Page 7 of We Drank the Dawn

“And Bea? She’s happy too, Peter.”

Bea was my favorite. Maybe the oldest son in the family wasn’t supposed to play favorites, but I did. Everyone knew it, too. Bea and I were less than a year apart and she was my favorite person on earth besides my wife. Her move to Texas, her marriage, and immediate pregnancy came like blows to me. Even before she met Tag, when she left home to go on her music tours—I hated them. Not because I wasn’t supportive, but because we had done every phase of life together, and the end of that era wounded my spirit more than it should have.

“I know.” I conceded with a long sigh. “You’re right.”

Her brows shot up as her eyes lit with fire. “I’m sorry? What did you just say?”

A helpless smile spread across my face as I removed the last pin and sank my fingers into the roots of her hair, gently scraping her scalp. Turning her head with my hands, I leaned over her ear and whispered, “You…are…right.”

She gave a dramatic, guttural hum. “How I love those words.”

I pressed a kiss to her jaw. “You’re right about most things.”

“Oh, you’re talking dirty now.”

My lips moved to her neck. She tipped her head to the side, granting me passage to the freckled column of her neck. I took my time trailing kisses down to the tiny strap of her dress, which I brushed off the edge of her shoulder to clear a path. My hands wound around her hips, pulling her flush against my body. She hummed again—a low purr of contentment I’d heard many, many times.

Need flickered to life in my chest at that soft sound.

It took so little from Sarah to turn me into a beggar. I pushed my nose into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. Tugging on the strap hanging off her shoulder, I murmured, “Have I told you how sexy you look in this color?”

“Only about twenty times.”

“You smell good.”

She giggled. “Thank you.”

“I want you.”

“Honey, it’s like two in the morning. You need to sleep or you’ll⁠—”

“Shhh.” I lifted a finger to her lips and raised my head, our eyes connecting through the mirror. Ever since my first seizure, Sarah became my volunteer hydration, nutrition, and slumber police. “I’ve already lost an entire night of sleep. What’s thirty more minutes?”

“Just thirty?”

“Fine. An hour.”

I slipped my hands over the slopes of her curves, relishing in the way she melted against me.

She whispered, her voice breathless, “We—have to leave early for our flight.”

“We’ll sleep on the plane.”

She deadpanned. “You’ve never taken a nap on a plane in your life.”

“Hush.” My fingers found the zipper on the back of her dress, slowly freeing her from the confining fabric she’d worn all day. “Shower with me.”

Leaving her to shimmy free, I turned on the water, finding the temperature she preferred—one degree under skin-boiling. Steam billowed into the room as I pulled off my shirt and slacks. And when I turned back to her, Sarah went up on her toes to kiss me.

Her brow furrowed, red eyebrows pushing the freckles on her forehead together as she poured her soul into our kiss. My hands explored her warm skin, hauling her body against mine. Her lips parted, and we tangled—slowly, deeply. The way she liked.

I’d heard people say that the excitement in intimacy dies over time.

That was true. The sweaty hands, racing heart, and sleepless nights tapered off as our years together ticked by. But something else took its place.

Safety. Companionship. Being fully known and loved.

We agreed that this was way better.