“You know, Will,” she started, her expression turning serious, “I let myself believe you were finished. That you realized I was too complicated and I’d pushed you too far, and you were done.”
I held up a hand. “No, peanut, I—”
“I’m not finished,” she interrupted. “You’re mine, too. That never stopped. You’re still mine, and I’m fucking furious that I had to hear about your injury—and everything else—from Private Ryan over there.” Her eyes dropped to my shoulder, and her tongue swept over her top lip. “How is it? Are you all right?”
I shrugged, and right on cue, a bolt of pain zapped down to my fingers. “It’s fine.”
“It’s nice how you’re lying to me,” she said. “Maybe you can tuck your balls back for a little while and stop being such a man.”
I spread my arms wide, welcoming the onslaught. “Would it make you happy to hear that I can’t feel these fingers” —I held up the last three— “and the nerve pain is an evil bitch?”
“Of course not,” she cried, “but the talking goes both ways, Will. If you want everything from me, I want the same from you.”
I reached for Shannon, but she slapped my hand away. She hit me with her most vicious scowl, but she couldn’t hold it long. Her lips twitched, and she flew into my arms. “You have it,” I whispered, holding her head to my chest. “You’ve always had it.”
Shannon’s hands fisted in my shirt, tugging me close. “What’s next for you?” she asked.
I shook my head. This was one of my favorite locations on earth, and I was here with some of the best people I knew, but the only thing I wanted right now was her bare skin against mine. “I’ve been thinking about that, and I have some ideas, but…I don’t have the answers yet.”
“Then you should think about it in Boston,” she said. “You should call Nick when we get home. He’s a cradle-robbing asshole, but he’s a really good doctor. He’ll give you smart advice. And…you can always train the hedge fund wives or model for romance novel covers. There’s no shame in either.”
Surprised by the random compilation of ideas, I leaned back and studied her. “You’re not going to jump in and micromanage?”
“No,” she snapped. “You’ll ask for my help if you need it, and you know I’ll always give it to you.”
My chest throbbed with the pressure of my affection for her and long unspoken words. “Shannon, I have to tell—”
“Not now,” she interrupted, pressing her finger to my lips. “Not here.”
She linked her hands behind my neck and pulled me down, touching her lips to mine, and when her tongue slipped into my mouth, it tasted like my eternity.
Chapter Twenty-Six
SHANNON
We spent hourstalking and drinking with his friends and teammates.
They were a big, rowdy crew, and they served each other a ton of shit at every turn, and I saw why this was home to Will. It was just like my big, rowdy crew.
They told stories about their training days, their deployments, and the never-ending series of pranks they pulled on each other. It was a facet of him I’d never seen before, and I adored it. His arm stayed draped over my chair, his fingers mapping the space between my shoulder and elbow, and for the first time, I couldn’t grab hold of the darkness I felt when he was gone. As far as I reached, I couldn’t dredge the anger and emptiness that simmered beneath the surface just weeks ago.
I didn’t know whether that meant I’d let it go, or was allowing the steady pressure of his affection to slough it away for me. Or perhaps it was like he said while we watched the waves on the shore of La Jolla Cove this morning, “The best medicine is always salt water. It heals everything, every time.”
I couldn’t find any of it, so I stopped looking. I curled into his easy touch, sighing in relief when his thigh edged to mine and my body hummed with another point of contact.
We were tipsy as we walked back to his parents’ home, and my mind was heavy with questions—was he really leaving the military? After all this time? What was next? What did it all mean for us? Was he in pain now? Was there anything I could do? Would his shoulder ever improve?—but the questions could wait.
Once inside the front door, his palms dropped to my hips, squeezing, speaking the language that required no words. I looked up at him in the darkness, smiling, and took his hand. I led him through the house to the blue-gray room, motioned for him to step out of his sneakers, and then walked him backwards until his legs hit the bed. Wedged between his knees, my fingers tangled in his hair while his hands traveled over my back and thighs.
I threaded my fingers through his short beard, tugging just enough to bring his eyes up to mine. “I have something to say to you,” I said. “And I expect you to listen.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
“I love you,” I said. I could live for centuries, and I’d never forget the way Will’s eyes softened and glowed when I said those words. “And you have to know I don’t come to that statement lightly, and—”
“Shut up,” Will interrupted. His hands raced up my body to cup my face. “I love you, too, and I’m not listening to any opening remarks or qualifications on the matter. You are my fire and ice, my calm and chaos, myeverything, and I can’t remember life before loving you. Now shut up and strip, unless you want me ripping those clothes off.”
He started unbuttoning his shirt, but I shook my head, wrapping my fingers around his wrist, and said, “Let me.”
