To never face these demons again.
I am done feeling sorry for myself.
My fingers tangle in her damp hair. “That doesn’t matter anymore.” I put my hand to my chest. “We’re addicts. You and me.” I motion between us. That fact won’t change, no matter how much we wish it into oblivion. “Maybe we shouldn’t have kids, but we have the means to raise him or her well.”
“And you have us,” Rose proclaims.
Lily and I look back at the three people who’ve been the foundation of our healthy lives. Rose raises her chin with a determined expression like you both can do this.
And then Connor. He stands poised, with more confidence than either of us has ever acquired. I can almost feel it radiate off his body and flow through mine. His lips begin to rise, knowing the effect he has on me, and most people.
My brother. Ryke has his arms crossed over his chest. I think he knows, as well as I do, that I am nowhere near ready to have a kid. But the negativity has been swept from his hard, dark features. He has that same sturdy, unbending will in his eyes as the rest of them.
The perseverance to do anything, to be anything. To thrive.
Someday, that word will belong to us too. After years of coming up short, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.
{ 64 }
2 years : 03 months November
LILY CALLOWAY
The steaming shower fogs the glass door. We’re in our bathroom upstairs, where privacy exists, and Loren Hale towers above me, the water blanketing us in hot sheets. We thaw ourselves after the icy bath, his intense gaze never shifting off mine.
Out of all the reactions I imagined he’d have, this was the one I least expected. But the one that I love the most. It’s the one where he is indisputably committed to us, as a team. I wouldn’t ask anything more from him.
My hands crawl up his toned back, and his palm falls to my bottom, the other cupping my face. His amber eyes fill me whole. He leans so close, his mouth pausing an inch from my neck. A cry escapes before he even presses his lips against me.
But when they close over the tender skin, I buck into him, my leg rising around his hip. The thick fog makes it hard to breathe, my body heating with the water and his touch, sensual and slow.
His lips meet mine, his tongue parting them, sliding in a hypnotic movement. I dizzy in his hold, and he raises my other thigh over his waist, lifting me off the tiles. My heat pulses like blood pumping in my veins.
He kicks open the shower door while we kiss deeply, my hands snug around his neck. He carries me back into the room, not caring that water drips off our wet bodies and onto the floor. All of a sudden, he sets me flat on my back, our soft, warm comforter beneath me. We barely part long enough to stop kissing. Every nerve melts, my heart oozing with this pace.
My legs are already split open around him, and he breathes heavily the longer he draws out the inevitable. And his hand disappears between our pelvises, my lips swelling against his. I can feel how wet I am before his fingers do.
I moan, my head tilting back. He kisses my jaw, and then he slowly, slowly slides his erection deep, deep inside of me. As his other hand returns, I grip both of his forearms, his palms on either side of my head. He rocks against mine in a melodic rhythm, and a groan breaches his lips. He rests his forehead against mine, his hot breath entering my lungs.
“Lily,” he chokes as he thrusts forward. Again and again.
My eyes roll back the longer we continue, the higher we go.
It feels like eternity, like hours upon hours and years upon years. An embrace that lasts lifetimes.
When we slow down, when I arch against him and our lips part in a bright, overwhelming climax, we lie on the bed, our legs tangled together.
My head rests on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“I love you,” he whispers, combing my damp hair off my forehead.
I lift my chin to look at him, about to say I love you too but it sounds too practiced, not encompassing even half of my sentiments.
He sees it in my eyes. “I know,” he says, lifting me higher on his body so he doesn’t have to stare down. We’re eye-level, our heads on the same pillow, turned towards each other. My ankle rubs against his leg, and his hand strokes my arm.
“Lil…” he says softly, but it’s my turn to read the answers behind his gaze.
“I’m scared too,” I admit. “We’ve never even been able to keep a goldfish alive. Do you remember BJ?” I ask. He begins to smile at the memory. I add, “He didn’t even last a week before he floated to the top of the tank. I think I overfed him.”