“What’s up, babe? What’s that?” I nod toward the envelope.
He hesitates, then clears his throat. “These are all the letters I wrote you in rehab.” His face softens. “I almost tossed one.” A corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly. “I was pretty pissed at you in it. But then I figured I didn’t want to hide anything from you. And maybe it’s okay for you to see that.”
My eyebrows lift. “You were pissed… at me?”
“Yeah.” He gives a soft chuckle. “It was right after I found out you filed for divorce.”Makes sense. His hand drags along his neck, tugging. “I raged in a letter about it. I just… had to get it out, and that seemed like the healthiest way. It wasn’t really ever meant for you.”
He steps closer. “But the rest were. I wanted to send them while I was in rehab, but I never dared. I was too afraid you wouldn’t read them. Or maybe I didn’t want you to see me as weak or… I don’t know. I was feeling a lot of things. I didn’t wantyou to see that, but at the same time, I kind of did.” He shrugs. “So I kept them. And I want you to have them now.”
He holds the manila envelope out, and I reach for it, fingers pinching the edge. But he doesn’t let go. His gaze locks on mine, eyes soft, expression vulnerable. “You don’t have to read them. Only if you want to. And when you’re ready.”
I nod once. “Okay.”
His grip stays on the manila. “I want you to know about rehab. About me and where I was. But I don’t know exactly what they say. I’ve only read a few of them, so… please don’t leave me for something I wrote months ago.”
His thumb drags along the edge of the envelope, over and over, like he’s reconsidering. He shifts his weight and swallows, his eyes pleading.
Whoa. He’s really nervous.
“You got a secret mistress I’m gonna find out about or something?” I ask, a teasing smile tugging at my lips.
“Al, I’m serious. Promise me.”
“Okaaay. I was joking. But now you’ve got me kinda worried.”
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath, eyes never leaving mine. “Al…”
There was a time Jensen would’ve shoved these feelings so far down I’d never see them. But now? He’s standing here, handing me the pieces of himself he’s terrified I won’t want. Trusting me with the deepest, darkest, most broken parts of him. And God, I want him to know he can. That he always can.
“Alright, alright. I’m not going to leave you. I won’t let anything in here sway my feelings. I promise.”
His fingers relax instantly. He lets go, combing a hand through his hair with a shaky sigh.
I start to open the manila.
“No! Don’t read them now. Not in front of me.” He stills. “God, I don’t know. Unless you want to? I guess that’s fine.”
Good Lord, he’s a mess.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The letters feel heavy in my hand, and I can’t stop staring at them. Then I force my gaze to his, and my breath hitches. This is a man who fought like hell to get here. To get us here. And it means the world that he’s standing here, giving me these.
“I’ll wait,” I say finally, trying to ease his nerves. But Jesus, the way he’s acting has me wanting to run to the closet, shut the door, and devour these right now. Whatever’s inside has him in a frenzy, which only makes me more anxious to read them.
I step toward him and press my mouth to his. “Don’t worry so much.” My fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, brushing lightly over the ridges of his abs. “I love you. I’ll always love you,” I whisper. “Even when things are hard.”
“I love you, too.” His eyes lock on mine. “But I don’t want loving me to be hard. I don’t ever want to hurt you. Ever.”
A smile ghosts across my lips. “It doesn’t hurt right now,” I murmur, sliding my hands higher beneath his shirt. His hand tangles in my hair while the other curls around my waist, pulling me close. He breathes me in with a kiss, lips hitting with force—needy, passionate, intentional. And with every touch, every press of his mouth, the weight of those letters burns away.
My lips part on instinct, ready to be devoured as he backs me toward the bed. I fall onto it, his body folding over mine. There’s something primal about him in this moment. It’s not just desire. Not just his hard cock pressing against me as he lowers himself closer, finding that perfect angle. It’s more than that. It’s protective. Fierce. Like his body is a shield and I’m the only thing he’s guarding. He’d take a bullet for me, without a second thought.
An awareness of how turned on I am swirls through me, heat pulsing. My legs fall open, hips lifting, wanting more and needing to touch him everywhere—for our bodies to connect in every possible way.
Gratitude floods me, heavy and overwhelming. A lump forms in my throat as Jensen’s mouth skims across my neck.I’m so damn lucky.To have him. To be loved by him. How many people can say they’ve found the person they want to spend every day of their life with? Someone to share everything with. Someone who can make them laugh and turn them on in seconds, no matter how many years pass.
Someone who will fight for them, even after everything. I have that. And he comes with blue eyes and a smile that makes women turn their heads in every room he walks into. My life with Jensen is something dreams are made of. It hasn’t always felt that way, but it’s always had that potential. The love was always there.
Sure, we’ve lived through nightmares.
