Page 23 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
He sprawls awkwardly onto the couch, long legs dangling off the end, head propped against the armrest. Cole settles into the armchair, legs stretched out, eyes closing almost.
I lean back against the wall, watching silently as my companions slip into sleep. The room fills with the soft sounds of breathing—Eli and Ava’s matching snores harmonizing, Cole’s deeper breaths steady and even, Liam’s quiet exhales calm and controlled.
My eyes drift again toward Ava, the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath her oversized shirt strangely mesmerizing. I’m surprised to find a quiet calm settling over me, the chaotic restlessness that usually hums beneath my skin temporarily quieted by the peaceful sounds of sleep surrounding me.
I’ve never been one to find comfort in stillness or quiet. But in this small, dim motel room, surrounded by the unexpected family we’ve formed in this chaos, I feel a rare peace settle inside my chest.
I glance around again, taking in each sleeping form—Liam, the calm leader I’d follow into hell; Cole, the strong, silent protector who never lets us down; Eli, the innocent child who’s already stolen pieces of my heart; and Ava, the unexpectedly captivating woman who’s managed to slip past every defense I’ve ever built.
I close my eyes, breathing deeply as the quiet wraps around me, offering a fleeting moment of calm.
Why does this—of all places, of all situations—feel like the most peace I’ve ever known?
The quiet stretches on, soft breathing filling the room, and I know deep in my bones that this fragile peace can’t possibly last.
But God, how I wish it could.
The room has settled into silence again, thick and peaceful. Just as I’m starting to close my eyes, a quiet rustle draws my attention. Ava stirs under the covers, blinking slowly in the dim light.
I lift my head, watching her shift, careful not to wake Eli, who’s curled against her like a sleepy koala. She doesn’t speak, just pulls the blanket tighter and sighs softly, her gaze landing on me across the room. It’s not the usual guarded look. This one’s softer, like her defenses are finally letting a few cracks show.
I nod at her gently. She doesn’t smile, but something passes between us, an understanding maybe. We’re in this together now, whether she trusts us yet or not.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask, my voice low.
She shakes her head faintly, brushing a curl away from her cheek. “Too wired. Too tired. My brain can’t figure out which.”
I sit up a little, patting the spot next to me on the floor. “C’mere. Sometimes it helps just to sit up a bit. Breathe.”
She hesitates for a moment, wary, like always, but then she carefully shifts Eli’s sleeping body and slips out from under the covers. Her movements are slow and deliberate. When shesettles beside me on the carpet, she keeps a few inches of space between us.
We sit like that for a while, backs resting against the base of the bed, legs stretched out toward the motel TV stand. The silence is surprisingly comfortable.
“I’m not used to quiet,” she says eventually. “Real quiet, I mean. The kind that doesn’t feel... dangerous.”
“I know the kind,” I say quietly. “When I got out of the Navy, silence was the worst. Made everything echo louder.”
She glances over at me, studying me for a moment before returning her gaze to the carpet. “Is that what this is? Echoes?”
“Maybe.” I risk a sideways look. “Or maybe it’s your brain trying to believe you’re safe... but not quite trusting it yet.”
She huffs a soft laugh. “That sounds exactly like my brain. Annoying as hell.”
We fall into another silence. Her shoulder bumps mine once, lightly, as she adjusts her position. Neither of us pulls away.
“Jax,” she murmurs after a long pause, “thank you for keeping Eli laughing today. I think it was the first time in weeks he looked like a regular kid.”
The way she says it, grateful but quietly broken, makes something tighten in my chest. “He’s a great kid,” I say honestly. “You’ve done a damn good job with him, Ava.”
Her breath catches slightly, and she dips her head, a few curls falling forward.
A few minutes later, her head tips against my shoulder. At first, I think she’s just resting, but then her breathing deepens, slow and steady. She’s out cold.
I sit there, not moving a damn muscle, just listening to the weight of her sleep settle between us. I don’t have the heart to wake her or shift her away. Not after the walls she’s kept up since day one. I shouldn’t want this. But I do. More than I’ll admit.
Eventually, when my shoulder starts to go numb, I glance over at Cole, who’s now awake and watching us silently from across the room. He nods once and moves toward the bed. Together, we gently guide Ava up and help her back under the covers beside Eli. She doesn’t wake.
Cole pulls the blanket over her. I linger for just a moment, watching her face relax into something peaceful.
