue!” The woman beams as she crosses the room toward us, wiping her hands on a towel. She cups my face gently between her hands like I’ve known her my whole life. “You’re even more handsome with your beautiful eyes open. I’ve heard so much about you.”
My eyes flick to Luc, my brain scrambling. She’s talking tome?
His grin only widens.
“I’mÉlise,” she adds, her accent curling softly around the name.
And then, before I can even recover, she pulls me into a surprisingly not-awkward hug that smells faintly of rosemary.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she whispers into my ear.
When she pulls back, I just stand there, wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing once.
“Uh… likewise?”
