“Jessie?”
I don’t answer. I take the papers in both hands and tear them down the middle.
The sound is louder than I expected. More satisfying too.
I tear them again. And again. Until what was supposed to be our escape hatch is nothing but confetti in my hands.
“I’m not signing the annulment papers.” The words come out easily and naturally, as if I’ve been waiting to say them my whole life.
Tank crosses the room in three strides. “What?”
I let the pieces fall through my fingers like snow. “Too late anyway. They’re confetti now.”
“Jessie.” His voice cracks on my name.
This man who built me a studio before I even decided to stay. Who stood behind me while I fought my own battle. Who got naked and posed like an idiot just to make me laugh.
“I’m staying,” I say, stepping over the paper scraps to reach him. “I’m keeping you right back.”
His hand comes up to cup my face. His eyes are bright—wet, I realize. This man, who’s been protecting himself his whole life, convinced he was too much for anyone to handle.
“I know I’m chaos.” I turn my head and press a kiss to his palm. “I know I’m messy and scared and probably going to rearrange your mugs a hundred more times. But I’m done running. I’m done leaving before anyone can ask me to stay.” I hold his gaze. “You didn’t ask. You just made room. And I want to fill it. All of it. For as long as you’ll let me.”
His mouth lands on mine in a kiss that tastes like forever.
“For as long as I’ll let you?” He laughs against my mouth. “Jessie. I was ready to keep you the second I saw you. You think I’m ever letting you go now?”
“No.”
“Damn right. You’re mine. And I’m yours. We’re going to build that studio, and you’re going to paint whatever the hell you want, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt yourself again.”
“That’s a big promise.”
“I’m a big guy.” His grin transforms his whole face. “I can handle it.”
The torn papers are still scattered across the kitchen floor. We’ll clean them up later.
Or maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll leave them there as a reminder of the day I stopped running. Of the day I chose to stay.
This is what it feels like to finally come home.
Chapter 12
Tank
She chose herself.
That thought keeps echoing in my mind as I look at her, her face flushed and gloriously alive.
She choseherself. She stood there barefoot and told that slick bastard exactly where to shove his career threats, his condescension, and his blue fucking paint.
And then she chose me.
My intensity, my volume, every stubborn, overwhelming inch of me. For the first time in my life, someone looked at all that and said,more, please.
I lack the words to express how that makes me feel. My chest cracks open every time she looks at me as if I’m something worth keeping.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs.
