“I thought you left,” he repeats, and his arms tighten around me.
His voice cracks like something fragile. Something that’s been held together for way too long.
“I thought you heard everything and realized I was a liar or worse. I thought you decided maybe this wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth risking your heart on.”
That hits me like a wrecking ball to the chest.
Because I hear what he’s not saying.
I thought I lost you.
And suddenly, everything clicks into place.
The look in his eyes when I pulled into the lot.
The way he lifted me out of the truck like I was oxygen and he’d been suffocating.
The desperation in his kiss. In his sex.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t control.
It was fear.
Real, gut-deep fear.
And something else under it.
Something deeper. Something I now know is real between us.
He cups my cheeks like I’m breakable, like I’m his whole world.
“Just for the record, I don’t give a rat’s ass about Darla. Or anyone else. Just you.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Only ever you.”
I press my forehead to his again, eyes stinging.
“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, Thatcher.”
His arms tighten around me like he doesn’t believe it yet.
Like he’s still holding his breath.
“And just for the record,” I whisper, repeating his words, and forcing a shaky laugh, “after what we just did in here? You better not ever be thinking about any other woman.”
That finally cracks the tension in his face.
His mouth twitches.
“Smartass.”
“Yeah, but I’m your smartass,” I say before I can stop myself.
The word slips out like it was waiting.
His whole body stills.
His eyes lock on mine.
Then he exhales, voice hoarse. “Say that again.”
