We half-run, half-stumble down the hall, shedding clothes like breadcrumbs—his belt clattering on the hardwood, my bra dangling from his fist.
He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, his mouth never leaving mine, his kiss devouring.
I push him back a step until his shoulders hit the wall. He freezes only long enough to watch me fumble with his fly, my fingers clumsy, desperate. His laugh is low, rough, cut off when I finally shove his pants down his hips.
“Jesus, Janie,” he mutters, dragging me up with him, my legs locking around his waist. He presses me hard against the wall, his body pinning mine, his chest heaving against my breasts.
His mouth is everywhere—my jaw, my throat, the hollow of my collarbone—biting, kissing, worshipping like he’s starving.
I claw at his shoulders, pulling him closer, tilting my hips until the hard length of him rubs exactly where I need.
“I've missed you,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
The snap of latex, quick and practiced, cuts through his ragged breathing, then he’s lifting me higher against the wall.
He groans, burying his face in my neck as he thrusts into me in one sharp, claiming stroke. My cry echoes offthe walls. He holds me there, braced, filling me so deeply I can’t think, can’t breathe.
“Mine,” he growls, teeth grazing my ear. Not a question. A vow.
“Yes.” My nails dig into his shoulders. “Yours.”
He drives into me again, and again, rough and unrelenting, my back pressing into the wall with every thrust. The room blurs, the world blurs.
It’s frantic, messy, a collision of bodies and hearts. Weeks of denial burn away with every thrust. I meet him, wild and unrestrained, the slap of skin and broken moans filling the room.
“Janie,” he gasps, forehead pressed to mine. “I love you. I love you. I’m never letting you go.”
I choke on a sob, on a laugh, on a prayer. My body tightens, release slamming through me so hard I scream his name. He follows, shuddering, burying himself deep, his roar muffled in my neck.
We collapse together, tangled and shaking, his weight anchoring me, his arms holding me like he’ll never let go.
And for the first time in forever, I believe him.
Epilogue
Warren
One Year Later
The atrium smells faintlyof fresh paint and lilies. Banners hang from the rafters, the new lettering bold against the marble: The Evelyn Taylor Center for Family Wellness.
A string quartet plays softly in the corner, though the hum of conversation nearly drowns them out.
I stand near the back, letting the crowd press in around me. Hospital executives, community leaders, and politicians who showed up for the cameras fill the room. None of them matters. The only thing I see is Janie at the podium.
Her dress is simple, navy blue, and her hair tucked back. She doesn’t need anything more. She commands the room with nothing but her voice and her passion.
“When my mother was raising my brother on her own,she didn’t have a place like this,” she says, steady and clear. “Evelyn Taylor wasn’t a single parent, but she understood what it meant to see need in a city of privilege and to answer it with compassion. Her vision was to create access where there was none.”
The room erupts in applause. Janie smiles and looks down at her notes.
“Today, in Evelyn’s honor, we’re expanding that vision. This center will serve every family in Palm Beach who needs support. And for me, that especially means single mothers. Because no parent should have to choose between survival and stability for their child.”
More applause rolls through the atrium. I glance at the front row. Dr. Samuel Taylor dabs at his eyes. His and Evelyn's daughter, Sam, sits beside her husband, Cole. They lean together, proud and aching all at once.
Evelyn’s legacy had been shuttered, erased when the hospital went private. Today, it comes back to life.
Janie doesn’t falter. She smiles at the Taylors, at the crowd, and closes her speech with the kind of conviction that makes me fall in love with her all over again.