“Liam!”
She beats on my back with both fists as I march her toward the car. Opening the door while hauling a furious, half-dressed woman over your shoulder? Not as easy as I thought it would be. I set her down beside me while I reach for the handle, and she uses the opportunity to stomp on my foot and take off back toward the porch.
Of course, she’s only wearing socks. The stomp is more dramatic than painful. But damn if I’m not impressed by the fight in her.
Elizabeth stands in her open doorway, Taryn’s purse in hand, looking horrified and fascinated at the same time.
Taryn’s halfway up the lawn when I catch her around the waist and tackle her to the ground, twisting at the last second so I hit the muddy grass first and she lands on top of me.
“Oof.” I feel myself sink into the soft earth beneath me. Not my best idea. I knew the weather had warmed enough for everything to begin to thaw, creating the sopping mess I’m now lying in.
Taryn tries to take advantage of my disorientation and scrambles to escape. Her hands, which had landed in the mud, now slide uselessly against my chest. The soft earth betrays her, and she slips, landing on top of me again. The breath rushes from my lungs with a groan when her knee lands in my gut.
And then—then—my bride shocks me. I’m waiting for her fist, but instead, she starts laughing. Full-bodied, breathless laughter. Her whole body shakes with it as she grabs a handful of wet earth and smears it across my cheek.
“Oh, that’s how we’re playing this?” I grin, grabbing her wrists and flipping us so I’m straddling her, my mud-soaked jeans and hoodie rubbing filth all over her. I use my sleeve to wipe my cheek.
“You’re a mess,” she says through her laughter, cheeks flushed.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur, brushing hair from her face. She quiets beneath me, her chest rising and falling with each breath. God. She’s beautiful.
I stand and hold out a hand to help her up. She takes it, and I pull her close once she’s on her feet.
“You going to keep running?” I ask quietly.
“No.”
“Good.” I lean in and press a kiss to her temple, then brush my thumb along her cheek where a streak of mud still clings to her skin. “I know I fucked up, beauty. I will again. That’s a guarantee. But I’ve got your back, always. Even when I’m being a dumbass.”
She exhales through her nose, but it’s not a scoff. Not this time. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”
I nod. “Yeah. But let’s get out of here first.” Her lips are turning blue.
She follows me to the car without another word, sliding into the passenger seat. Elizabeth shuffles over to set Taryn’s purse on the passenger’s side floor. She whispers something to my wife before closing the door.
I watch Taryn out of the corner of my eye as I drive—still gorgeous, even with her hair wild and mud drying on her bare legs. We’re both silent as I crank up the heat. Not tense, exactly. But quiet. Taryn leans her head against the passenger window, watching the dark campus roll by, her arms still wrapped in my coat. I reach for her hand, and she doesn’t pull away. It’s only a few minutes to our place. I whip into a parking space.
“Wait here,” I instruct, before hopping out of my SUV.
I open the door and scoop up my wife. Before she has a chance to protest, I remind her, “You’re not wearing shoes.”
She gives me a jerky nod in response.
She doesn’t complain when I carry her bridal style through our door. I set her down in our entryway.
“I’m disgusting,” she mutters, looking down at the dried mud flaking off her legs.
“I like you dirty,” I offer with a suggestive grin. She doesn’t smile, but she does sigh.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s clean up.”
She follows me back to our bedroom without argument, peeling off her socks and leaving a muddy trail behind her. I start the shower, adjusting the temperature, steam already fogging the mirror by the time she steps into the bathroom.
She stands in the doorway for a second, hugging herself.
“Here,” I say, walking over to her. I reach for the hem of her tank top and wait. When she nods, I pull it off slowly. She doesn’t meet my eyes. I take off the shorts next, then unbutton my own jeans and strip out of my shirt.
We don’t say anything as we step into the shower. The spray hits us, warm and constant, and she lets out a quiet sound, somewhere between relief and resignation.
