Trying to Find 'Normal'

Three months passed in a way Renee could never properly measure. Time stretched and shrank in strange shapes, marked not by days or routines, but by the slow unwinding of fear. The boys had been gone since the night everything shattered, tucked safely beneath her mother’s roof. Renee pretended that the distance was easy, that she approved of the break, but every morning started with two empty plates on the table and a pang sharp enough to make her stop breathing for a second.

The house felt too quiet without them. No footsteps pounding down the hall. No half-finished snacks on the counter. No, Nate rolling his eyes at Jake’s jokes. No LJ humming loudly in the shower. When she walked past their bedrooms, she kept her eyes forward, refusing to look at the empty beds that made the quiet feel heavier.

Jake worked from home more often now. He watched her with a kind of steady patience she could not fully understand. He laughed more. Cooked more and stayed close. Close enough that she could feel his presence even in the quiet moments when neither of them spoke, after everything they had survived, they clung to each other without mentioning why. Some truths did not need to be voiced to be understood.

Detective Latham called every week with minor updates. A trackable card purchase. A sighting that turned out to be nothing. A footprint that might have matched, but did not lead anywhere. Each call ended with the same promise. They were close. They were tightening the circle. They would find him.

Renee held on to that promise like it was a map out of a storm.

Still, unwanted reminders surfaced. A corner of the porch light flickered in a way that made her stomach drop. A car is slowing a little too long near the gate, the soft ping of the motion sensor at midnight. Most were false alarms from the weather or animals. Her heart did not always understand the difference. Her body still braced before her mind could think. Jake always steadied her with a quiet touch on the shoulder or a voice close to her ear. You are safe. I am right here.

Little by little, the house felt less haunted. Little by little, she let herself breathe again.

Sometimes they walked the property at sunset, their fingers laced, their steps slow and unhurried. Other times, they spent long afternoons on the porch with blankets, watching the rain slide down the railing. Renee joked that storms were trying to follow her forever. Jake told her storms had always been afraid of her strength. She never fully believed him, but the way he said it made her feel like maybe she could.

Nights became easier. Sleep lasted longer. When she woke from dreams with her pulse racing, Jake would roll toward her, pull her against his chest, and breathe with her until her body settled. By the time the third month arrived, Renee realized something dangerous. They were beginning to feel normal. And for the first time, she wanted that normal to stay.

Renee had not seen her boys in almost three months, and even though it tore at her heart, it was the right choice. Her mother and stepfather kept them tucked away in the safety of their home, far removed from the shadows still trailing her. She gave them updates carefully, only what was needed, never the whole truth. “It is just safer for now,” she would tell her mother, even though the real weight sat deeper than safety alone. It was survival. The house felt different without the boys. Quieter. Still enough for thoughts to echo inside it. But as the danger thinned and the police reported they were getting closer to tracking Michael Reed’s movements, life began to look like something she almost recognized.

Jake returned from the morning briefing with Detective Latham, shaking rain from his jacket. “They said they think he is stationary now,” he told her. “They are zeroing in.” Renee sipped her tea and gave a dry laugh. “Stationary. That is one word for it.” She leaned her hip against the counter and said, “Mike is almost as bad as Leo. At least Leo only haunted me while he was in front of me.”

Jake turned toward her sharply. “You do not have to joke about that.”

“I know,” she said. “But if I do not laugh, I will start screaming.” He crossed the kitchen and placed his hand on her cheek, gently brushing a thumb beneath her eye. “He is not Leo. And you are not the woman who lived through that. You are stronger. You are harder to break.” Her chest warmed at the certainty in his voice. “I feel like a cracked vase that keeps finding glue.”

“Fine,” he said. “Then I am the glue.” She snorted a laugh. “That is not sexy at all.” He lifted her chin and kissed her slowly. “It is not supposed to be sexy. Yet.” The word *yet* ricocheted through her ribs. He felt the shift in her breathing before she even moved closer. His hand slid down her side, tracing the shape of her waist in a way that made her pulse quicken. Their bodies aligned without effort, without thought, without fear. The house felt warmer. Or maybe it was just him.

Jake nudged her backward until her hips touched the edge of the table. He kissed her again, deeper this time, lingering in a way that sent heat pouring through her. His fingers slid into her hair as he angled her head slightly, guiding her mouth against his until she felt the low hum of pleasure rise in him. Her legs weakened. Her breath hitched. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, palms against warm skin and hard muscle. He inhaled sharply when her nails grazed his ribs. “Renee,” he whispered, his voice already thick with desire. “Let me take care of you.”

She nodded, unable to speak as he lifted her onto the table. His hands trailed up her thighs slowly, deliberately, spreading heat everywhere he touched. He kissed the inside of her knee, her thigh, the soft place where breath became need. He took his time, exploring her with hungry patience, teasing her with the edge of his breath. Her fingers curled into his hair. A soft sound escaped her lips. He looked up at her with eyes darkened by devotion and desire. “Tell me what you want,” he said.

“You,” she whispered. “Only you.” He rose and kissed her again, his body settling between her legs as his hands traveled beneath her shirt. He traced her curves with slow, deliberate affection, coaxing her breath into soft, desperate sounds. When she arched into him, he pressed closer, letting her feel how much he wanted her. He lifted her from the table and carried her to the bedroom. Clothes fell away piece by piece, each one slowing the world down until nothing existed except the heat between them and the way his mouth traced every place that made her tremble.

He eased her back onto the bed, covering her body with his, kissing her until her fingers clutched at him in a silent plea. His hands explored her with reverence and hunger, building the tension slowly, drawing her higher, deeper, breathless. Her body moved with his in a rhythm that had always felt inevitable. She gasped his name, the sound lifting the room into something sacred. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, the hollow of her throat, his breath warm against her skin. “I love you,” he whispered against her pulse. “I love every part of you.”

Her hands slid down his back, guiding him closer still. She felt the moment his restraint wavered, the moment his breath caught. He kissed her again, slow and heated, and the world narrowed to the warm press of his body, the weight of his need, and the shiver of anticipation that pulled her under with him.

The rest unfolded in shadows and soft sounds, bodies aligned, hearts pounding, the air warm and heavy with longing. He held her through every rise and fall, every breath and tremor, every whisper of desire that pulled them deeper into each other until nothing remained except the quiet spill of their shared release and the soft collapse into each other’s arms.

They lay together afterward, skin warm, breath slowly returning to normal. Jake traced lazy circles across her hip. She rested a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm. For the first time in months, Renee felt safe. For the first time in years, she felt whole. Jake kissed the top of her head and whispered, “This is what normal feels like, you and me. Quiet nights. No fear.” Renee closed her eyes. But the quiet never stays long. And the storm still had one message left to deliver.