Chapter 38: Where I Belong
POV: Valeria Cruz
I don’t notice when the house finally goes quiet.
Not right away.
Because the night lingers.
In the walls.
In the air.
In the way everything still feels a little too alive to be over.
The pool lights are still on outside.
Casting soft reflections through the windows.
Blue.
Calm.
Nothing like everything we felt just a few hours ago.
I’m sitting on the couch.
Curled into the corner without thinking about it.
One of Rafe’s hoodies wrapped around me.
Too big.
Too warm.
Too comforting.
And that’s when it hits me.
I didn’t go home.
Because…
I already am.
The thought settles slowly.
Not overwhelming.
Not scary.
Just—
real.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I glance up.
Rafe.
Leaning against the doorway like he’s been watching me longer than I realized.
“What thing?” I ask.
“Thinking too much.”
I smile slightly.
“Maybe.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“That’s not a confession either.”
He huffs a quiet laugh and walks over.
Drops onto the couch beside me.
Close.
Not touching.
But close enough that I feel it.
The warmth.
The presence.
The steadiness.
The kind I didn’t know I needed until I had it.
“It’s quiet,” I say.
“Yeah.”
“You ever get used to that?”
He shrugs.
“Sometimes.”
That doesn’t sound convincing.
“Tonight feels different,” I admit.
“Because it is.”
I glance at him.
“How?”
He looks at me for a second.
Then away.
Like he’s choosing how to say it.
“Because now we know what’s next,” he says.
That lands.
Because he’s right.
We do.
College.
Distance.
Change.
Everything moving whether we’re ready or not.
“And that doesn’t scare you?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Yeah.”
I blink.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he repeats. “It does.”
That surprises me more than anything else tonight.
Because Rafe doesn’t scare easy.
At least—
that’s what I thought.
“But?” I press.
He looks back at me.
“And it doesn’t change anything.”
That—
that’s the part I hold onto.
The part that matters.
I shift slightly under the hoodie.
Pulling the sleeves over my hands again without realizing it.
He notices.
Of course he does.
“You’re cold,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
Before I can argue, he grabs the blanket from behind the couch and drapes it over me.
Careful.
Like it matters.
Like I matter.
And that—
that still feels new.
Even after everything.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He nods once.
Like it’s nothing.
Like it’s everything.
We sit there for a while.
The TV is on.
Something random.
Neither of us is paying attention.
Because this—
this moment—
this is what matters.
The quiet after everything.
The space where things settle.
Or change.
Or become something real.
“You ever think about how different things could’ve been?” I ask.
“All the time.”
That answer comes too fast.
Too honest.
I turn to look at him.
“Yeah?”
He nods.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
Then—
“But I don’t want different.”
That—
that catches me off guard.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
Not even a second of hesitation.
“Even with everything?”
He looks at me.
Really looks.
“Especially with everything.”
My chest tightens.
Not painfully.
Just—
full.
Because he means it.
And I believe him.
And that’s the part that scares me the most.
“How do you do that?” I ask quietly.
“Do what?”
“Not let it mess with you.”
He exhales slowly.
“It does.”
That’s not what I expected.
“But I don’t let it take over,” he adds.
“How?”
He shrugs slightly.
“I focus on what’s in front of me.”
“And what’s in front of you?”
His gaze doesn’t move from mine.
“You.”
That—
that’s it.
That’s the moment everything shifts.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just—
real.
My heart starts beating faster.
Not from fear.
From something else.
Something deeper.
Something I don’t want to run from.
“You can stop me,” he says quietly.
My breath catches.
Because I know what he means.
Because I feel it too.
Because this—
whatever this is—
it’s not small anymore.
“I’m not going to,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
He moves slowly.
Like he’s giving me time to change my mind.
Like he wants to be sure.
His hand comes up—
rests lightly against my cheek.
Warm.
Steady.
Real.
And this time—
I don’t hesitate.
I lean into it.
Because I want this.
Because I choose this.
Because for the first time—
I’m not afraid of something good.
He leans in.
Slow.
Careful.
And when his lips meet mine—
it’s soft.
Intentional.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing uncertain.
Just—
right.
And for a moment—
everything else disappears.
The past.
The fear.
The noise.
All of it fades.
Because this—
this is where I belong.
When we pull back, it’s not far.
Not enough to break it.
Just enough to breathe.
“You okay?” he asks.
I smile.
No hesitation.
“Yeah.”
And I mean it.
Because I’m not leaving.
Not tonight.
Not this.
Not him.