Cade:
The house was too clean. The smell of bleach still clung to the counters, the polished floorboards gleamed, and everything sat in perfect order—the kind of order that screamed control. I’d spent the whole damn night cleaning before she got home, telling myself I was scrubbing away the ache in my chest. But nothing in this place, not the shining counters or the spotless glass, could erase the mess we’d made hours ago.
Not a mess that I regretted. God help me, not even close. But a mess all the same.
I leaned against the counter, bare chest tight as I tugged my T-shirt over my head. The fabric snagged briefly on my shoulder scar, and I cursed under my breath. My muscles were sore in ways they hadn’t been in months, but it wasn’t the kind of ache I could complain about. It was the ki
