“And when you get to the hotel.”
“Okay.”
“And every day after that until you get tired of me.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes shine, but she’s smiling. “I’ll never get tired of you.”
Lucy kisses me then. Slow. Sweet. Lingering. When she pulls away, I want to chase her mouth. To drag her back into the truck and keep driving until she forgets why she ever wanted to leave.
But I don’t.
Because love—real love—isn’t about possession.
It’s partnership. It’s standing with someone through the triumphs and the mess. It’s encouraging the things that make them whole, even when it challenges you to grow, too.
“Go chase your dream,” I say softly. “Show the world who you are.”
She touches my chest with trembling fingers. “And when I forget… remind me?”
“Always.”
Lucy turns to go, but stops a few steps away, clutching her bag like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“I’ll be here when you’re done,” I say, and she presses a hand to her chest, walking backwards now, eyes misting.
“Thank you,” she mouths, then turns away.
I don’t answer until she’s walking through the doors, her back straight but her steps slow.
Only then do I whisper it.
“I love you, Lucy.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Nash
“Look at that. He lives.”
I shoot Bennett a glare as I climb out of the truck in Mom’s driveway a few weeks after Lucy left. “If that’s what you wanna call it.”
“Oh good.” My brother rolls his eyes, shoulders sagging. “I was hoping to spend tonight with a cynical eighty-year-old man.”
“I’m not eighty.”
“You are in soul years,” he mutters as we climb the steps and head inside.
Mom greets us in the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel before opening her arms for a hug. “You two planning to bicker through dinner or take a breath and act like brothers?”
“Not mutually exclusive,” I grumble, shooting Bennett the side-eye.
Beau barks from under the table. I lean down to scratch behind his ears and he flops onto his back like a diva who’s waited all day for this moment.
“How’s the new job?” Mom asks as she pulls a magazine worthy roasted chicken from the oven. Her voice is mild, but I don’t miss the concern in her eyes. The flick of her gaze across my face, cataloguing all the details. She already knows. Mothers always do.
I shrug. “Fine.”
Bennett snorts. “That’s Nash-speak for I hate everything about it but won’t admit it yet.”
