He did it.
I knew he would.
“Wow,” I say. “Are you okay?”
He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “You fell from a cliff, were in a coma for days, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”
“Well, yeah,” I smile at him, “this is huge.”
His gaze drops, the humor fading. “I should have given Halle the letters sooner. I should have listened to you. Instead, I kept putting it off.”
The honesty in his voice moves through me, settling deep. It hits me then, how often we live insideshould-havesandwhat-ifs, letting them haunt the present. I don’t want that. I don’t want us to be that.
“I want to try something new,” I say, holding his gaze.
He doesn’t rush me. His hand lifts, fingers tracing along my brow.
“I want to leave the past where it belongs,” I continue, tapping his chest lightly, “and I want to live here. In the present. For the future. No more should-haves. No more what-ifs.”
A slow smile curves around his mouth. “Fuck, I really love the sound of that.”
“Promise?” I hold my pinky out between us.
He hooks his with mine and smiles. “Promise.”
“I have one lastshould-haveI’d like to say.” He rolls ontohis side, bracing himself on his elbow, leaning in until his lips barely graze mine, close enough to feel but not touch.
“Oh…”
“I love you,” he says. Simple. Certain. Then it spills out of him, like he can’t hold it back any longer. “I love you so fucking much, it consumes me. You’re all I see. All I want. Then, now, forever.” His forehead rests against mine. “I should have told you a long time ago. It’s always been you, Madison. Only ever you.”
His mouth finds mine, and my thoughts scatter, blown apart by the weight of his words. Heat rushes through me. My heart races, and butterflies tear loose in my stomach. I kiss him back with everything I have, and breathe him in, anchoring myself to the feel of him.
When he pulls back, his smile is so wide, it steals what little breath I have left.
“I love you too,” I whisper. “So much. Always have, always will.”
31
WE FINALLY MADE IT
HUNTER
Popcorn. Chips. Candy.
I double-check the list Halle gave me, then grab a bottle of the girls’ favorite wine to add to the basket, before making my way to the register.
A week has passed since Madison came home from the hospital. It’s been a rollercoaster. Good days that make you think she’s only recovering from a broken leg, and other days where it hits her all at once. Headaches flare, frustration boils, and the constant questions—Are you okay? Do you need anything?—feel like a weight she can’t shake.
On those days, there’s nothing I can do but hold her hand, remind her I love her, and promise that a better day is coming.
Last night, I found her curled in bed when I got home from the bar, crying so hard she couldn’t catch a breath. I held her through it, rocking her calmly until her heartbeat slowed and the tears stopped streaming. When I asked her what happened, all she could say was that she was so tired—tired of everyone treating her like she was fragile, like she had died. And then the guilt would hit her, because sheknows everyone cares, and she would do the same for any of them.
At her last appointment, I asked the doctor if there was anything more I could do to help. His suggestion was simple: Routine. Normalcy. So tonight, I’m giving her exactly that. One night of our kind of normal. A movie night.
I jog up the porch steps, my eyes catching on a pile of kicked-off shoes, towels draped over the railing, and a forgotten water bottle of Remi’s. A smile pulls at my mouth. The porch is loud, messy, alive, so different from the emptiness it held the day I first came back.
“Pweese. Can we? Pweese.”
