Olivia's POV
The moment his arms closed around me, everything I had been holding back shattered.
Not quiet tears.
Not controlled ones.
Ugly, shaking sobs ripped out of my chest, raw and loud and uncontrollable. My hands fisted into the fabric of the towel at his back as if I needed something—anything—to keep me upright. My knees felt weak. My chest burned. My throat hurt from all the grief I had swallowed for days.
I cried like someone who had lost everything.
Because I had.
His body went still at first.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then his arms tightened around me—too fast, too instinctive—before he seemed to realize what he was doing. His chest was warm. Solid. Familiar in a way that made my breath hitch painfully.
That was when it hit me.
His scent.
Not the soap. Not the steam from the bathroom.
Him.
