Hell, no one gave enough fucks to get my body off the floor and get help. All I know is thatsomeonecalled for help, and I don’t think I will ever know who.
But I woke up, utterly alone, wishing that the only girl I’d ever loved was beside me. I wished that I deserved the only girl I’d ever loved.
That was when the plan began. Rehab. Meetings. Sobriety.Lana.My girl. My soulmate.
Lana doesn’t know though, and I have to tell her. Untilthen, this boundary is only fair to her. I can’t take her to bed, kiss her, undress her, and make love to her with that wall still standing there. It has been a faulty boundary after everything we’ve done, but sex with Lana has always been something more.
Sex before had been a means to an end. It was something that offered a break from my mind for a moment, and something I regretted later. But sex with Lana is more than a release. It’s a connection, it’s one of our truest forms of intimacy. When she’s there, I’m there. Sex with her means something to me.
Touching her means something, whether it’s holding her hand or my thigh touching hers when she sits next to me—I always need to be touching her. I’ve always needed it.
After our friends sang happy birthday, I couldn’t let her go. She spent too much time out of my arms while I was talking with the guys so I held her back against my chest with my arms around her. Albeit she wickedly wiggled her ass against my dick so I moved her to my side, but she knew there would be no chance of me letting her go.
She’s my person.
I kiss her head and sit up slowly, holding her to me. Carefully, I curl my arms around her body, one under her knees, and lift her with me as I stand. I pause and wait to assess her reaction to the movement, but she only blows out a breath.
Holding her closely and tightly, I head toward the stairs and up to her bedroom. I hope it’ll beourbedroom soon, but I know it won’t be ours for long once I find her the perfect house.
I push her door open with my foot and my chest aches with the same thought. Everything will be perfect once I’ve told her everything and once we have the perfect house we were alwaysworking our asses off to save for. I gently set her down and pull her pale yellow blanket over her bare legs. Once she’s covered, I rest my hand on her hip and reach up to kiss her forehead. My lips linger, breathing her in for a moment.
“I love you,” I murmur and kiss her cheek. Not wanting to go, I force my feet toward the door.
“Christian?” Lana moans, stirring just as I reach the threshold.
I find my way back to her instantly. “Yeah, baby?”
“Come here,” she rasps and reaches for me. Her hand comes around my nape and her lips press against mine softly. Once. “Thank you.”
I smile against her lips before I kiss their corner. “Goodnight, baby.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
CHAPTER 17
Lana
Adull orange swirls around in the dark blue sky, brightening it with each passing minute.
I woke up in my bed around three thirty a.m., courtesy of Christian. And his arms—such nice arms. It had been so nice to fall asleep on him again, listening to the way his heart beats like a lullaby. It was like rediscovering your favorite song and now you’ll play it every day, restart it before it even ends, and sing to yourself wherever you are, whatever you’re doing.
But when I tried to go back to sleep after he brought me to my bedroom, it was impossible.
I felt restless enough to read half a book. I tried stretches I learned from online yoga and pilates, listened to and watched ASMR videos—none of it worked.
Then I cried into my pillow because I knew it was the best remedy to put me to sleep. He was asleep in my guest room downstairs and I couldn’t go there. No matter how much I wanted to, he’s in the guest room for a reason.
Christian placed a boundary, a murky one, and despite having held him to sleep several weeks ago—it isn’t the same. He brought me up to my room to enforce that boundary, and I won’t push it. I won’t try to again, no matter how badly he makes me want to. No matter how good he kisses me or touches me.
So instead of going to his room, I kept pacing. And now, at six a.m., I’m here on the sofa on my patio, watching the sunrise from behind the green hills of Maine.
I spin the ring on my left middle finger, around and around. I haven’t taken it off since the day he gave it to me four years ago. It was a promise ring at first, one I wore on my right hand. Then there was a night I was asleep in our bed that he took it off and I woke up crying because I thought I lost it.
Later that day, he took me out to dinner at one of our favorite Puerto Rican restaurants in town. We ate and laughed, but my heart was in my stomach all night because I still couldn’t find my ring. Until Christian pulled it out of his pocket and held it out to me between his thumb and forefinger.
I was both upset and relieved, but then he said, “I know I gave this to you last month as a gift. A promise ring, I guess.” I chuckled tearfully then, unsure of what he had planned. “But I want to give it to you again, with a different promise, Lana.”
“What’s the promise?” I croaked.
