“Of course you’re allowed,” he says roughly. “You’re allowed anything with me.”
“But you didn’t say it.” And that still stings. “Not until now.”
He grimaces, thumb stroke never stopping.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I was a coward. I didn’t want to add that pressure on top of school and money and everything else. And I was afraid that if I said it out loud, it would become real, and you’d… realize how much power you have to crush me.”
“Grant,” I breathe, shattered by that.
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “The big bad soldier brought down by a five-foot-five pre-med student.”
“Five-five and three-quarters,” I correct automatically.
He smiles. “Exactly.”
I sniff, laughing and crying at the same time.
We stare at each other, the air between us thick and buzzing. I can see every fleck of color in his eyes, every curve of his mouth, every line on his face that wasn’t there the day we met.
“I love you,” I say again, because saying it once doesn’t feel like enough. “I don’t care if we started because of paperwork or if some people think this is crazy. You’re my husband. You’re my home. I love you.”
His breath jerks out of him, like my words punched into his lungs.
“Say it again,” he rasps.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He moves.
One second I’m sitting there with his hand on my cheek, and the next his mouth is on mine. The kiss is deep and wild, his fingers sliding into my hair, his other hand still gripping mine so tightly that it almost hurts.
I kiss him back with everything I have.
All the nights I spent telling myself not to fall. All the mornings I woke up to his breath on my neck and wanted to tell him how safe he made me feel. All the times I watched him move around our house like he never really believed he’d have one, and I wanted to tell him he could stay forever.
I pour it all into this kiss.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
I blink, dazed. Then reality rushes back in.
“What did the doctor say?” I ask, heart jamming in my throat all over again. “Are you… Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”
He hesitates.
Then he nods. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Relief crashes through me so hard that I slump against the seat.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Good. That’s… that’s good.”
He doesn’t look relieved, though. He looks… heavy. Conflicted.
“What is it?” I ask quietly. “What did they tell you?”
He turns our hands so our fingers are tangled together, our rings sliding against each other.
“They cleared me,” he says finally. “I’m fit for duty. They want me back.”
