Thumper POV
I don’t know when the house stopped moving.
All I remember is crying—deep, ugly sobs that came from somewhere I didn’t know still hurt—and then darkness. The kind that isn’t scary, just heavy.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was light.
The soft glow of a television filled the room, muted and low, painting the ceiling in slow-moving shadows. It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t in my room. I wasn’t even upstairs.
I was in the living room.
And I wasn’t alone.
There was warmth beneath me—solid, steady—and when I shifted, my cheek brushed against fabric stretched over muscle. My fingers were curled into something firm, rhythmic.
A chest.
My breath caught.
I lifted my head slowly, afraid of what I might see, afraid of what I might remember.
Dominic was asl
