Noah's POV
I'm still staring at my phone when Kieran carefully pulls out of me.
And I only vaguely register the cool, wet cloth he uses to clean me up, the gentle way his fingers wipe between my thighs, the quiet hum of contentment in his throat. Even when he lifts me and settles back onto the couch with me curled in his lap, I don't look away from the cracked screen of my phone.
The thumbnail is frozen mid-frame. Grainy, slightly crooked. The date above the timestamp slapped across the top edge reads: July 15th.
Three hours before the game.
That date is carved into my memory. Not because of the win, not even because of the nerves I felt before it or the way my wolf had been buzzing with tension. But because that was the last day I truly felt safe.
