“I just, you’re right. I’ve been pushing you away because it’s easier to push you away than admit that I’m a fuck up.”
“Luce—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “No, please, let me get this out. I am a…fuck. A complete and utter headcase. I mean, I must be, right; I kill people and feel zero remorse for it. I tell myself they’re bad people, but what the hell do I know really? They could be the future Noble Peace Prize winner. Then there’s me, gun in hand, and POP.” I make the movement with my hand. “Dead. And I feel nothing. I’ve felt nothing but emptiness since the day I walked out of that house fifteen years ago. I’ve buried any kind of emotion since, and then you came back into my life, and I felt it all.”
My heart races, but Owen says nothing. He watches me silently, assessing, waiting for me to confess my truth.
“I feel it all. Everything I’ve suppressed, everything I’ve ignored. It’s smacking me right in the face, and it’s like I’m on the brink of losing my mind.”
I start pacing as Owen sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“And I know you’re right. Everything you’ve said, everything about me, you’re spot on.” I pause and look at him, the cornerof my mouth tugging into a soft smile. “You can always see right through my bullshit, even now.”
“It’s not bullshit, Luce. It’s trauma.” His voice is quiet; eyes fixed on me like he wants to take all the pain away.
“No, I know. But come on,” I say, throwing up my arms with a hollow laugh. “We are in the midst of chaos, and here I am, having a personal fucking meltdown.”
My head drops, a slow shake.
“You’re right, I need to get a grip.”
“I didn’t—”
He stands and runs his hands through his hair. “I didn’t meanget a grip.”
“You did, and it’s totally fine. Because you’re right. And I know you’re right. There, I said it. You’re right. I’ve not changed enough for you to know how much I hate saying that, right?”
He grins at me, and it reaches his tired eyes making my chest ache and I laugh.
“I love you, you know.”
I look at him, really look at him. Take every single part of him in, drinking in the moment, and letting him see me, see everything I mean bone deep.
“Always have, always will. I want you to be my past, present and future.”
He sucks in a breath like I’ve winded him, and his expression softens, lips parting as his eyes go glassy, emotion rippling through every line in his face.
“I’ve no idea what comes next.” I admit. Because I don’t. Not one fucking clue. I reach for him, my fingers trembling as I take his hand in mine. “But whatever it is, it’s me and you, like it always was, like it will always be.”
“Because nothing about us is insignificant.”
“Not one single thing,” I whisper, hooking my little pinkie around his. “I love you, Owen King.”
“And I love you, Lucy Cook. With all my past, present and future.”
Our mouths crash together, his tongue delving straight between my lips as he devours me in a branding kiss. My hands are in his hair, gripping at his roots, as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tighter.
We are hands, lips, teeth, gripping, pulling, sucking.
It’s feral.
It’s carnal.
It’s everything that I thought this moment wouldn’t be. I thought it would be all romantic, and slow.
But this.
This is animalistic.
