“Beck.”
My murmured name had me snapping my gaze from the wall down into twin hazel eyes. Ones I dreamed of often.
“You’re spacing out, baby.” Parker’s hand left the water, bubbles sticking to her glistening skin as she cupped my cheek. “Talk to me.”
We held each other’s stare as I tried to think of words that wouldn’t bring her down. The truth was, I was beyond relieved that she was okay. That no serious harm had come to her or our baby. But my guilt still held the pain she endured, layering itself with the fear of losing the love of my life. It was suffocating.
“I just keep thinking to myself, what if I hadn’t found you?” My throat was closing, my eyes quickly burning. “What if you were gone forever just like?—”
I couldn’t say his name. Not in the context of him never coming back.
Parker twisted until she was on her knees between my legs, both hands now pressed to my cheeks. “I know it’s hard to love after loss. It’s hard to open your heart to the possibility of being hurt again. Losinganyoneis paralyzing.” Her thumbs moved of their own accord, grounding me as they swept across my skin. “My first thought when I found out I was pregnant was that I was scaredIwould die, and my child would grow up without a mom. I know what it’s like to mourn, and maybe my version of it is different than yours. I mourned while my parents were very much alive and breathing. I constantly thought, why aren’t my parents like Beckham’s? Why do they not love me enough to change the environment they brought me into?”
Her eyes turned glassy, but she continued after a heavy breath. “But regardless of the way I was raised, or the fear I hold that I could fail my child, I know I’m strong enough to change the future.” Her smile was uplifting, but still masked a heavy sadness. “You changedmy life, Beckham. In seventh grade, in letting me experience the world instead of selfishly keeping me in Bell Buckle, in taking me in when you didn’t have to, in making the decision toloveme again.” She shook her head, shifting so she was a little closer. “What my tired brain is trying to get at here is… You found me. I am here.” Her eyes turned stern, hard. “I will never leave your side. You may think history is going to repeat itself to everyone you hold close since you lost him, but I promise you, there is nothing—no one—on this entire goddamn planet that can take me from you.”
Every word had my heart pinching and melting at the same time. Right when I thought I couldn’t fall any deeper, I found myself plunging off a cliff and utterly speechless at the capacity in which I was in love with Parker Summerhill.
She was right—Garrett might not be here with me, and I might still be trying to find ways to cope day to day, but I saved Parker.
She wasn’t going anywhere. Not if I had anything to do about it.
“You’re right, Parker. I?—”
She shook her head, her thumb tugging on my bottom lip in an attempt to shush me. “Kiss me.”
There was no hesitation as I leaned forward and plunged my fingers into her hair, rocking her forward. Water splashed over the sides of the tub, and our lips collided.
Within seconds, I was slipping inside of her, thrusting up into her so she wouldn’t have to expel moreenergy. Her moans drove me insane, tipping me over the edge. I spilled every last drop into her sweet pussy as she came around my cock, and as her forehead hit my shoulder, I made a vow to give her and our baby the best life they could ever dream of.
If I could do one thing in Garrett’s honor, one thing to make my own parents proud, and one thing to change Parker’s life, it’d be that.
Lovemay be a word other people throw around in desperate times, meaningless and empty. But that was never the case with Parker. Our love stemmed from crispy Dr. Peppers, cheap Christmas lights, and a warm bed.
Life didn’t get much better than this.
39
PARKER
EPILOGUE
Iwiped a glob of red paint on my denim overalls after the pesky liquid had dripped all over the white base of the bookshelf. The breath I released sent a stray strand of my hair flying into the air, only for it to come back down and further tickle my nose.
“I’m not good at this,” I pouted.
Beckham looked over at me from where he was working on the other side of the unit. “Yes, you are.”
I frowned and shot a hand out at the murder-like scene on the shelf. “I can’t make this up.”
He cocked his head to the side, chewing on his lip like he was hiding a smile.
I was opening my mouth to call him out for having to hold in his laugh when he said, “So we’ll wipe it, let it dry, and paint over it with more white. Easy fix.” He set his paint brush on the plastic tray and scooted closer tome. After plucking a rag from the pile of many other dirty rags, he swiped away the splotch of red.
“Now it just looks like dried blood,” I told him.
“It definitely doesn’t.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, his hand fitting easily against my ribs with my bump now gone. He kept it high enough that it didn’t graze my lower belly where my C-section scar sat, knowing the spot was still sensitive for me. “But that’s what makes these memories even better.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, finding the courage to smile at my mess-up. Beckham wanted these echoes of our past, whether it involved the holidays or making a handmade bookshelf look like a barn.
