“Also, I’m not in that predicament yet,” Maggie says. “In order to get new lungs, you have to have a really grim prognosis, but without being too sick to receive a lung transplant. Luckily, I’m too healthy to be a candidate right now. It’s a tricky position to be in. New lungs would be nice, but I don’t really want to be in the position to be a candidate because it means my health would have to decline first. And a transplant could prolong someone’s life by a few years, but it could also cut it short. Way short. Not something I’m hoping for anytime soon, to be honest.”
“New advancements happen every day, though,” Warren adds. “Which is why we’re really only discussing the near future tonight, not a long-term plan. If we try to plan too far ahead, it might discourage other possibilities. Maggie doesn’t want to hinder our lives, and we don’t want to hinder hers, so right now, the best scenario is to just tackle things a few months at a time with the tools we have to tackle them.”
Ridge nods, but then responds to Warren. “Sometimes I feel like your brain is on a power reserve. It’s off most of the time, but the few times you do turn it on, it’s at high power.”
Warren smiles at him. “Why, thank you, Ridge.”
Maggie laughs. “I’m not sure that was a compliment, Warren.”
“Sure it was,” Warren says.
I think it was both an insult and a compliment, which makes me laugh.
We spend the next half hour eating the lasagna Maggie prepared and working out more compromises. Bridgette doesn’t say much, but she’s also not rude at all, which is a huge improvement from when we walked through the front door.
After we tell Maggie goodnight, Ridge grabs my hand and leads me to the back seat of the car. He forces Warren to drive home since he drove here, which is fine with me because I really want to share the back seat with Ridge on the ride home.
He reaches across the seat and slides his fingers through mine as we’re pulling out of Maggie’s driveway. He pulls out his phone and texts me one-handed.
Ridge: You’re like the Bridgette whisperer. I don’t know how you do it.
Sydney: She’s not that bad. I think she’s always so defensive because no one has ever really made any effort to break through that defensiveness.
Ridge: Exactly. It says something that you made the effort.
Sydney: So did Warren.
Ridge: Only because he wanted to sleep with her. I don’t think he ever expected to fall in love with her. That was a surprise to everyone. Especially him.
Sydney: You have unique friends. I like them.
Ridge: They’re your friends now, too.
He squeezes my hand after I read his text. Then he reaches over and unbuckles my seatbelt, pulling me closer to him. Once I’m in the middle of the backseat, he refastens the middle seatbelt around me, pulling me against him. “Better,” he says, wrapping his arm around me.
His thumb is grazing my shoulder, but his hand eventually makes its way down, just far enough so that he can trace the faded letters he wrote over my heart. He presses his mouth against my ear. “Mine,” he says quietly.
I smile and place my hand over his heart. “Mine,” I whisper.
Ridge presses his mouth to mine, and I smile through the whole kiss. I can’t help it. When he pulls back, he leans against the door, pulling me even closer. I lift my legs onto the seat and curl them under me as I snuggle against him.
This feels right. Finally. It used to feel so wrong, but nothing about us feels wrong anymore. I owe a lot of that to Maggie’s willingness to forgive and move forward and even accept me into her life after everything that happened.
So much has changed in the past year. The day I turned twenty-two, I thought it was going to be the worst year of my life. But little did I know, a boy on a balcony with his guitar would change all of that.
Now I’m here in his arms, unable and unwilling to wipe the smile off my face because his heart is mine.
MINE.
It’s really hard to tell Warren everything he’s doing wrong when my hands are full with the mattress we’re carrying upstairs and his headphones on. I’d really hate to see him try to maneuver a boat or back up a trailer if he can’t even walk forward up the damn stairs while pushing a mattress.
I also don’t understand why we’re even moving Maggie’s mattress upstairs. Her apartment will be ready in four days, and there’s a couch, plus Brennan’s bed is empty. But I’m not arguing, because if she’s going to be in my apartment, I’d rather her be in the farthest bedroom from mine just so this will feel less awkward, even though I’ll be staying the night at Sydney’s this week.